Author: Allegra

Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

Folkfilk I accomplished

“Folkfilk I” accomplished! Planet Bachelor v3.0 has been housewarmed!

1. Paul, *while cleaning up* thanked me profusely for arranging it. Hey I just wanted it at your place so neither Peggy nor I had to clean up afterwards. But that, my friends, is what makes Paul, Paul.
2. SO lovely to hear Alexis Hinde singing again, and her swansong was Amanda F. Palmer’s Ukelele Anthem, which Brian, Paul, Mike and I enjoyed immensely.
3. Finding out Hal trains people in medieval Japanese martial arts, specially with pole weapons = win. Also, he is a very flash guitarist.
4. Chili got et, but not all of it, so my brother gets some. Peggy brought plum cake.
5. Brian C. has an extremely lovely electric guitar and his noodlings added that je ne sais quoi of 60’s twang and reverb.
6. Brooke Abbey sang “The Wreck of the…..” to the plaudits and open amusement of the crowd. Peggy chimed in with that bowed bass which provides the one moment of gravitas. Plus I asked for “It’s just so nice when someone knows your name.”
7. Next one’s at Lunders in a couple of weeks, more deets later, and the one after that at my place (Geekhaus). Everybody wants more, so why not??
8. My evil plan to relieve the Lunders of every last one of their kazoos continues apace. Mine is an etc etc etc.

Some progress

Used CPAP last night.  The Liposic allowed me to open my eyes without creaking this morning (still dreffle dry, but not the :spend twenty minutes thinking sad thoughts to get my tear ducts to work so I can open them: dry of yesterday morning, which was a horrid start to the day). My new routine is Liposic at night since I can’t see a ****ing thing when I put that stuff in, and Systane in the morning since it is much runnier.  I am also going to start supplementing with evening primrose oil again and start monitoring how many hours a day I am at the computer and watching tv, which will probably horrify me into a neurasthenic stupor.  Also I have to drink water or tea instead of coffee, GRRR.

The congregational dinner was absolutely lovely and I sang Tapioca, but my almost new medical problem (self-diagnosed from symptoms, so YMMV, and almost certainly triggered by my slip and fall in the shop although the broken shoulder got all the attention) fixed it so that by the end I was barely able to walk, drive or lift anything, which given that I was on the cleanup crew didn’t halp.  I am good for about 2.5 k of walking before the pain is so bad I start to waddle (which is characteristic) and all the strength goes out of my legs, (ditto). When I got out of bed this morning all the bones in that region of my body grated and popped like a ship’s rigging in bad weather.

As this is almost certainly the consequence of not having proper foot support and wearing the same shoes day in and day out (which Chipper has warned me about many times) I need to drag myself off to the doc and get a scrip (again, I lost the first one) for  foot support and to quit walking barefoot in the house, since anytime I put my foot to the floor without arch support I’m just being an idiot and making it worse.

Last night as I was driving home a passenger jet came so close to the ground as I was driving along 10th between 8th and 6th that I nearly drove off the road, and then it BANKED like it was heading into the ground.  I have no problem with jets flying over my house as long as they are 1000 ft AGL like they are supposed to be, but that close scared the bejabbers outta me.

Chili and buns for today’s meal has been prepared or purchased.  I’ll head over to Planet Bachelor at some point after church.

So tired… all I can think of is coffee, and I shouldn’t.

Why won’t you die? (It’s a song, don’t worry)

Here it is…

Also, I thought I’d lost a different SG1 song, and it turns out I haven’t.  I’ll have to construct a new tune for the verse, but the chorus (the most important part of the song) is still firmly lodged.

Yesterday was an editing as opposed to writing day, but I still ploughed through some stuff on section 2, mostly in the “minions find the hologrammic skeleton” section.  I also did laundry, cleaned up cat puke and cat litter, baked a banana cake, ran the dishwasher, talked to a bunch of my friends on the phone and drank far too much coffee.

I think it’s possible I had the CPAP on for as much as four hours last night.  I get very dry eyes and it’s hard to swallow.

Buster is just as affectionate as ever.  Apparently he enjoys my skritches.  He has learned how to scoot his ass across the floor to scratch his bum where the surgery was, since it probably still itches like fury, and whenever he does it I burst out laughing, for never did I see a cat so locomote.  He can get up quite a turn of speed.  When he still had the cone on he was dreaming about cleaning himself in his sleep.  (Paw twitching, tongue coming dreamily out in licking motions).  He has finally policed himse’f up to the point he no longer smells, which is probably a relief to everyone.  He’s still pestering Margot, and yet they sleep in the same room, every day.

I will be getting chicken and chili ingredaments today for my various activities today – Jeff got home from various work related stuff so late I didn’t feel like going out.  Kids are going to Victoria, yay!  My mOm is kvelling herself into a little groove there, I’m quite sure.

Buster’s promenade

He came back about 5 am after an evening catting around, and demanded, importuned, and got up in my grill for skritches.  Then he abused Margot for a while, who is starting to have tics from all the chasing around, she’s permafreaked.

I’m reading Amanda Palmer’s The Art of Asking.  She is a very remarkable person.  Check out her TED talk.

I’m off the grocery store to get what I need for foodicles for the Beacon Congregational Dinner and the chili for the Anti_superbowl_musicfest on Sunday.  Much cooking.

Went to Fish the same day Paul and I went to the Foreshore park and picked up a PERFECT haddock filet, which Jeff and I devoured with happiness.  Last night it was a really yummy pork chomp with taters and red pepper and tomato.  I was going to make it like a greek salad but the feta was growing a most interesting and scary kind of mold, sigh.

Back to the CPAP machine.  Two hours of not sleeping, followed by maybe one hour of sleeping with the mask on, at which point I woke up and ripped it off.  This morning both of my eyes were stuck shut.  If I am going to continue I have to solve the dry eyes problem.  Apparently I don’t have enough grease in my eyes.  I am disgusted by the prospect of seeing a doctor about it, so I may just use hospital tape and tape my eyes shut, a solution that at least has the advantage of being cheap.  I may also get Omega three oils, if I can find one that doesn’t give me heartburn flavoured like the ass end of a fishing trawler.

Sandy’s toilet is now running again after much stupidity and spending of money and waiting for plumbers.  I hope to the incorporeal remnants of religion that she sells the place this year, as much as I don’t want her to because I love the house and campground.  Paul wants to take me out there for a flying visit at some point and I am much pleased by this notion.

I am FINALLY back on the writing horse, 600 words yesterday and with luck I’ll get something done today. Reading Amanda Palmer helps.

Grateful

I have been fed a pleasant breakfast at White Spot by Jeff; I have finally finally read The Fall of the House of Usher, and much pleased with it was I (Jeff triggered me reading it by declaring yesterday that just smelling coffee brewing made him uncomfortable, so I got up and read the story – and now I’m thinking of reading Poe’s Eureka, seeing as how it’s all over the news); Buster’s cone of shame is off and he’s been for a nice walk around the yard with Jeff in tow; I have heard nice words about the first part of the novel from a friend; Paul took me for a lovely long walk in the Fraser Foreshore Park yesterday as the sun beat down with an intensity truly thrilling for the end of January (and he tried to tease me into a canoe ride on the Fraser, which I lifted my eyebrow and nothing else at) and let me drive thither and hence; I have a plan of attack (finally) for section two that I think will possibly even work this time; I have a plan of what to do when I’m not writing. Much of my anxiety over the last little while has been shed, although I still think we’re going to get an earthquake. Hey, I prepared as well as I can and I know where my go bag is and what my first move will be.  (Making coffee on the barbecue for the rescue workers).

And apart from the deck being more slippery than Stephen Harper’s morals this morning, everything is a-ok. Oh, and Suzette Haden Elgin is dead. Her observations on language and feminism have deeply and crookedly informed my own ideas.

Give me five, give me ten

Give me Five
Give me Ten
Give me round the bend again
you will know when I roll
through your town
Give me Five
Give me Ten
Give me round the bend again
as I impart the wisdom that I’ve found

You may stray
o so far away
you may go where only god can follow
But your mind will find
a thousand ways to shine
and your heart may ache and never yet
be hollow

Chorus

You may settle down
in some quiet town
You may mind your business and your manners
But life itself will not stay on any shelf
and it kicks aside whatever’s in your planner

chorus

Will you lift your wings and fly
into a strange new sky
Is every minute made for thought and caution
If you stay behind will you get to change your mind
or get hung out to dry just like your washin

Chorus

You may wait … for an important date
And find that life has gone by in the meantime
But it’s one short breath between your birth and death
so you might as well enjoy yourself between time

Chorus x 2

Every age holds its terrors

At 56, I do not wish to be fooled.  So when I see something on the internet about how if you type in

“Im 9 should I”

and then increment up by one year until you hit forty, you get this.

I thought, you know that is just bullshit.  I bet I get different results.  Well, not by much.  It’s a horrific indictment of our culture, our family structures, our septic and moth-eaten education, and the din of heteronormativity.

Herewith, the Allegra Sloman Google search poem entitled I’m x should I.

I’m 9 should I wear a bra

I’m 10 should I date

I’m 11 should I finger myself

I’m 12 should I finger my girlfriend

I’m 13 should I finger myself

I’m 14 should I shave

I’m 15 should I lift weights

I’m 16 should I finger myself (Ed. back to that again I see)

I’m 17 should I buy M Rated games

I’m 18 should I get a credit card

I’m 19 should I move out

I’m 20 should I get life insurance

I’m 21 should I move out

I’m 22 should I move out

I’m 23 should I move out

I’m 24 should I join the military

I’m 25 should I go to college

I’m 26 should I go back to school

I’m 27 should I join the military

I’m 28 should I have a baby

I’m 29 should I work out

I’m 30 should I work out

I’m 31 should I have a baby

I’m 32 should I have a baby

I’m 33 should I freeze my eggs

I’m 34 should I have a baby

I’m 35 should I have a baby

I’m 36 should I shave my pubes

I’m 37 should I have a baby

I’m 38 should I have a baby

I’m 39 should I have a baby

I’m 40 should I have a baby

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Northern Hemisphere gets weather

It’s precipitating like, very hard, man, in a variety of places, including, according to my correspondents, England.  Israel and Norway are also getting pounded.

This showed up in my feed this morning courtesy of Ian Michael Walden

To quote the Two Ronnies – “It’ll be choking ’em in Wokingham, killing ’em in Gillingham, and if you live in Lissingdown, take an umbrella”.

YOINK.

Paul asked for additional support for the Yes, It Continues unpacking yesterday.  We also noodled around for a while (quite a while in my case) on musical instruments and vacuumed and swept various surfaces in prep for the party on Sunday…. and Paul made pork stir fry with yellow curry sauce and quinoa and greek salad om nom nom, while I collected Keith from work. Ayesha is a TUB but so affectionate and sweet.

The downstairs neighbours are appropriately chastened that Buster wuz not a grrl.

It would be nice to have a job.  This week I started pulling all my lyrics into one place; I know I’ve written a lot of songs. I’ve gotten better at it as I get older.  The novel sits glaring at me.

Sandy’s pipes are frozen.  My travails, in many respects, are small.

a visit

Keith and Paul came over yesterday and we watched chunks of Ken Burns’ The Civil War and went for a walk in the glorious sunshine. It was lovely to have Keith here.

I made chocolate chip oatmeal flax cookies. And now they are gone, surprise surprise.

I found this article on weight loss really interesting.

 

And, for Midnite Moving, this looks kinda interesting as well.  Mostly because it helps solve the problem (by reframing what’s possible) of how George moves electricity around his body when he doesn’t have, you know, organs.

It’s early, but I think I’m going to go for a walk.  And….. I did go for a walk.  The weather is quite pleasant.

Written for Conflikt

Blow you winter winds
blow where you please
hang your icy bunting
on the barren trees
decorate the windows
with capricious lace
send your storm clouds flying
cross the lunar face

Dandelions dreaming
underneath their banks of snow
Soon they will be blooming
Soon enough the seeds will blow

Blow you winter winds
gales and chills
howl around the hollows
echo through the hills
Bringing snow and fog
bringing ice and rain
A moment of the sun
then all is dark again.

Blow you winter winds
blow where you will
Now my spirit feels
oh so small and still
Soon we’ll close the door
on your bleak refrain
For we will rejoice
and we will sing again

Blow you winter winds
mark my skin
Soon I will be warm
with my loves and kin
Two foot and four foot
All will be within
There’s a roaring fire
at the Dandelion Inn

Dandelions dreaming
underneath their banks of snow
Soon they will be blooming
and soon enough the seeds will blow

It isn’t a poem

b ut it’s mine, and it’s mildly amusing

A poem, condensed from my Tweets over the last year

Bizarre bromance

by GrandmaOgre <---- my twitter handle Than a lesbian think I'm a bigot. Way through to spare your feelings. We do what we can with what we got. Shit. Fortunate dudebro! Blessings! Against the NFL. Prepping popcorn. And call it the whole beast. When the blind pig finds an acorn? It needs to be widely broadcast. Go Jodie! Leave the perfect to the critics. Valve. Some traditions need to die. I have ever used it works fine. Had no idea what they were called. "God wills it!" & "I got Mine"

Wild

I was deeply moved by, and greatly enjoyed, this movie starring Reese Witherspoon and Laura Dern.

On my brand new seven star Unitarian movie rating scale, it’s a seven out of seven.

It’s essentially a feminist hero’s journey, without being preachy or intellectual. Some drugs and nudity.

Response to Björk interview

oh what is written on this page
and how connected to this other
the words are most important
not the glue that holds the book together

perhaps in this light you can see
what seems to be invisible
pushing against the limits of sight
and derision

How could that glue be more important than the book
when the pages have now come loose and rebuke
all order
she was glue
she was invisible glue

and now the book she held together is gone

you mourn the missing words
and speak of Herculaneum
and when the scrolls were put aside
until some scientist could peer into them
and see how the ink stood out from the ashen pages

perhaps one day you will see me as I am
invisible glue
and in the meantime
you will celebrate
nothing but what I hold together