Tag: the writing life

They’re rioting in Africa

Friday. Sun behind the clouds, coolish. Supposed to stay that way.

We here in Central Maine stand, battered, snow shovels in hand, beneath a Winter Storm Watch. Heavy snow with sleet predicted from this evening through tomorrow evening. The danger now, aside slick roads and travel surfaces, is ice coated limbs and wires coming down.

Today may be the day the heart monitor goes back in its box and goes home to Boston. It has been progressively losing its mind, but this morning, it wants to be charged. This despite having been charged all night. I moved it into my office and plugged it into another working plug, and still it cries out for life-giving electricity.

I am so done with this device.

I tried to call the cardiologist’s office, and got the It’s Too Early message, which was bemusing, because I’d slept long and hard, and got up late. And yet? It still lacks a few minutes til 8 am.

Well.

I s’pose I ought to get a kettle on for tea and go find some pants.

How’s your Friday starting out?

Following up.

It’s now very sunny in my office. I chose to put on one of Steve’s nice heavy Carhartt flannel shirts, which may prove to be overkill, but is comfy, anyway.

Breakfast was tomato and swiss cheese sandwich. Second cup of tea by my side. Possibly, I will call in lunch. If I order from Asian Cafe, I’ll have enough leftovers to last the weekend.

I did speak with the cardiologist’s office, and, as I was explaining the problem, the heart monitor decided that it was charged. I did some guided punching of buttons, and the device does seem to be working, for very flexible values of “working,” so I can’t get rid of it quite yet, more’s the pity.

The cardiologist’s receptionist wanted to let me know that they were *there* for me until May 28. I asked her what was going to happen after that, and she said, “Oh! You haven’t heard? The hospital –” No, I said, I had heard that. What I wanted to know was what was going to happen after May 28 when I had no cardiologist. “Oh! Call your PCP.” My PCP, says I, is also attached to the hospital. He’s going to be vanishing, too. “Yes. But he will be able to refer you to other doctors. The hospital is working on a plan, but it’s not solid yet.”

By reports, the hospital knew it was going to have to close two years. And yet! They announce a month ago that they’re closing in June, and it has no plan for its patients, for whom they apparently accept no responsibility. Shame on you, Inland/Northern Light. As for referring to “other doctors,” I believe I mentioned here that the Other Hospital is laying off doctors and staff because they, too, are bleeding $$s.

In view of the upcoming weather, I’m going to call the vet and see if I can get another scant jar of prednisone for Trooper. I’ve taken to mixing it in the gravy food, because he hates the syringe and he’s too strong for me to hold when he’s determined. The old system was that Steve would hold the cat and I would administer the drug, but that’s no longer playable.

So, aside from one’s duty the cats, and going out for meds and more of the cat gravy, my plan is to do ASL homework and write.

That’s it. Yes, it’s a boring plan, but it’s MY plan.

Today’s title brought to you by The Kingston Trio, “The Merry Minuet“

Nobody right til somebody wrong

What went before: Wrote 980 new words this afternoon. Again, they may not be beautiful words, but you can’t fix the words you don’t write.

I am … not in a good frame of mind. I did subscribe to The Atlantic and ill-advisedly looked up our names in the database of stolen works.

Every. Word. either of us has ever written, in every translation has been ripped off. Even if they’re made to “pay,” there’s nothing that can balance this theft. I know I’m only one of a vast number of colleagues who have also had their work vacuumed up to feed the greed of rich men. The number of people who hooked school the day “Stealing is Wrong,” was taught passes belief.

And here I sit, trying to write a book. And I really wonder why.

#

Thursday, sunny and warm(ish).

Breakfast was hummus, naan, and an orange. Second cup of tea to hand. Lunch is again on its own.

I’ve been up for a while, though late getting to my updates. I had some correspondence that needed to be answered, and some cats that needed to be snuggled. Figured out how to get from end of this scene to the beginning of that scene. Gordy needs to make a choice, here, and while I know what the choice is, he has to actually do the work of reasoning his way to it.

Thus, the difference between authors and characters.

I haven’t seen anything to the contrary, so I’m expecting there’s ASL class this evening. I should do one more review, and I also want to get Gordy to his decision, so I’ll mostly be here at the desk today.

I want to thank everyone who spoke to the value they place on the universe Steve and I worked in for more than 40 years. Your regard means a lot.

However, as I said elsewhere — the core problem with our society is this notion that awarding someone a dollar amount rectifies a wrong. The only people punished by being made to pay an amount of money to “rectify” a wrong are those people who have no money to being with. Rich people laugh, pay the fine, laugh, and continue down their road, having learned nothing, and utterly without remorse.

In the case of the theft of my life’s work, I don’t want money. (I have never been motivated by money. If I had, I wouldn’t have become a writer, even in a world where my work wasn‘t simultaneously considered frivolous and valuable enough to steal.) I want Balance. I want Them, in the words once written by an author, to lose something that means as much to them as those stories mean to me. I want them to hurt, and to cry, and to bear the scars of their wrongdoing forever.

NPC, indeed.

deep breath

Bedtime reading lately has been Very Nice Funerals, by Crusie and Mayer, the second Rocky Start book. I think the third’s one out now. I should look into that.

I note that Tuesday, April 1, is Book Day for Diviner’s Bow, for those of you who preordered from Amazon, BN, &c. I’ll have to find my Book Releasing Clothes.

So! What’s everybody reading that’s fun?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Mr. Eric Clapton: “It’s in the way that you use it”

Cat census below:

The History of The Stuffed Animal Tea

What went before: So, I decided to take advantage of the nice day, and drove down to Belfast. There was a surprising amount of traffic — I forgot it was Maine Maple Weekend — and when I say “surprising amount of traffic,” that’s for Maine values of traffic.

The public landing was full when I got there, so I parked in the lot on Prospect Street, and had a walk around town. Bought a meat mallet to replace the mallet Steve got rid of (I don’t remember why, and because when I had to pound the chicken breasts, I used a can, and that didn’t work out well for the can) and a set of measuring spoons at The Good Table, and some jewelry cleaner at Coyote Moon.

I love Coyote Moon; it’s been in Belfast since we first drove into town, and probably longer. This is not the timeline where their clothes fit me, but they also stock a sufficiency of Interesting Other Things, which makes it a fun place to visit.

Had a sandwich and a cup of tea for lunch at the co-op, and bought a bag or Bob’s Red Mill oatmeal, because I’m almost out of oatmeal, and I can’t find Bob’s reliably in the Hannaford. Also bought some dried pineapple rounds which is a treat that I love beyond reason. I was sad to find that they no longer carry the Lundberg black rice, which had (briefly) become a favorite of mine.

This was the first time I’d been in the co-op since they FINISHED finished the make over. It’s now a very handsome, well-lit modern facility that still retains an air of the older space. Very well done. I spent a good bit of time just wandering around, admiring everything. VERY much appreciated are the updated bathrooms. She said prosaically.

The shopkeepers were all happy to see customers and chatty — the proprietor at Yo Mama! showed me pictures on her phone of the snow they had in Belfast yesterday, instead of our torrential rains. I wandered around the Green Store, and the alpaca store (full! sized! plushy! alpaca! in the window (not for sale) and! I managed to resist buying one of the very much smaller ones that were for sale).

So, anyhoot, I’m home again, have eaten a scone, and need to do some minor chores, like emptying the dishwasher and taking the cat litter that was delivered to the garage yesterday downstairs, after which I believe I will — read.

Yeah — a Compleat Writer’s Day Off. How daring.

#

Sunday. Sunny. Chillier than it was yesterday, as we prepare for tomorrow’s snow.

My subject this morning is The Stuffed Animal Tea and how it came to be.

It started, then, with Lord Black Cat.

Steve and I were at Boskone (which Boskone, you ask? It was during our Very Busy Traveling Years, and was in fact the Boskone where Robert Silverberg came into the dealer’s room during set up, saw me behind the Meisha Merlin table and told me that he hoped I wasn’t going to be selling books. This has been years ago, and I still can’t figure out if he was kidding.). We were in fact in the dealer’s room, talking to a group of people, and Steve was saying that he missed the cats. I happened to look aside, and there, on the table right next to us, was a cat stuffy. I picked it up and brought it over to Steve, who immediately demanded to know where I’d gotten it and if it was for sale. And it turned out that the owner of the table was among our group of idle chatters and she sold it to him on the spot.

Steve arranged his new friend in his camera bag, so the cat could look out, and off we went to the con.

Many people stopped us to admire the cat, which did not yet have a name, and, I confess that we didn’t know we had a particular cat until a fan stopped, eyes on the cat, bowed, and said, “Kuroneko-sama, welcome to Boskone.” (Number Eight Million Twenty-One on the list of Why I Like Fans.)

We were quickly put into possession of several facts: Kuroneko was from a manga called Trigun, and his name roughly translated was Lord Black Cat.

So, now the cat had a name.

We continued our conly rounds and duties, and people stopped us every so often to say hello to the cat, and were introduced, and pretty often said, “I miss my cat/dog/hamster/parrot.” So, we got to asking people if they hadn’t considered bringing a stuffy with them.

This is where it got interesting. Most of the people we spoke to said that they had a stuffy in the room. I started to ask why they didn’t bring their friend with them, and most said something on the order of “Oh, well, they’re shy, and there’s nobody for them to talk to, anyway.”

On the way home, I remember saying to Steve, “You know? It would be really cool if there was an event for the stuffies, so they could meet each other and not just be by themselves in the room.”

Fast-forward a bit and we’re invited to PenguiCon 4.0. And they want us to do an “event.” An event? And Steve said, “Well, what about your idea of the stuffed animals having a party?” So, we told PenguiCon that we would like to host a Teddy Bear Tea.

Now, it happened that the Looney Lab folk were also Guests of Honor and unbeknowst to us, Alison Looney traveled with several bears and hosted Teddy Bear teas at cons. So, our first Stuffed Animal Event was co-hosted.

It was notable for a few things. One was that someone who had gotten married at the con the day before had donated what was left of her wedding cake to the tea. The other was that the Event was held in an open lobby space directly across from a room being used for readings. The Stuffed Animals, I’m not sorry to say, were a little, um, loud, and the acoustics of the space were what you would expect of a hotel lobby. I’m going to say it was John Scalzi, and he will of course amend my memory if it’s wrong, who was reading, sent one of his listeners to find out what was going on. Said listener came out, asked questions, was given a piece of wedding cake, and went back to report that it was a reception.

So, as it is truly said, In Fandom, if A Thing happens once, it’s a Tradition, whenever Steve and I were Writer GOHs, going forward, and if we were asked to host An Event, we said that we would be pleased to host a Stuffed Animal Tea.

It’s been a lovely tradition; so beautiful to see the stuffies bloom as they’re introduced to each other. And it’s also been interesting to see how the various conventions have interpreted the concept of “Tea” — from a panel room with an electric tea pot, some paper cups and tea bags on the back table with the water, to full-out formal teas, with cucumber sandwiches, and scones. In Pittsburgh, our hostess pulled out her mother’s china and tea service and we had homemade cookies and tea cakes. At — I don’t remember where, and I’m sorry for it, there were tots of sherry on offer. At Heliosphere, we had The Works.

Here ends the history lesson. Below, a picture of Lord Black Cat in his camera bag, and from his attendance at the PenguiCon 4.0 tea.

There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top

What went before ONE: The taxes have come home. I need to rearrange money so I can write some hefty checks and get them in the mail while we still have mailmen in the state.
After I’ve done the rearranging, I do believe I’ll have a scone and a cup of tea.

Trooper has had his first dose of prednisone.

TWO: I have written the hefty checks. I have moved money around, including setting up the quarterly tax reminders. Nerve-wracking work. After I did all that, I went back to Steve’s office, as per protocol and explained what I had done and why, and asked if that agreed with his understanding of how we had agreed to handle the finances.

I didn’t hear an objection, so I guess we’re good to go, and I will be having the extra glass of wine this evening.

Tomorrow, I need to call the insurance and ask them what the heck they’ve decided about the bill from the walk-in clinic that they were going to get right back to me about, given that I now have a nasty-gram from said clinic informing me that my bill is past due.

Other than that, I’ll be baking a loaf of the Russian Black Bread and transcribing/expanding the scenes I wrote out by hand today. A quiet day — knock wood. I could really enjoy a quiet day about now.

Friday. Chilly. Raining like a hootenanny. Apparently this will be our day, except it may rain harder.

Breakfast was tomato and cheddar cheese sandwich. This used up the last two pieces of rosemary bread, which means — yep. Today, I bake.

I’m going to be baking a new loaf for me — Russian Black Bread. Back in the Before Times, when Steve and I were living in Lowergate Court, and were oh-so-very-broke, I used to bake a black bread that was awfully tasty. I long ago lost the recipe, and the only thing I remember is that it called for a cup of Strong Black Coffee and molasses. Today’s recipe calls for espresso powder and cocoa as well as molasses. So, well see how it goes.

In addition to baking a loaf of bread, I need to call the insurance, as previously noted, and I should probably start the laundry, but, honestly? — that may not happen, since I also want to write. Lunch will probably be fish of some kind. Maybe salmon cakes.

So, that’s what’s happening with me.

What’s happening with you?

What happened since: The bread’s in for its first rise.

The Police have graciously provided the title for today’s blog.  “King of Pain.”

Talkin’ trash

What went before: It was an intermittently awful afternoon. I blame the rain. Tali and Rook both had a go at lap-sitting, and were a little tentative. Trooper then stepped in to show them How It’s Done, which — may not have made things better.

Writing, by which I mostly mean rewriting, happened. I now know what needs to happen next on all three lines, which is a great relief.

I was also able to find CJ Cherryh’s remarks on the occasion of her receiving the Heinlein Award, and now I have an idea of how long I might be expected to Say Things, which is also a great relief.

Tomorrow, I need to forage, and then there will be more writing.

Tuesday. Cloudy and chilly. Trash day. I’ll cope with moving bags from the garage to the curb after I have finished this letter to the internets.

Trooper woke me up at 5, for reasons yet to be discovered, though he did allow me to curl up around him and go back to sleep for an hour.

Breakfast was toast and cottage cheese, upgraded from None for Me, Thx, and again from, Oh, well, a piece of toast is breakfast. Don’t even start with me about lunch.

I had sorta kinda wistfully thought that I’d drive down to the ocean today, but that ain’t happenin’. I will be foraging, then doing some picking up around the house. Now that I know that 3 minutes of Remarks is acceptable, I can begin drafting mine.

(Apparently nobody else in the world has to draft their Remarks ahead of time — Steve could certainly do that, and when I had him to feed me lines, or be the straight man, I could ad lib — to a degree — and I’d still be shaking like your linden leaf at the end of it. When it’s Just Me, I need to Plan. So, yes, a huge relief to find that I’m not supposed to stand up in front an auditorium full of people for 20 minutes and talk.)

I’m still fine-tuning the Garmin watch, and this morning realized that it had a Secret Life. I have set bed-and-waking-up times from 10:30 to 7:00, and of course this morning I was up well before 7. And when I looked at my watch face it was not the one had chosen, but the face that had come with, which I had vehemently rejected. Apparently that face is its party clothes. In any case, the minute I looked at it — it blushed, the face flickered just exactly like it was pulling a shirt over its head — and became the one I had chosen.

I hope this moment of embarrassment hasn’t set us back, as I’ve been enjoying our association thus far.

I’m still reading The Tomb of Dragons, which I’ll probably finish this evening. I have The Orb of Cairado in my library, and I’m thinking that will be next.

Who else is foraging today?

Shot from a couple days ago.  Rookie making sure I’ve eaten all my lunch:

Baby, you want the forgivin’ kind and that’s just not my style

What went before: Everything checked off the to-do list except homework. Which is why homework needs to happen in the morning, and after-lunch is writing time.

We’ll figure it out.

Tomorrow, we are to have rain. I will be staying in. The cats have planned a quiet day of napping in honor of St. Gertrude.

And with all that said, and Coon Cat Happy Hour coming right up!

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

. . .

A blessed St. Gertrude’s day to all.

Monday. Raining. Flooding is in our future, though probably not in my personal future, the river being Way Down THERE. One small patch of snow remains in the Long Back Yard.

Breakfast was rice cakes with cream cheese and the last of the sad, black grapes. First cup of tea is well underway. I have a can of tuna and a can of tomato soup. I believe lunch has been decided.

Today is the Actual Anniversary — five years since my mastectomy. About now On That Day, I would have been getting injected with mercury or some such item, much to Steve’s horror, so I could be placed into a machine that would map my innards, pre-op. I remember the tech administering the shot telling me it would hurt. She wasn’t wrong.

The Garmin watch continues to please, even as it adds to the day’s puzzles. Yesterday, I would have — in fact, I believe I did — tell you that I had a mostly quiet and peaceful day, munching through my to-do list, and writing.

Around 8:00, my watch sent me a very kind message, telling me that I had had a Very Stressful Day, poor dear, and should consider relaxing now.

I’ll be interested to see how this plays out, going forward. It may be that the watch and I have Very Different Takes on Stress.

Today, my choice is either to go back to bed or write, so I believe I will write.

What are your choices today?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, a Canadian band, for no reason other than the fact that I’m listening to the radio and the DJ just said that he had never thought of the band as Canadian. OHkay.  Anyhow, if you need to get moving, as who does not:  “Let it Ride.”

Below, a picture of the Hall Blockers Cadets St. Gertrude’s Day project:

Tali’s natal day, clockwork edition

What went before: Well. My watch is updating. I am not accustomed to the watch being my main point of information, so that will be a change. Also, some things that are I guess supposed to be intuitive — aren’t. Like, yanno, putting on the band. I did finally figure it out, but Jeez Louise as somebody once said.

I did get my reading of the WIP done, despite It All. It’s not Terrible, there are some things that are in the wrong place, but since I’m trying to match at least three separate timelines so that everybody can arrive at their meeting at the right times, that’s probably, oh, normal instead of evidence of a Descent into Dementia.

Yanno? When I was twenty, I never worried about a Descent into Dementia. Just sayin’.

I should probably go find some cheese to put on a piece of bread, brew a cup of chamomile tea, and take it and my book with me to bed, hoping for a better day tomorrow, which is!

Tali’s third birthday.

Sunday. Cloudy. Well. I suppose I can concede to the Weatherbeans in this. Foggy. I am led to believe that it will be foggy all day, which I suppose is possible, at the rate that the snow is sublimating. The Long Back Yard is more grass than snow. I was just watching a crow sorting through dead leaves and old grass and fly off with a beakful into the Really Tall Pine Tree, so I’ll guess I’ll have new neighbors.

Breakfast was biscuit with sausage and a slice of cheddar with black grapes. Second cup of tea to hand. Lunch will be — yeah, whatever. Maybe a scone.

As planned, I just put myself and my book into bed at 9, and read while I drank my tea. Firefly and Rook joined me in the bed. Tali took the overlook position at the top of the bookcase. The new watch says I had a “highly restorative” sleep of 7 hours and 40 minutes, with lots of Deep and REM, which have been in short supply lately, and probably why I’ve been feeling so tired.

I must say that I’m enjoying Mr. Harney’s Egyptian Chamomile tea. I’m alternating with the Republic of Tea Chamomile Lemon that a friend sent me, which I’m also enjoying. I’m trying to simplify my life, but I really do think that I’ll order in replacements of both.

I am not dizzy this morning, and I’m counting that a win. I am feeling rather meh (Note to Weatherbeans: Some sunshine would help over here), so, as advised by my new notepad, I made a list, and I do feel (a little) better. On the list is a blankie run, changing out the cat fountains, buying cpap supplies, homework, and writing.

Writing may only be working with the correx/additions I identified yesterday, but that still counts. And! one of the benefits of reading your WIP over (and over and over and…) is that engaging with the story produces more story (i.e. You know what’s missing here? Or, happier: You know what comes next?) I don’t know how writers who just start and flame through to the end of the first draft without ever stopping to read what they’ve already written do it, honestly.

As mentioned previously, today is Tali’s third birthday. She has been celebrating energetically, chasing spring, ball and her kid brother all over the house, so much in motion that I am not at this time able to offer a picture of the Birthday Cat. She did come by and check in with Trooper. He muttered at her, she cleaned his ears, then bolted off to discipline Rook.

The new watch is … interesting. It has a lot more functionality than the FitBit, and is much bigger — despite which, it’s lighter and more comfortable on my wrist. The FitBit and I had never had a warm relationship, even before Google decided to try to force me to buy a Google watch by driving the FitBit insane. By comparison, the Garmin (bear with me, people; we all have to work with the brain we have) is calm and friendly. I’m not used to having so much information on the watch but even so it’s easy to navigate, and I can of course add and subtract the information I want to see. I think I did the right thing.

I’m about halfway through Tomb of the Dragons, and having a good time with it. I had to stop and explain to Firefly that these were not Liaden dragons, because they lived in another book. It’s a hard concept, but I think she got it. At least, she blinked her eyes and went back to sleep.

And that’s it from the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

So! Who has sunshine where they are?

Contented Saturday at the Cat Farm

What went before: Thanks to all for the outpouring of positive energy for Trooper. He seems to me to be more relaxed, and we haven’t had an episode of him hitting me in the arm, or sitting by my feet and crying since we got home. So, fingers crossed that we’ve hit on something helpful.

Er — about Catholic school. Y’all have to remember that this was back in — well. does a quick calculation — 1957. People nowadays treat their dogs with more care and gentleness than ’50s kids ever got. IMHO. And Catholic school was worse than how it was on the outside. Also — I was a Repeat Offender. My mother sent me to school early — Not Quite 6, against ALL the advice that she wait until I was Not Quite 7 — I was left-handed, I couldn’t talk straight, I was already in the “retarded class” (the fact that I could read anything that was put in front of me was discounted because — I dunno. Maybe because I read the words in the “right” order proved that I just didn’t care about talking right?)

In any case, no — I wasn’t kidding, and I wasn’t the only kid who got stapled to the bulletin board, or had their knuckles whacked, or — nuns were inventive, let’s just say that. I’m sorry the image disturbed people — it’s just a Thing That Happened, and it was a long time ago.

Thinking about this a little more: It’s one of the Universe’s jokes, I suppose, that I wound up in a career where I was required to sit-or-stand in front of large groups of people and talk.  Even though I had a most excellent front man in Steve, I still had to occasionally same something.

Saturday. Gloomy, though not particularly foggy here by the river. Weatherbeans are calling for temps around 50F/10C again.

Breakfast was oatmeal, cranberries, walnuts. Second cup of tea to hand. Soup defrosting for lunch. I’m a little dizzy this morning, and got off to a slow start. Good thing I can do most of what I need to do sitting down.

I hear from Informed Delivery that my watch, originally scheduled for delivery on Monday, will be delivered today! Ahem. By 6:30pm. I take leave to doubt this, and expect I’ll see it on Monday, per the original plan. If you’d like to start a betting pool, please step over to the left side of the room by the plants so you don’t impede the folks who want to get to the drinks, or the books.

In Real Life News, the hospital in Augusta, which will be taking the brunt of patients cut loose from Inland Hospital when it closes, is quietly freaking out. It’s been revealed that they, too, are in financial distress (honestly, they’ve been short of cash, doctors, and beds pretty much since they opened). Fun times.

Today will be Sedentary, given the dizzy thing. I will have to go downstairs to perform my duty to the cats, but that can wait a bit. Hopefully, the dizzy will abate.

We pause here for an Advertisement, a PSA and! and Author’s Plea.

Advertisement: Don Blyly, aka Uncle Hugo’s SF Bookstore, is mailing out signed hardcover copies of Diviner’s Bow as I speak. If you want a signed copy, email him at unclehugoATaolDOTcom. If you ordered Ribbon Dance from Uncle last year, and your credit card information has not changed, tell him that, too, and you can have your book in hand BEFORE the release date.

PSA: Related to the above: If, after you finish reading Diviner’s Bow, you find you want to talk about there, a Spoiler Space has been created for that purpose, here.

AUTHOR’S PLEA: I know it’s early days, and Amazon won’t open its review page until the release date, but please consider reviewing the book after you have read it. Reviews are vital. You may think that a series that’s been around since 1988 and has a devoted fan base wouldn’t need reviews — and you would be wrong. The Liaden books have been around for so long, they’re just part of the general landscape — people take them for granted. (This also happened to us when we went to cons — “Oh, it’s Steve and Sharon. They’re always around.” Until, yanno; they’re not.)

And with all that out of the way — My plan today is the comfy chair in my office: writing, homework, correspondence, aaaand . . . yeah, that’s it. The cats are all in their comfy spots, having enjoyed a mid-morning snack of crunchy salmon treats from Blue Wilderness, and despite the predicted race for Warmth, it’s a little cool in my office, due to lack of insolation.

Anyhoots, we’re pretty much content, if a little sleepy, here at the Cat Farm today.

Who else is having a contented day?

In which sleeping well is its own reward

What went before: So, I pulled the trigger on my Garmin watch this afternoon after I came home. After warning me that it could be Several Days before my package would be mailed, I have a shipping notice and the news that I should see my Item by March 17, so Happy Five Years Cancer Free to me.

I sat with the manuscript a bit, but got no new-word-writing done to speak of. Tomorrow, I have “nothing” on the schedule, so I will try to buckle down and actually get some work done.

I have one more thing to get out into the email lanes, then I’m done for the day.

Trooper, alas, has caught on to Spring Forward. He is even now positing that it is Coon Cat Happy Hour, which — it will be Old Time Coon Cat Happy Hour in just 1/2 hour.

That didn’t last long.

Chorus:  Now’s the time to preorder your signed copy of Diviner’s Bow from The Uncle.  Here’s how.

Wednesday. Sunny and cool. The ‘beans are calling for Cooler Than Yesterday.

Breakfast was homemade wheat toast with cream cheese and grapes. My first cup of tea is with me here at the desk.

The loaf of bread is almost gone, so one decision on the day is whether I’m making a new loaf today or defrosting the Extra. Lunch with be chicken patty on a roll with a slice of cheddar — a chickenburger! — and whatever veggies seem good at the time.

I didn’t go to bed last night as early as I had planned (mostly because Tali had actually come to my lap and gone to sleep while I was reading, and I didn’t want to leap right up and disrupt a Milestone), but I did sleep past 7 this morning, so, go me (and Firefly and Rookie who both slept with me), for 8 hours plus of sleep, and I feel much more The Thing today, with a noticeable lack of I ache all over, which is a relief all by itself.

So, the heart monitor is annoying, though not for the reasons you might think. It’s tiny and weighs pretty close to nothing. The phone part of the package runs Hot Pepper (Android 12), which isn’t that many generations back. I think the Pixel 9 in my other pocket runs Vanilla Ice Cream (Android 15).

However, the phone is desperate for attention, and it every so often gets up on its hind legs and triggers the alarm for Poor Skin Contact! Which is my cue to reboot, which mysteriously solves the problem for another three hours or so. Aside that, I do have to be careful about cats who want to sleep on my chest, and also Rookie, who thinks that Thing Two (the spare unit that’s kept on the charging cord on the night table) is some kind of weird cosmic spider that needs Serious Killing.

I have some letters to answer today, including a request for a “good” picture of Steve to be included on the page dedicated to the Steve Miller Memorial Poetry Contest. I have … a few … pictures of Steve, but none from his Performing Poet Period, that having predated my intrusion into his life. We may have to go with a paper plane, if I can find that one.

Other than that, I’m really wanting to do some work today, so maybe I’ll take the spare loaf out of the freezer, after all, in the spirit of limiting distractions.

What are you doing today that’s fun and/or interesting?

Ah.  Paper plane:

Time is for dragonflies and angels

Before we get started, a Shout Out:  Karen Rix Krah, if you are within the sound of my voice, please email me!  Thanking you…

What went before:  Boy, that sweet potato was good. One of the “Japanese” sweet potatoes, with the purplish skin and the white flesh.

I am currently rearranging the drawers in the pantry so I can centralize my baking stuff, and get to it more easily.

When Steve got taken with the need to rearrange things, or clean the house, he would say, “I’m writing — no, really I am.” And it did more often than not turn out that, next day, or that night, he’d be hitting the keyboard.

So, yanno — I’m writing.

Rook came out to the dining room to eat a few crunchies and keep me company. He’s gone back to the jetpak in the living room. Tali and Trooper are in my office with me, and Firefly is spending the day in Steve’s office.

Some Hours Later:  OK, the pantry makes more sense to me now, in re having all the most-used baking things in one accessible drawer instead of some way over my head, some more way down there, and the rest at waist level.

Firefly and Tali were having a game of tag — not sure where Tali is at the moment. Rook is playing with his robot mouse. Trooper is on the co-pilot’s chair with interested ears, trying to figure out What That Kid Is Doing without, yanno, actually getting up and looking.

Sunday

The Early Report: The cats woke me at 6, according to the bedroom clock, which I’ll need to change later. It was of course 7 and probably they’ve done me a favor, but I’m not feeling the love at the moment.

First cup of tea in hand, and I in my robe am sitting in the comfy office chair under a heated blanket, blinking owlishly at the sun rising over the Long Back Yard.

Oof.

Can we just choose one, please?

Later: Sunday. Sunny and chilly. Going to make a sprint for 40F/4C. So say the weatherbeans.

I did sit in the comfy chair, under the heated throw, for an hour, drinking my tea, and staring out the window, which I intend to recommence shortly after I finish writing this dispatch to the internets.

Breakfast was pb&j on an English muffin. Second cup of tea at hand. Lunch will be chicken and veggies. (Though I don’t usually report on the evening meal — last night I had a grilled cheese sandwich and It. Was. Awesome.)

I’ve stripped the bed and have made the Command Decision to retire the flannel sheets for the season. So, that’s A Thing.

And — always aside from one’s duty to the cats, and of course, remaking the bed — that may be all Real Life gets out of me today. I have got to fix this damn’ timing issue, or order in another barrel of handwavium. Or, yanno, both. Can’t have too much handwavium in Da Biz.

How’s everybody feeling today?

Bonus: For the folks wondering if I’ve “grown accustomed.” TED talk from Nora McInerny.  It’s short, and in my admittedly limited experience, accurate.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by the sainted Mr. James Thurber:  The Thirteen Clocks, which, if you haven’t read it — do that.  No, I mean now.