Month: September 2015

Fml

I can’t sleep.

We’re going to pick up half a lamb with Tish and Terry tomorrow – we’re in Cornwall – and then go see baby Malcolm who is breathing on his own and nursing like a champ.  Yay!

I have had lots of major and minor irritations about the trip so far but can’t provide details.  The femicides in the Wilno area and the utter incompetence of the OPP in policing and the CBC in reporting merely added to the things that make me sad.

The saddest thing of all is how badly I want to get on the plane and go home. I’ve never missed Jeff so much.

Some things are good, the amazing mushrooms and the canoe jaunt to the falls and Shadow cat and no bugs and pleasant fall weather.

I can feel some interest in writing coming back. The characters are talking to me again.

As is standard the table last night had all manner of lovely fare; Patty pan squash and ribs with home made barbecue sauce, eddo (which is a starchy corm yes Jeff I hadz a corm) and taters and home made salsa.

Mind you the veal stew Sandra cooked night before last was spectacular, along with the lovely cheese and rice. I ain’t starving.

 

Almost enough sleep maybe possibly

So I’m off to Ottawa and then rental car and then Red Deer Log Cabins  and then a quick dash down to Cornwall to see Tish and Terry and then back to Red Deer and then home.

I’m not taking my computer. If I post it will be on a borrowed computer somewhere.

I’ll be back next week, then going away again for the first weekend in October to a restorative justice conference in Nanoose Bay.

 

Sun’s out

I’m happy.  Despite everything.  You’ll see.

Went walking with Keith yesterday, and I doubt very much that I’ll be doing that again very soon.  I have a high tolerance for aberrant behaviour, but the only time I can deal with Keith these days is when there are other people present. Otherwise he yells at me.  Not all the time, but once during lunch (which I paid for) and twice while we were walking.  The animus in his voice is primal, and it’s time I recognized things.

So I pick up the phone and call him.  I make sure he’s awake, able to take the call privately, and tell him that I don’t want to spend time with him alone, because my mental health is hanging by a string, and if he’s angry at me – hey, no problem. I’m not strong enough to walk down the street with my pubic symphysis be grinding like a rock crusher while a twenty-nine year old man who has not lived on his own yells at me to tell me that he doesn’t think he’s a member of my family. *

Sample speech, “Oh that’s typical of something your family would say,” which, when, you know, you pushed him outta your body and all, makes you think of the picture of Amanda Fucking Palmer and Neil Gaiman, who just gave day to an heir.  “He’ll grow up to be all shouty and entitled too, you poor dears.”

I mean, Paul was there, in the delivery room. He saw Keith being born and I suspect if I asked him he’d corroborate the story.

Anyway, I don’t like being yelled at while I’m feeling this crappy already, so I told him no alone time with mumzie (that is how I will refer to myself in the third person in future so as to be distinguishable, and that’s my errant spelling of Jim P’s most lovely spoken version of it) until I’m feeling strong enough for it.

I told him that I make heroic efforts not to make my mental health problems other people’s. I have to avoid situations that will prostrate me. I came home from the walk yesterday anguished mentally and physically tired (although not destroyed) and believe me it was the mental anguish that was at the top of the stairs.

I can’t deal with intimates yelling at me, and I’m trying really hard not to yell myself these days although Jeff’s eyes just popped out at the very notion that I am making any effort at all. He has, I believe, contemplated buying me a t-shirt that says, “I’ll quit yelling when I’m DEAD” with one of those 50’s women in a helmet of hair with her mouth open and her eyes shut and her hand to her mouth — but has held off because it’s not in a colour I wear.

Keith was very dignified during the conversation, which was mercifully brief and civil.  I have asked for a boundary, feel much relieved, and now we’ll see.

And I’m happy.  Being depressed means being happy that you were able to do something taxing, but necessary.  If I’m going to be a punching bag, I want to get paid.

And with that, Moar Words, but elsewhere.

 

Woo hoo, 15 words

Also did a mockup of the cover for the first novel and sent it around to various folks, most of whom have responded favourably.

I did an immense amount of laundry yesterday and I haven’t finished putting it all away so that is where my spoons will go today.

Very nice walk with Jeff early yesterday morning as we went to IHOP, So a total of 3 k walked yesterday.  As is normal I didn’t start feeling it until coming up that damned hill.

NDP candidate canvasser wanted me to put up a lawn sign, and I respectfully refused.

Laundry and Season 5

I’m reading Steven Pinker’s The Better Angels of Our Nature, which weighs in at a hefty 800 pages, so I’m taking it slow and marking up my mother’s copy (with her permission). He argues that human society is less violent overall than it used to be and the Enlightenment (including novels, woo hoo and yes I’m truncating one tiny part of his overall argument scandalously) is largely the root cause of the drop in the death rate due to violence (current outbreaks of horror notwithstanding).

I’m finding it very persuasive, learning a great deal, and it’s filling me with lots of thinky thoughts.

There are those who argue that he’s full of it (including a really head scratching review by John Gray in Prospect which includes having at the argument by mocking Pinker’s excessive use of statistics, which I find an appalling thing for a public intellectual to do, but whatever.)

I liken the inability to see the drop in violence (how many people per 100000 die due to murder and intra and interstate violence, which has dropped substantially since 1800) to what’s going on with alcohol consumption. There is still lots of alcohol being sold, lots of alcohol being consumed and lots of alcohol involved in premature death. But there’s less drinking and driving causing death than there was when I was a kid, because behaviours have changed, and children learn not to drink and drive as part of their education.

Alcohol, like violence, is still here and there’s still too much of it, but education and opprobrium continue to work their harm reducing wiles.

 

Also, the quality drop from Season 4 to Season 5 in The West Wing is like being flung from a cliff.

Also, I did 5 loads of laundry yesterday including the kitchen rugs, ran the dishwasher and swept the kitchen floor, which really needed it.

MR2 is still in the Krankenhaus waiting for parts.  He is leaking coolant.

No words yesterday but I’m comfortable with that.

One more month

Before we either throw Harper out or he steals the election, one or the other.

Only edits yesterday.

I tried to make oatmeal cookies yesterday and it was NOT an unmitigated disaster.  (I didn’t use Granny’s recipe, pace Jeff.) We can scoop the caramelized oatmeal goo out of a container if we’re so inclined, and eat it.

 

 

these people are armatures

So anyways I’m getting to that point where I’m starting to think about self-publishing and e-publishing, and I start looking for help on line, regarding formatting and such. A sentence from one of these articles, apparently from a self-publishing guru, goes like this:

“I don’t want to get into the importance of your cover and how it plays a HUGE role in the reader’s choice of book, or how it should look good big and as a thumbnail on the Amazon page, or how most users can pic an armature cover from a mile away.”

Okay buddy whatevs.

 

 

344 words

I realized that my opening scene needs more justice (I mean, what’s the point of carrying a tired old flag for social justice non-combatants without anyway you know what I mean).  Okay off to twitter to unload that 140 characters, back now.

Madawaska next week.  I’m supposed to be here this weekend.  I do not believe I’ll be going to Anita’s memorial service though as I am still in talks with mOm about visiting.  I JUST HATE THE BUS SO MUCH SO MUCH SO MUCH and I’m not asking for a lift because Mr.2 is not a good candidate for a highway trip right now and my last rental was 250 bucks so unless I’m getting a lift with Paul I’m not coming ‘cross the Salish Sea anytime soon.

I am so pissed off.  I could have been a stand up comic at 11, but I was too busy reading Harlan Ellison and watching moon landings.

Heinz writing

Only 57 words.  Also a lot of walking, a lot of napping and a lot of BABY ALEX.  He let me snuggle him for 30 seconds while he didn’t realize I was doing it (he was facing his mother.) I got to watch him conquer a playground.  Paul took video.

He crawled at speed across the wooden chips at the adventure playground at the south end of Robert Burnaby Park, found a bar that is at his waist height, and then whacked and attempted to eat it. Then he pushed himself over the bar in an attempt to somersault or otherwise get over it. At the last possible second to avoid a mild face-planting impact, his mother grabbed the seat of his pants and gave him a soft landing.  With astonishing speed he pivoted, crowed in triumph and then tried to do the same thing going in the opposite direction.

I also watched him play very noisily with a Tonka truck, attempt to throw himself down any set of stairs possible, and smack his lips and grunt while eating. He takes a bite, smacks his lips and opens his mouth loudly while saying, AH! like a grownup with that first mug of coffee in the morning – he’s apparently imitating his pater.

The first time he did it (Paul, Katie and I lunched at Planet Bachelor Plus One – the boys have a lodger until October 1, a delightful young woman who just got a job downtown and needed bridge lodging) Paul and I laughed so heartily that we startled him and he quit eating, his eyes huge and his lip out in dismay. After about ten seconds he got that evil Warner Brothers grin and started doing it on purpose until the two of us were useless with laughter. (Katie rolled her eyes.) Paul’s got one of them on video but I imagine the camera will be shaking so hard the image will be useless.

I didn’t take any pictures.  There are lots of baby Alex pictures, but for now I have a beautiful day at the park in my memory and that’s enough.

Then home for a nap.  Katie calls me at 7 and I go YIPE and get dressed, grab Otto and walk to Planet Bachelor Plus One, during which walk I had a very brief non-run-in with the running Lady Miss Banjola; we exchanged greetings. Her runners are VERY PURPLE but she was otherwise particoloured and I don’t think even the drivers of Vancouver would have been able to pretend they couldn’t see her. At Planet Bachelor Plus One Paul purchased and fed us A FEAST OF Chanaa Masala and Curried Prawns and Bhindi and Garlic Naan and Butter Chicken and Mogo and Pullau Rice.  EVERYTHING was so tasty and perfectly cooked it was very very lovely and Alex started to melt down and Katie left and Paul drove me home.

Today I make no plans.  Soon come the trip to Ontario.

 

so tootle so tootle so tootle your flute

Or FIFES, I can hear FIFES.

 

 

 

This is my blog

This is my only blog

This is my only blog of blogs that I will ever flog

and social media is a selfie-clogged bog

full of piggy palpating kitties

and wild skateboarding dogs

Rock me gently in the loving arms of WENDELL.

 

Wendell Clark just followed me on twitter. If you don’t know who Wendell Clark is, then you watch much less television than I do.  And if you do know, then you know why I’m happy.

380 words

To my mOm’s chagrin and lightly tousled horror, I have commenced the third book without finishing the second one, which is what I did the last time, so she should quit worrying.  Also, the first sentence, which unlike the last two novels is action packed and follows all the rules about grabbing your reader by the nose and yanking them forward into events, kinda came out of nowhere.

However I’ll be back at the Old Number Two today, so she can quit worrying.

Alex still has no interest in me picking him up. BUT and this is enormous, he initiated play with me yesterday, and that is very happy making. (It was peekaboo.) Katie and Alex and I had a lovely walk and lunch at the Heritage (which is open for lunch on weekends, but not during the week any more.) Then Keith, to make the circle of descendants complete, came by and talked about some writing that he’s doing, and was cheerful, but I crashed.  Fed him chocolate rice pudding though… he liked it.

Also I picked up a book about restorative justice to help with Paul’s talk in October in Nanoose Bay.

WHY DO I SET THE SIXER TRILOGY in VANCOUVER?  Because.

I have given up on Firefox.  My computer runs ten degrees C  cooler on Chrome, although it’s just as much of a memory hog, so there you go. There’s stuff all over the internet about how recent changes to Firefox are murder on MacBooks.