Category: Domestic Life

Just shy of the half way point

It will be so full of ideas, fun characters, crazy action and snappy dialog that no one will notice it has no plot.  (Of course it has a plot, I just don’t care about that part).   And if I follow the Dunnett Plan, a plot is just a way to get me from one awesome set piece to the next; those parts of the story that you go back and re-read because they are so funny, or mysterious, or moving, or scary or just plain action-packed.

1000 words yesterday. I can’t see the floor to my room, and I don’t care. Write every day while the world burns?  Same as it ever was.  I’ve gotten through every bad day before.

This is a completely different kind of February.  I’m used to feeling blah, and I don’t.

I wonder if I can get Jeff to take me shopping when he wakes up, there’s not anything I want to eat in the house right now.

 

sleeeeep

Margot just nosed her way into my room; which reminds me, I have to get on my hands and knees and wipe all her eye goop off the doors and walls in those places she normally stands.  She has a rip roaring case of ephoria, brown watery eyes.

Her breathing has been a little more stertorous of late.  She’ll be better when she is coming and going through her little cat door again.

Today, writing, practicing, seeing the floor of my room.

sadly, didn’t make wordcount

But it was a productive day in other ways.  I dealt with some more of the fallout from the shop, paid all my bills and figured out how much I owed Jeff for the last two months here; saw Katie and got some smoking hot and unrepeatable gossip from her which caused the two of us to fall about the kitchen laughing, an event much desired by me anyway; practiced for an hour, tucked away some more laundry, hosed down the gear I took to church on Saturday and put it away, dealt with Margot’s eyegunk and arranged a second phone interview for Wednesday.  I still managed to grind out 500 words on two separate sections, but I didn’t get that bit in the teeth feel.  I blame the weather, when really it’s all on me.

Jeff’s wanting me to be more restrained in what I feed him, so it was oatmeal this morning.

 

 

We need a new calendar

Jeff and I were looking at the various shows we’re watching, and how we’re getting the content in all kinds of different ways.  Is it on the PVR? Do we buy it, rent it, Netflix it?  When do we get it?  It’s actually getting quite complex.

Warehouse 13 is back April 14!  House of Cards is back again and President Obama has announced to the twitterverse, “no spoilers, pls.”  This made me laugh quite immoderately.

I took Jeff for breakfast this morning.

Laundry is underway.  When I’ve done a couple more loads I’ll run the dishwasher.

I’m a third of the way through my daily word count, but I’m going to try to double up today because I slacked off yesterday.  Instead of the death scene, which gives me the shakes, I’m doing a Reddit AMA instead!  How’s that for topicality….

Today I made banana bread

It’s all gone now.  Good things don’t last!!!

 

Beautiful day here in Burnaby; I keep hearing dreadful dreadful things about the weather from all my new friends in Atlanta and Knoxville because it sucks there right now.

It’s probably time to do battle with laundry again.  How it do go on.

 

I haven’t made my word count yet today.  It’s a death scene, and I’m putting it off.

Parade’s End

It was a perfectly nice BBC/HBO 5 parter.  HBO, so, of course, boobs.  I may have to look for the books it was based on; Ford Madox Ford was a feminist when that really wasn’t a popular view for a man to take, so good on him.

Word count yesterday was spiffing.  I will complete the book in less than two months at this rate, at which point I’m actually going to EDIT it instead of pronouncing it done and shelving it, and then I’m going to find a decent agent (I have some ideas) and if I can’t sell it, I’ll self publish.

When I’m no longer actively writing it, I’ll go to my next project, Tarot for Atheists, and finish that and see if I can get it published (it will be easier than this one, for sure), and then when that’s done, I’ll probably self-publish my homilies. (Homilies, Essays, Rants and Reviews).  Then there’s Broad Hints, which includes my ephemeral writing and then A Filker’s Life for Me (all my filk tunes and lyrics in book form), and A Sacrifice to Chronos (all the other songs worth keeping). After that, there’s Child Rearing for Anarchists, whatever materials I’ve put together for the anti-racism workshop (The Racist in Recovery, with free embroidered hankie for those white women tears, dearies).

Cough, which had been much better, is now suddenly much worse, so I’m glad I’ve got DMDE cough medicine in the house.  For the first time in my life I’m actually measuring the dosage.  Next dose at ten am – I’ve been up since quarter to 2.  Don’t know if it’s the moon, or the coughing, or my brain spinning with what new idiocies my characters are up to (reading Michel’s dialog aloud with a Montreal accent made me start coughing again) but sleep has been hard to come by these last few nights.

Fetched home some schnitzel yesterday for supper.  Lost my keys and Jeff found them.

I am so glad Keith is having a good and educational time in Australia.  I am so happy and proud, I just can’t express it enough.

Word of the Day:  rebarbative.

 

On my way to the post box…

I think I have walking pneumonia.  The bubbling and crackling in my chest is quite obscene.

However, I managed to stir my stumps enough to get to the mailbox, and on the way there I met a nice young man wearing a purple and black checked hoodie, who was pushing a purple motorbike up our rather steep alley.  I sternly asked him if he was stealing it and then asked him if I could help push, which help he accepted gratefully, and I only had one coughing fit.  We got it where it was supposed to be and I continued with my errand, arriving home from the minus 4 weather wheezing like an old lady and coughing when not wheezing.

It’s jeezly cold out there.

Jeff’s off to one of his customers, and he’s bringing me foodicles on the way home, so I am happy I don’t have to go out again today.

I got word back from the energy company – they sent a lovely email (like, the only company so to do…) saying they’d chosen another candidate.  Hey, the response was reason enough to want to work for them…. and I found another job I really liked on line today and tried to knock the application out of the park.  I also got an email asking me if I wanted to work from home for a decent wage; we’ll see if it comes to anything.  I’m certainly not going to hand over my personal info without a personal interview to go with it.

We shall see, if we’re lucky anyway.  Despite everything, I am feeling cheerful, because there are people who love me, and the anti-racism workshop is getting off the ground, and I’m writing every day, and Margot has perked up (although she’s right noisy when Jeff’s away!) and I have a dishwasher, which I should finish loading and run, seeing as how Jeff is being so kind as to fetch a chicken.

 

Let it be

Today I read on Making Light a gloss on, “What if my problem isn’t horses or zebras but COCONUTS!” which is the kind of multiply memetic comment makes tiny aweggabrain go A-squeeing.

Here’s the post that comment followed on. Some language, but dayyum it be amusing.

The dishwasher is running, the bathtub is shiny, and now I’m going to push some crud into corners until it’s time to go pick up my Mac, which went into the shop a couple of days ago, and which, on top of Otto being in the crankenhouse, is entirely crazymaking.

I didn’t know that the Germans bombed London from Zeppelins during the Great War.  There was a very cool program about it on the PVR and I’m hoping Rob, who is a bit of a Zeppelin fan, comes to watch it before we delete it.

I have slowly started making progress towards winding up the paperwork side of the cafe.  I am no longer feeling mired in anxiety and anger and despair; now it’s more like, “Welp, gotta fix all this if I’m going to blow all my retirement money on world travel!” And before the folks become apoplectic, I am hoping just to go to Germany in the spring and the UK in the early fall, and maybe a couple of other places on the continent at other times.  Also I have to update my will, and fix up my burial details, and put together a master plan for if I check out untimely.  Hopefully I’ll get to that shit faster than John did.  ha ha.  not.

 

Catching up

It’s been a lively couple of days.  I’ve been writing hard, practiced almost enough, played at church to sincere and life affirming compliments, showed the shop, made the decision to hand the keys over to the landlord, got into last minute negotiations with guys that came in at Christmas, had a spider drop onto my keyboard and scare the shit out of me, I’ve stopped having nightmares but the insomnia has fired up again, we finished watching Jazz, which made me unhappy because it was SO wonderful, and I received some Buddhist wisdom which allowed me to release a lot of stored animus toward my life and situation.  I learned that my travel plans into the US are probably going to be completely fucked up by the INSANE weather ongoing in most of the US – shit, it’s warmer in Alaska – which reminds me of the time that I wanted to get to a con which would have been crucial to my development as an SF writer and 9/11 intervened, except this time it’s all expenses paid and guess what, they’ll WAIT for me, as I don’t imagine I’d be stranded more than two days so I’ll still get to do it.  I learned that Pearl, Cat Faber’s octave mandolin (ALSO by Peter Cox) experienced technical difficulties and is now in the shop, meaning I do not have an octave mandolin as a back up if United destroys or loses Otto. (And I know that as sad as that might be, I would just ask for the bits back or get Peter to make me another one, him being obliging that way, if remunerated.  Who’s to say the replacement wouldn’t be even more amazing?)  This means I would have to do the entire concert on a regular sized mando – which I DO NOT WANT – or transpose EVERYTHING to a guitar, which for a couple of songs would be fine and for everything else would probably cause my nervous system to implode – or sing the entire concert a capella, which would be extremely wearing for my audience.  I will be taking Lemming’s advice about packageration seriously.  I reproduce it below.  Jeff invented the word garbarcage to describe when tv shows are shitty because they have too much arc and too little of what we watch the shows for.  Eddie is needing fluids at least every other day, he has started to refuse his meds and he’s gone off his food, although he’s still making the trek to the litter tray.  Margot has gotten very sucky, which is unusual.  I’m making plans to travel after the shop is gone.  I found out that the Squamish name for Thomas Mulcair is “Angry Beard” (okay it’s just one Squamish dude who is calling him that, but DID I LAUGH when I read that) and that it’s too cold outside right now for the Lincoln Park Zoo Polar Bear. I’ve been applying for jobs every day, no response. However, I am relaxed about it.  What will be, will be.  No use flinching or being rebellious.  The leathern thong descends whether I’ve been a good girl or not.

 

Tip #1: Depending on size of body, sometimes banjo cases work for octave mandolin type instruments. Tip #2: A way to save money on a case AND protect the instrument: Call guitar stores in area and see if one will give you an instrument-size box. A banjo box would probably work. Check airline regs for box measurements before proceeding. They’re supposed to allow some leeway for musical instruments. Invest in some bubble wrap. Loosen strings. Wrap instrument in bubble wrap, inside soft case. Wrap case in bubble wrap. Stuff bubble wrap in bottom of box, put in instrument, put bubble wrap on all sides and top filling box, seal box with heavy 2″ wide packing tape, about twice as much as you need. Pack one roll of packing tape so you can re-pack before you leave to go home. Add handle (easy to make one with tape, or tape on a handle, or tie on some rope. Mark stuff on package with large black magic marker “THIS SIDE UP! FRAGILE: DO NOT BEND. CONTAINS ANGRY ELVES WHO WILL HURT YOU IF YOU WAKE THEM UP” or some such thing. Tip #3: First, find out if the planes you’re flying on all have closets. Second, carry the thing with you, in the soft case, but do wrap it in bubble wrap inside the case. Make sure it’s small enough to fit in the overhead. Go up to the counter and ask if they’ll find space in the closet for your instrument. If they’re crazy enough to want to gate-check it, well, that’s what the bubble wrap inside the case is for, but if they do that, ask them if they’ve seen the “United Breaks Guitars” video, nicely. If you have to put it in the overhead, stuff a large coat or something all around it so no one tries to smash it with their luggage. Again, bubble wrap. Bubble wrap is your friend

Oh, and don’t forget the loosen strings part. Most of the time, no difference, but the changes in air pressure in the luggage compartment plus string tension will eventually cause the neck to break at the nut.

And take along spare strings because one often breaks when you retighten.

The show we’ll never see

Austentatious.

Someone had to do it, I suppose.  I reckon I’d enjoy it. I provide the link for me mOm’s entertainment.

I made meatloaf yesterday.  In case I don’t remember the recipe, it’s a pound and a bit of regular ground beef, four tablespoons of Heinz chili sauce, a good shot of black pepper, ditto powdered garlic, an egg and almost half a cup of bread crumbs.  I think I’ll macerate an onion next time too.  Jeff proceeded to abandon the leftover Chinese food for it, so I’d say that’s a good sign.

Today, I will be putting some effort into an interview between my main character and my newly hatched CBC interviewer.

The Jazz documentary continues to dazzle, likewise Attenborough’s Blue Planet.  Wars between coral species are bizarre and disgusting.  “I barf my guts on you and digest you on the spot!”  “Aiyee! I am fixed to one spot and cannot flee!” Also, who knew there’s a colony species of shrimp? With a queen, and workers, and burly guards with extra large claws!?

I’m singing in church on Sunday, must practice some more.

 

Sorrow and anger

Should you divorce your family?

Dr. Michelle Golland suggested a sort of checklist of traits that are warning signs a familial relationship is unhealthy and may be worth ending, including: “You feel drained when associating with the person. The person continuously makes you angry. The person is manipulative towards you to get what they want.”

Trying to be ‘the bigger person’ didn’t help. Trying to ‘fake it til I make it’ didn’t work. Pulling out my wallet to paper over the cracks didn’t help. I don’t imagine for a second that it will help anybody but me, but exhaustion won, and I am slowly and painfully crawling away to someplace safe.  In the best of all possible worlds I’d be rational on the subject, but since I can’t, I have to protect what little sanity I have.

Wrote 750 words this morning, practiced, did my Lumosity, ran the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen.  Keith is coming over shortly.

—-

We watched Jazz – Keith very much enjoyed it.

—-

Katie is coming over to extract some of her clothes and toiletries.  Hopefully there will be enough gone that I can establish some order in the guest bedroom, which looks at the moment much like the den of a hibernating bear.

Today started well

Before 6 am I had 1350 words done on Midnite Moving, and Eddie said FEED ME NAOW in such a loud voice it was as if he’d never been sick.

Later on today we’ll go get some more Chinese takeout.  The Singapore style noodles at Chong Lum Hin are so yummy.

YAY Jeff, he’s set up the wireless printer; we can now print from any computer anywhere in the house, which is very handy.

Watched the first half of Crumb yesterday evening.  A great artist, and a very weird man. His life is full of old records. Following on watching the first 6 episodes of Ken Burns’ Jazz I noted some jazz clips that were in a big subdirectory on the media drive and watched them, including Stephane Grapelli and Django Reinhardt.  Not all of it was watchable, but it was all interesting.  Jazz really is an immense genre.

Now, Lumosity, practicing for church (I’m singing the compost song), and practicing for GAFilk.  Lemming says that you get treated like visiting royalty at GAfilk.  That will be an interesting experience, hunh?

No response from any potential customers.  I’ll be going to the landlord tomorrow and dropping off the keys.  There’s only so much I can do, and I need to walk away and quit spending money on a dream, when I need to move someplace where there’s actually some work.

 

2013, don’t let the door hit you

It wasn’t the worst year of my life because I have more emotional resources than I used to.  I think, after its long absence from my house, alcohol is going to make a reappearance.  I think beer – it’s been too long since I had some Lion Winter – and some Jim Beam, so I have something in the house for when Justified comes back next month.

I will be praying for the Canadian Olympic athletes and officials as they to and fro from Sochi.  There are going to be some damned big explosions in Russia in February, and the whole world will be watching.  They won’t happen in Sochi itself, likely, as the security will be a leaden and oppressive blanket.  But I pity the rail and airline passengers – it’s going to be a mess.  The suicide bombings are already well under way, and although it isn’t well known yet, there’s a lot of missing explosives in Russia, something like 2000 short tons.  It’s not C4, but it’s certainly enough to make hash of a lot of civilians.

Time for Lumosity and some shoulder exercises.  Sleep has been conspicuous by its absence.

May you find what you seek

In some cultures, that’s considered a curse.  Anyway, to the point; I am looking up stuff on Afghanistan and Persia (now Iran) because I am following information about Rumi.  Accidentally I land on the wikipedia page of the anti-Rumi, which contains a bunch of 14th Century dirty jokes.  They are at the bottom of the page, you’ve been warned, etc.  One of the jokes is so disgusting it could cheerfully be used by people who hate Muslims as propaganda.

We are watching Ken Burn’s Jazz, and it is uniformly excellent.  I wish I could have watched it with John, too.

Off to the library today.  I have a couple of other errands to run.

My request to have assistance in developing anti-racism curriculum is in the newsletter for church.

I can only wonder what my uncle, who got a PhD in Fluorine Chemistry, would make of this website mocking PhD subjects.

Loki lowkey Christmas

Showed the shop on Christmas day AND Boxing day.  It will be a Syncretic Agnostic Festive Miracle if I sell the place, but I’m okay with what happens.  Everything changes. Failure hasn’t killed me yet.

As part of our Syncretic Agnostic Festive Season, we acquired Chinese Food, watched documentaries and SGA, and bought zero presents, sent zero cards.  I did go to a Christmas Eve service which was about the advent and deliverance of joy, love, peace and hope, framed by the story of the Christ child and Mary.  (Joseph always gets left out… I’m gonna make a sermon for him some day).

One of the best things about filk is that if you change the lyrics to be less sexist nobody will comment.  I say this looking at Uplift, a wonderful song written in 1999, but it contains Mankind.  I will sing it as Humans.  All will be well.

I’ve already blasted through the second hand book Tammy gave me for Christmas.  It’s called The Forty Rules of Love, and I cried BUCKETS while I was reading it, but it is about the love between Rumi and Shams of Tabriz, and it is a very wonderful and sad story.  In the end, Rumi is a poet, but everyone around him paid a high price for it.

Poetry doesn’t come from nowhere; for me it is language reaching through my emotions to a page; to the release and abandonment of expressing a feeling in the most charged and delicate way possible.  Poetry is like the sprite that forms above a massive thunderstorm.  So brief, so beautiful, and invisible unless you are looking RIGHT AT IT when it happens. She who has not seen will say it doesn’t exist.  She who has seen will pummel words and rhythms, grasp at floating down, weave spider silk and daydreams, stare at bones, bond with discards, trace the impression of a car tire in tar, build launching pads of paper and foil. Her dissatisfaction is the human eternal, embroidered with a great ‘Ah!”

Lumosity, mando practice, paperwork.  That is at least part of my day.