Month: January 2023

quietly productive

I emptied and ran the dishwasher, wiped down the hellhole surfaces in the kitchen closest to the compost buckets and got most of the rain of tomato out of the microwave, trained the cat, made and thoroughly enjoyed a coffee, possibly wrote a song, did my wordle and lumosity training, clipped Buster’s claws, made ‘meat and potatoes’ for lunch, sent a thousand words to mOm, figured out what my next couple of scenes are (although I’m not putting pressure on myself to write) and I generally luxuriated in the life of a retired person. I took my meds at the right time. I stayed hydrated. I put in eyedrops before I went to bed.

That’s what I’m supposed to do, right?

Watched the Netflix film the Pale Blue Eye. Harry Melling as Edgar Allan Poe was wonderful. Harry Melling’s grandad was the second Doctor Who, who knew. Gillian Anderson’s bizarre mom to a bizarre family was …. bizarre and hypercreepy.  Christian Bale as the haunted detective was quite effective. I really enjoyed the script. Unlike many scripts (many, many; hear me whine) set in historical times, it neither gracelessly dropped modern slang like horseshit into a griddle nor overdid the ceremony and style of days of speech in days of yore. I didn’t hear a single anachronism. Do you have any idea how pleasant that is for a writer? I mean there were many constructions that would likely not have happened in the 1830s, but nothing so far from contemporary usage that it was repellent. For that alone, huit sur dix.

Jeff Bezos, may the intertwined Fates of a thousand cultures give him his reward, has, through Amazon, bought an Indian publishing house called Westland Publishing. It is one of the few publishing houses in India that has the wit and courage to publish ANYTHING that challenges Hindutva. (Spoiler alert, I think that all countries are idiotic, but once you have a settled state that calls itself a democracy, you should perhaps not support a political ideology that FIGHTS LIKE HELL AGAINST PLURALISTIC DEMOCRACY BECAUSE HINDUS ARE JUST BETTER, KK? Plus the caste system is groovy, men own women’s bodies, marital rape is super cool, cops can kill women who report rapes after raping them again, and Muslims are arson targets) OKAY maybe I’m being a racist asshole, oh look, I’m not. I really don’t think that China and India holding hands over kicking the shit out of Muslims is a good look for either country; people are dying in riots pogroms and political reeducation camps in both countries. Anyway, Bezos is literally supporting global fascism by doing that and we already knew he was a cruel billionaire, but HONESTLY can’t he just fucking stop.

Anyway, the closure of the publishing house means that hundreds of titles are no longer available. Absolutely no word on how and when they could be available elsewhere. There’s more than one way to be fash. Having the money to buy good things that support democracy and discourse, and destroy them (huLLLLLO Elongated Greaserat) is fascist.

a six year old is in custody for shooting his teacher. The cops didn’t arrest the person responsible for leaving a loaded pistol out. Everything you need to know about gun culture in the US in one story. (from CNN website, 6-year-old in custody after shooting teacher in Virginia, police chief says By Amanda Musa and Jennifer Feldman, CNN
Updated 7:19 AM EST, Sat January 7, 2023)

 

No achievements

The only thing I actually accomplished yesterday was a draft Power of Attorney. I had to pay for it of course but I don’t mind that. I also ordered us a White Spot breakfast, ran the dishwasher and fed the birds.

CURVEBEAK made a brief appearance and I greeted him. He really is a unique looking crow – picture a beak half again as long as a regular crow beak with a 90 degree curve at the end, and he’s a chonker, although whether that is composed of feathers or bulk is hard to say.

Suzanne, after her pestiferous influx of jumping mice (not house mice, these things are insane) has a cat FINALLY. Katie can only hope to get one. Their mouse situation continues gross, and we have a rat at least one rat in the house.

 

 

Late post

Normally I’ve posted by now but I’ve been feeling lazy. Keith called. We chatted about pretty much the only thing that’s on our minds right now. Paul is still very concerned about the car – there’s an appointment to fix his Echo on Jan 12.

Oleksiy Danilov says, via twitter this morning:

How does a pack of petty kremlin devils relate to a Christian holiday? Who will believe scum that kills children, bombards maternity hospitals, tortures prisoners? A ceasefire? Lies and hypocrisy. We will bite you in the singing silence of the Ukrainian night.

This in response to the Russian demand for a Christmas ceasefire. Yikes. The grim poetry of defiance.

Keith wants to write an essay called, “Okay Canadians do you understand the Russians now?” about how they have the power to change their circumstances but don’t because they’re busy staying alive.

This will be a cold hard winter, not that Galen Weston, extracting record profits from broke Canadians, cares.

50 foot waves off the California coast with the bomb cyclone. The visualizations on ventusky dot com are WILD.

Europa just broke every January record for how hot it was. They were recording summer-in-vancouver temperatures across thousands of kilometres.

 

sadly no mochi

I lookit evvywhere in the freezer aisles, no go. I imagine if it was in a more Chinese neighbourhood it would be different. Do I REALLY want to go to T n T? er no. I’ll keep my eyes peeled when I’m out though.

Jeff and I are still enjoying the leftovers from our SUMPTUOUS REPAST™. He really wishes he’d been in better shape for the main event, but leftovers rule!

Jeri Lynn broke a rib coughing. Story of our lives these days. Jeffrey her husband is being very helpful (it’s his default setting; he’s one of the dearest and kindest of men, not that anykind else would be worthy of her, lol.)

Very much looking forward to the new season of Miss Scarlett and the Duke. Yes, it’s Victorian copaganda, but we do so love the principals, and mOm enjoys making a recommendation for a show to us once in a way.

I stole Jeff’s Oodie after I gave mine to mOm and I’m practically living in it; if I’m wearing it I don’t need the heater on in my room at night.

Thinking with longing of my friends and family today; Dave in his east facing eyrie at Bathurst and Sheppard, the jasmine and the sandalwood. Peggy in her sprawling house filled with family and TOoo MucH sTUff. All the Dunnett folk across the country and elsewhere, madly sending greetings on the chat line. All the Statpower folks. I could have seen Jerome and didn’t. I’m not exactly phobic about public spaces but I ‘git anxious’ that’s for sure. Mike in his west facing eyrie along Kingsway. No sunbathing in December on his balcony, that’s for sure. Alexis ensconced in the family eyrie in the West End. Feeding hummingbirds; tracking our insaniam producendo weather. Jarmo and Susanna and Ninja the kitty, grieving still and always, since Ville (may his name be remembered) passed over the holidays. Tammy – it wasn’t enough, what I saw of her. Glenn – how I would enjoy just sitting and drinking coffee with you somewhere, to roll all this madness and sadness around and try to get a grip on it. Rob P, who told me YEARS ago to watch Farscape. Sue and Marylke and Katie S. and Ivy and Madelyn. Talks and shows and canoe trips and their deep listening. M&D and Ontie Mary. Missing Jim. I barely saw him these last five years, but I can’t think about his death without an inner wail that comes from my toes.

I should call Jan. There are a lot of shoulds. Too many.

This is my heart’s longing, that you all be well and facing 2023 with the love and equanimity we will all need. It’s gonna be rough folks and we need to be helpful and soft to counteract it all.

sleeping pattern

Once again I’m sleeping five or perhaps six hours at night and napping after I get up in the morning. My room is freezing; woke up at one and got a hot water bottle, which is now resting against my tum, and turned the tiny ceramic heater back on.

No writing yesterday, but I reviewed things. Ate like a princess thanks to the leftovers.

Got the wordle in three tries this morning without cheating, and I’m actually quite surprised even if I was very logical about my word choices.

I can hear a jet going over the house, I thought this was quiet time.

Mochi

Jeff and I were exposed to mochi for the first time (frozen, chocolate ice cream mochi which is apparently available at Saveon) last night, and I forgot to mention it as part of the meal.

Paul phoned, insisting that I drive the car to come pick him up so I advised that I’m not taking it anywhere until it’s fixed and I don’t have an appointment yet. Then he demanded to be told what to do with Tom and John’s ashes (they are not mixed together in case you read that with horror) and I said that he has two other siblings and their opinion counts for more than mine. He apparently got on the phone to Peggy too, I can only wring my hands over how that convo must have gone because he sounded quite pugnacious. The problem is, once he has a problem in mind it stays there until he’s distracted, so he’ll probably be stewing about this.

Anyway, having reviewed everything that happened last year (haw as of two days ago) I can now understand why I am having crying jags every day and feeling terrible – not depressed exactly but grieving…. I have felt a lot more energetic of late, but it stops at the door of the house. Shopping tomorrow – I’ll get out of the house whether I want to or not. AND BUY MOCHI nom. As you get older, food becomes the only stalwart….

now that was a meal

I made the gravy (roast drippings sufficient) and the salad and the roasted potatoes; Mike made the shrimps with garlic, the three rib prime rib, the airfried brussel sprouts. Jeff and I and Mike ate ourselves into a state of pleasant repletion and I just ducked out of cleanup long enough to brag about it. Mike dry aged the roast for a week. Unbelievably tender and juicy.

superb meal, no notes. We’re lucky dogs and that was an incredible start to 2023, thank you o founder of the feast.

653 words on ‘The New Guy’.

Happy new year

The Darkling Thrush
BY THOMAS HARDY
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.