Settler words&music in S'ólh Téméxw, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming soon, Hair Sinister after that. —Restore All Indigenous Lands!
sorrowing ditch of tongues
bastard of a dying despot
black hole of linguistics
mount of a chipped jewel
leper’s leper
bardic twang of morons
belchèd wretchedness of drivel
that’s my living English
my home, my clod of dirt
my web, tendril, scaffolding
thing most dear
Good evening, brothers and sisters of the Beacon community. I have been asked to present a humorous homily in a Unitarian vein, and I beg your indulgence as I outline how I approached gathering the material for this evening’s celebration of our community.
First I reviewed my previously delivered comedy routines. As one of them commences with my walking on stage half naked — I will leave to your imagination which half — you will not be surprised that I thought this inappropriate. Unitarians believe in freedom, not license.
Having dispensed with nudity as a means of encouraging people to laugh, or at least to pay attention, I then worked my way through the rest of my gags, one-liners, pithy observations, and so forth.
I made the considered decision to delete the references to sex as also being inappropriate to an intergenerational dinner. The prospect of having the children loudly explaining the jokes to their parents was too much for me.
Then I deleted all the drug references, as everyone knows that drugs are something Unitarians did years ago; we have all long since grown out of it, except for Ibuprofen, of course.
As we are eating, I thought it best to banish all scatological humour. I firmly believe that this is the best part of a family meal, but I have learned that not everyone feels the same way.
As you can imagine, this left me in something of a quandary. I had three jokes left, and while they are all reasonably funny, they didn’t take my audience into consideration.
I then resolved to visit a number of Christian humour sites, reckoning that I would find some jokes that would offend nobody. I now have proof that I am nobody, because I was offended by them. Anybody else who is offended by the inane and the sickly sweet will know exactly what I mean.
In desperation, I visited a Unitarian joke site. Of course I should have done that FIRST, but it’s traditional to check out various forms of Christianity prior to coming to Unitarianism. I came across this gem, which, is seasonal, now that Halloween is over:
(Sings)
Gods rest ye, Unitarians, let nothing you dismay; Remember there’s no evidence there was a Christmas Day; When Christ was born is just not known, no matter what they say, O, Tidings of reason and fact, reason and fact, Glad tidings of reason and fact.
Our current Christmas Customs come from Persia and from Greece, from solstice celebrations of the ancient Middle East. This whole darn Christmas spiel is just another pagan feast, O, Tidings of reason and fact, reason and fact, Glad tidings of reason and fact.
There was no star of Bethlehem, there was no angels’ song; there could not have been wise men for the trip would take too long. The stories in the Bible are historically wrong, O, Tidings of reason and fact, reason and fact, Glad tidings of reason and fact!
This little song charmed me because I believe it accurately reflects our Unitarian principles and it scans. I hate things that don’t scan.
Then I cruised around some more, and landed with this one,
Q: How many Unitarian Universalists does it take to change a light bulb?
A: …well, first you’d have to know whether it’s a fluorescent, incandescent, or halogen bulb, but even then you may have made a false assumption because not all UU’s necessarily even find electric illumination useful, or even believe in Electricity or BC Hydro, although I’d guess most BC Unitarians don’t want to see it sold, whether they believe in it or not… Did that answer your question?
(Helper in the audience. No! How many Unitarians does it take to change a light bulb?)
Well, it dePENDS. Look, I take the question seriously, but I think we should seek consensus on this one. Do you want to strike a committee?
A Christian friend of a Unitarian once remarked that UU’s tend to take a couple of months off during the summer with some churches completely closing. Other denominations might question this practice, by saying “God doesn’t take vacations.”
The response to this is that UU’s are the only ones that God trusts enough to let out of his sight for a while.
Does anybody here know what the four UU sacraments are? (Helpers in the audience.)
– Dedication,
– Marriage,
– Memorial Service,
Allegra: And, of course, Moderated Discussion
What 2 things do UU’s and Dracula have in common?
They both have origins in Transylvania and they both shy away from the cross.
I had a bit of a run-in with a Fundamentalist Christian recently. After getting increasingly irritated by my flippant responses to her dogma, she demanded, “Do you know what’s going to happen when you stand in judgment before God?”
I grinned and said, “She’s gonna have some ‘splaining to do.”
I note that the following hymn is NOT in Singing the Living Tradition; I am willing to believe that it might have been an honest error. (To the tune of Holy, Holy, Holy)
Coffee, coffee, coffee,
Praise the strength of coffee.
Early in the morn we rise with thoughts of only thee.
Served fresh or reheated,
Dark by thee defeated,
Brewed black by perk or drip or instantly.
Though all else we scoff we
Come to church for coffee;
If we’re late to congregate, we come in time for thee.
Coffee our one ritual,
Drinking it habitual,
Brewed black by perk or drip or instantly.
Coffee the communion
Of our Uni-Union,
Symbol of our sacred ground, our one necessity.
Feel the holy power
At our coffee hour,
Brewed black by perk or drip or instantly.
As I say, this should probably be in the hymnal but I am sure that it was an understandable oversight.
I would like to close my homily with a few words on the subject of the canvass.
When I first came under the benign influence of the CUC, it was at the Lakeshore Church in Montreal, with the Rev. Joan Montagnes presiding. (She’s now with a congregation in Idaho.)
When the canvass was announced, the canvass chair got up, brusquely told us that there wasn’t going to be a canvass that year, and sat down. After a brief, rustling pause, suddenly, from all over the church you could hear purses and pocketbooks snap open, making a joyful sound of thanksgiving and support. This is a sound which I hope we will all be able to hear in this community as we continue our journey of discovery and service. It is a strange quality of money that, like people, a little of it with the right intentions, in the right place, really can accomplish great things.
There is no grit like the grit of a pre-teen girl. It is a combination of testing her own power and mute ignorance, of not knowing what she is or is not capable of. When I look at my daughter, who turned ten this past week, I see the way she constantly flings herself at life, how she can be so serious and responsible one moment and so goofy and intemperate the next.
Already her downy skin contains a crone. Sometimes she is very patient and wise. Life has already taught her how to choke back fear and grief in case she upsets adults. There are times when things family members have done that will make her cry in bed at night, and she won’t say anything for fear of offending.
I’ve tried hard not to hide the good and bad things about adult life from her. I try to stay one step ahead of that agile brain. It’s hard to judge when you’re doing a good job, but every once in a while Kate will do something that will tell me I’ve not done badly.
When her brother was home sick and I had to work, she kept him hydrated and gave him a wet washcloth and made sure he got some sleep. She’s amazingly sweet to her frail great grandmothers, and when Grandma Hinde forgets who she is, she’ll say things like, I’m one of your descendants, and Grandma Hinde will ruefully laugh and then keep guessing who she is.
She has the strong stomach of a healer and the keen eye of a naturalist, always looking for something special and interesting on our walks, a Western garter snake or a purple mushroom. She’s very observant. When it suits her.
And when she decides she wants something or is going to do something, she’s able to show an unearthly tenacity. She has four different volunteer jobs at school. She monitors the kindergarten class during brief teacher absences, she is a library monitor, she’s a crossing guard and two weeks out of four she helps with the lunch program. The first time she described what it’s like on soup day she had my husband and me in hysterics, but she was as serious as anybody gets, talking about work.
She didn’t do her math homework, which is not a hanging offence in these parts, and Mr. Tanner, her teacher, suspended her from serving on the lunch program. From her reaction, you would think WWIII had been declared. It was her intention to march into school the next day and tell him to jam it in his ass. Paul and I whipped around, and she smirked delicately at our expressions. “I won’t say it like that, I’ll ask him to reconsider.” And he did and she was reinstated the next day.
I think of the other times she’s shown grit, when she at the age of eight watched her beloved cat be anaesthetized to have her teeth cleaned and two teeth extracted. It was too bad the vet nearly said no. I told him this was not an ordinary 8-year-old, and if she posed the slightest problem, I’d whip her out of the O.R. and take her home. She ended up helping the technician.
She shows her grit all kinds of ways, the way she defends her friends and her own rights, sometimes yelling and sometimes very quietly when I am overstepping my authority. I hate it, but it’s part of my own growth, letting go in the right places and times. I do sometimes want to be a domestic tyrant, and right now I am the stand in, along with her dad, for every authority figure who will ever try to injure her for her own good, or dominate her for the sake of being able to. If she cannot defend and articulate her rights to me, how limited she’ll be when the big moments come.
They say in teen development in girls, the grit dies out in the face of feminizing social pressure around 12/13. I want Kate to have grit forever, even if I have to be ground up a bit myself in the process.
November 1998
I wrote this at the Artist’s Way course I took from a friend of Ellie’s named June.
A monograph on the Parking Goddess, a Twentieth Century Deity
Parking Goddess hear my plea
Find a parking space for me
Make it deep and make it wide
and make it on the proper side.
This invocation, which dates to the summer of 1993, beseeches the Parking Goddess, whose worship dates back to 1991, to find the supplicant a parking space. The Parking Goddess deserves a place of honour in the urban pantheon.
Religion has a boundary layer of power. This power over the seen and the unseen is what causes people to worship, or log on to the power. Conventional religions – those with accretions of dogma, institutions, warlike clerics and hysterical followers – still have power to the extent they can:
1.Bring focus and peace of mind to their adherents;
2.Grant wishes;
3.Provide easy, formulaic and widely acceptable rituals for life’s moments of transition;
4.Provide easy, formulaic and widely acceptable social occasions;
5.Provide easy, formulaic and culturally approved answers for such questions as “Why did Daddy die?” and “Why am I superior to the vast majority of Earth’s inhabitants?”
The Parking Goddess is a minor deity. Her shingle does not say “All life’s problems solved, Lost Love, Business, Bad Luck.” Her gracious bounty adheres strictly to urbane matters. Thus it is she has jurisdiction over:
1. Vehicles, insurance, gas, coffee, repairs, and the presence or absence of the local gendarmes;
2. Parking spaces;
3. How fast the tow-truck comes;
4. Restaurants;
5. Hospitals;
6. Government buildings;
and
7. Any domicile where a ceramic likeness of her is put into a shrine.
Since the Parking Goddess has not actually become incarnate yet, as all of the Big Cheese gods eventually do, this ceramic likeness may take the form of any female figure who inspires awe and amazement.
Worship at the shrine may take any consensual form. Ritual copulation, burning incense, consumption of food, piercings, quiet meditation, speaking in tongues, inverting cats and computer repair are all acceptable to the Goddess, provided one consciously dedicates the activity to her first.
It may interest ethnologists to know who the Parking Goddess is. Like most deities, her origins are shrouded in mystery. It can be authoritatively stated, however, that she:
1. Is the second cousin of Quan Yin;
2. Attends booze cans with Tet, Minerva and the Corn Maiden;
3. Is most likely to appear in physical form to her followers as a lamé-clad transvestite;
4. Is transported from place to place by car radios;
5. Causes minor cases of possession in traffic reporters;
and
6. Will not be able to hear the pleas of her acolytes if she is wearing her headphones while working out.
At present the epicentre of Parking Goddess worship is the CN Tower in Toronto, Canada, which represents the mystical union of male, female, concrete and media which is the essence of her appeal to her followers.
Followers of the Parking Goddess, when asked as to the rationality or propriety of contributing to the development of a religion, during a period of human history when religious wars are pandemic, are likely to give one of two responses;
1. I know it’s irrational, but it works;
and
2. t’s okay, she’s a Unitarian.
The correct response to the prayer is:
“The Parking Goddess heard my cry, V – I – C – T – O – R – Y!”
Allegra Sloman
Hallowe’en, 1993
Good news first, I have been asked to come in and talk to a recruiter this afternoon. This is the closest I’ve gotten to genuine job hunting activity in months so I am obviously thrilled.
Bad news. I’ve lowered the price and still can’t get anybody interested in the cafe; I will have to break the lease. HEAVY HEAVY SIGH.
Tarot for Atheists, a couple of hundred words’ worth of progress.
Turkey soup is on the stove – I will adjust seasoning shortly and then start freezing it in containers. Jeff can’t stand the smell of the bones, and has no idea how this sentence would have ended if I hadn’t backspaced over it.
Replaced cpap machine with one that smells a little less disgusting. I must make a purchase decision within 2 weeks.
Completed writing down a song, converted it to midi and fired it off to mOm. I only have another hundred songs to write out. It really IS the Song That Never Ends.
Herewith today’s linkorama:
This guy and guys like him are why I make no further efforts to date.
If you rape a girl and leave her naked outside in freezing weather, and you work for your family’s restaurant, and your local prosecutor despite eyewitnesses and video refuses to prosecute, and then the whole town turns on the rape victim and burns her house down, well, the internet just might give bad reviews to your restaurant.
Okay, it’s an arachnid, but what-e-ver. Gotta love that sense of humour!
I made bacon and egg and salad wraps on home made naan bread for breakfast this morning. I was kinda mean, I told Jeff I’d take him for breakfast and then cooked it instead, but he’s a trouper and ate without comment… I really really love home made naan. It’s comfort food.
I have no idea why, but my digestion instantly improved three days ago and I am very much enjoying it. Further to my sudden improvement I purchased a book called Gutbliss by an American women gastroenterologist, in which she talks about all the things that can go wrong with a modern female gut and how you can put it right. Her opening comments about how gastroenterology has lost the plot and turned into ‘the endoscopy biz’ were very revealing, and she also said she’s learned about the gut not just in school and from her patients, but from a large selection of non traditional healers. She still plumps for the “I want to see the evidence” but her three rules of dealing with gut issues are:
Talk to the patient, take time with the patient
Most people aren’t crazy even if their symptoms don’t make sense. (!!!)
Think outside the box.
I am enjoying her writing style, which is vigorous and plain-spoken. Yes, she has a line of products. But I don’t see her making extreme claims for them, which is always pleasant.
I am exercising my shoulder very hard every day. I can now visualize a complete recovery. I could not two weeks ago. I think I am going to go back into the biscotti business. This was a temporary setback, not the end of the world. Both of the folks I showed the shop two recently haven’t called back. It’s actually kind of freeing. I will leave the ad up until a few weeks from now, and then get back into it. Huge to do list….. that never stops.
Somebody said on twitter this morning that offense is taken, not given, and I have to say that’s bullshit. It completely ignores the power differential that exists throughout the continuum of a life between you and the rest of the world. Powerful people give offense all the time. They just don’t call it that.
I slept a little with the new mask and the cpap machine last night, but at some point I ripped it off again. I have some kind of dysphagia (as is almost always the case with me, not enough to come to the attention of a doctor) and what ends up happening is I can’t swallow my spit properly with the mask going. I swallow, my ears pop like a mofo, the spit is still there, and I’m lying there feeling like I’m drowning in spit. Also, my breathing mechanics change a lot with the cpap machine and I don’t feel like I’m breathing enough… nothing feels natural and I end up holding my breath… which feels very weird because the whole POINT of having a cpap is to get enough O².
Woke up this morning, checked facebook and found out that relatives of a friend of mine were under fire in Westgate Mall in Nairobi. I told Salim that I could only hope that I’d never get into religion or politics to the extent that I felt shooting my neighbours was appropriate. Twenty dead at least, fifty injured at least. What a world.
Saw Keith briefly yesterday, and read the Shiduri sequence out of the Epic of Gilgamesh to him. I liked the new translation / new gloss of it so much I actually bought it. As a writer I guess I feel I should own the oldest surviving story (there are older documents but they are storage related…).
My stop digging exercises have commenced; the kitchen is coming along and I’ll be poking at other piles of disorder gradually over the next few weeks. Rome wasn’t destroyed in a day. Also, wrote stuff yesterday, put a song into Songwriter, did some ‘work on my projects’ stuff as well as cleaning and watching tv. Also, applied for a job, since one of my contacts hailed me and gave me the frequency. Nothing is likely to come of it, but I can’t look any gift horses in any particular elevation.
The exercises continue apace. Next physio Monday, next doc appointment a month.
I tried the cpap again last night and MAYBE got two hours. I think my sleep disorder is actually a little more nuanced than this machine can deal with. Also, I really think I’ve got the wrong mask.
I got a really good and extremely cheap back rest for the driver’s seat in Ziva. She has been very well behaved since she was smacked in the parking lot.
Another nibble on the café.
I leave you with a John Shirley quote (from New Taboos).
People who are quadriplegic have stated that they feel less emotion than they could when they could still feel their entire bodies. The projection of the self into our electronics reduces the relationship to the body, the seat of our emotions, and for several reasons that might lead to an increase in psychopathology.
So, I was processing one of the cards for Tarot for Atheists, and I had been dodging the two of Cups because I never felt comfortable with it. This time I really meditated on it for a long time… and now I have my new interpretation of the card. Here it is in poetic form, but you get the general idea. As a standalone, it’s fine, but the card interpretation changes radically in readings.
the two of cups
in profile stern
bearing a grail, or great stirrup cup
she stands so that her tabard barely stirs
against his touch, against his moving will
no occasion of beauty or grace
as they part
their attachment sundered
by disease
body-borne and spirit-lowering
see the winged lion flying expressionless
the cabin announcement of bad news
cruising into crazy danger
and l o o k the lion’s got a caduceus
jammed up his ass
the point of which is resting on
the young man’s hand, and wow
garlands of paper flowers or hell
maybe he sprang for roses
(they got the picture done professionally
after all)
you can tell this young man putters
over his appearance
he is in full vigour and sweetness
and wants you to choke on it
to eat the entirety of his cruelty, which is
of two fold kind;
that he is young and beautiful which he
need not say for it is for anyone to say
and that he must make you drown
in your own decay, hating the smugness
and hatred of the old, you get reflected
decades later. It was you who did this, you.
in the meantime they are going to break up
he gave her clap, or his coke addiction
cost something. or she went crazy
or got in a car accident and couldn’t fuck anymore.
me, I’m hoping that red roof
in the background may be an inn.
I don’t think this is the final version I delivered at Beacon (and also to the Comox Valley Fellowship) back about ten years ago. But it is now on the roll to the left. Thank you mOm for finding it for me.
This homily has now been posted. I don’t know why it wasn’t, before. See to the left.
We are through Cadfael and well into The Good Wife. It is a very well acted show.
I am up to 10K words on my Tarot thingee and enjoying it immensely. I have to set up a spreadsheet to try to deal with the interrelatedness of things.
Today I think I’m going to have a mushroom and spinach omelette for breakfast. Cause I really need to use up the spinach and mushrooms, yo. Also, must go to veggie store… all the veggies I pre-prepped so we could have INSTANT HEALTHY SNACKS are, like, gone.
Sue came by yesterday to borrow my fascinator. I have two- the steampunk as opposed to headband one. She is in no fewer than THREE shows this fall, which given she’s fifteen years older than me is a big old YOU GO GIRL. Her energy and acting ability continue to be a joy. And she was wearing me mammy’s scarf whot she knit for her, which cheered me no end when I greeted her at the door.
Paul has taken me out for a couple of walks recently and it’s always nice to go to Deer Lake Park. A couple of times he has providentially gotten me out of the house during the only two hours of the day it wasn’t raining and blowing.
Night before last the thunder and lightning at midnight shook the house on its foundations.
Two more sleeps for more Breaking Bad. The race to the finish is enthralling.
I updated my google plus profile to make it link back to this blog. Or try to.
My shoulder really hurts off and on (I am at an awkward stage of how strong and mobile that joint is, constantly reaching too far and doing too much) and I’m having meshuggas with the cpap machine, but I am letting neither of these things spoil my mood. I do have a new hose for the cpap after my whining. So go me. I’m out of pain pills but it doesn’t seem to be affecting how little or much sleep I get.
Not being able to practice mandolin is making me NUTTY. I mean, nutty.
Saw Despicable Me 2 and loved it. Some of the physical humour is right up there with Warner Bros.
We’re most of the way through the first season of Good Wife and Jeff and I are quite enjoying it. Except when a corrupt member of the legal establishment does something, and then Jeff fulminates. It is terrible having had an honest judge in the family; everything else, real OR imaginary, suffers so by comparison.
I got my running around done yesterday. It was horribly exhausting and it’s fucking hot out there so I came home and collapsed. I should have gone to Andrew’s Pennywake, but I am good for One Big Thing per day these days, it seems, and have to quit overbooking myself.
I am up over 6K words on my new project and once the sun comes up I think I’m going to go find a library to work in – research don’t you know. LTGW recommends that as a working style. I’ll be working on Midnite Moving.
No Cpap last night, I was just too hot and sticky to think about putting the mask on my face, and it smelling like ass doesn’t help.
I had a problem with a technical aspect of Midnite Moving and be damned if the internet didn’t help out. There is now a nanomolecular substance called CARBYNE. Isn’t that cool? Look it up, it’s awesome.
I don’t know which one hit me. I did about three hours of light housekeeping yesterday and I am sore all over, not just my shoulder. I think I need to take it easy and stay in the sling today.
Hey everybody, Chipper is blogging at least couple of times a week at the Red Deer site (link on the right). It’s lovely to be reminded of all the awesome things going on in the wilds of Madawaska. Mushrooms! Aurorae!
Orange is the New Black continues to be much fun. We’ve started watching The Good Wife, which is a great show. We are also caught up on Ray Donovan and the Newsroom. Liev Schrieber is so yummy it drives me nuts. LTGW called the other day (just to say hi! awwww) and I told him that in silhouette Liev is a dead ringer for him cause MAN that dude fills a doorway in the omnomminest way (LTGW knows I’ve been crushing on him since the day I met him, he just rolls his eyes). Then we talked about what I’m going to do if the fork in the road ahead goes back to paid employment. He had a lot of encouraging things to say about my network and how I’m not working it properly, and man, I needed to hear encouraging words from a cute guy (okay, my idea of cute). And I’m still thinking about keeping the shop. There’s just a lot of rearranging I need to do, financially and emotionally and otherwise, and right now I’m very busted up and blue – a long way from the take the world on attitude I had in March. Ah, how life plays tricks on one! But I’m also feeling somewhat more cheerful now that I know I am not likely to have surgery. Which reminds me, I really have to book some physio. And pick up a CPAP. Sigh. Not being able to drive FUCKING SUCKS. There I said it.
Of course Jeff has been the soul of courtesy regarding taxiing me around but he’s got a life and he’s super busy with his own work these days (which makes me happy… he’s always learning things). And we still find time to bond over tv and movies. We rewatched Jack the Giant Killer, it’s a lovely film, almost perfect for the genre.
Yesterday I realized I will have to do some math to figure out what the surface area of my alien’s hair would have to be to have him sail off into the sky like a spiderling. It’s a hilarious image, I can see him calling OW OW OW into the wind as his semi-sentient hair freaks out and uncoils to full length, hauling him backwards down the beach and then UP UP AND AWAY like a particularly bizarre version of the Flying Nun. Leaving Kima alone with HOOMANS OH NOEZ what will happen? Probably nothing, she’ll just crawl over to the water and jet. BAD HAIR! baaaaaad hair!
Yesterday I made chicken/rice/steamed veg for dinner and then carefully prepackaged the leftovers and labelled them with dates. Today I MUST clean out the fridge, it’s a horror show. I don’t want to, but I really otter.
Okay, time to set the timer to do 20 minutes of housework. (then I take a break). I learned that at the UFYH site, and it really works.
I quit drinking again. Very strange. There hasn’t been beer in the house for almost a month. I don’t think Jeff’s had a beer since the last time we ate dinner with Mike.
Jerome dropped by a couple of days ago! He showed the most HIlarious video of Lucas dropping off to sleep in his high chair, and every time he drooped his elder brother Brayden would jostle him and he’d jerk awake again.
Margot is spending a lot of time in the cardboard box Jeff labelled Queen Margot I for her. She’s about the same colour as the box so I keep thinking “What’s the rustling noise!?”
Kira died yesterday. She had quit eating and drinking and suffered convulsions. She is now resting with Bounce and Gizmo and Zeek! her adoptive brother in the back yard.
I have new glasses. They look great. I’ll be getting another pair next week.
Jeff and I are about to take off to see Pacific Rim. A full report later.
My car is finally being worked on.
I am feeling very low in spirits – my shoulder hurts a lot and I think it isn’t healing right, although I won’t know until tomorrow.
I am still working on Midnite Moving though.
So the folks came by to see the shop yesterday and asked me if I’d finance. I was very polite, but you can just imagine what I was saying on the inside. What I did say: “Gosh,” I said, “If you can’t come up with 20K you’re going to have cash flow problems right out of the gate. “And, seeing as how I don’t really know if I’m ever going to be able to hold down a job ever again seeing as how I may have surgery and rehab and who the hell knows, I was kinda hoping to cash out.” The hell of it is they told me their business model and it would be perfect for that location… but I think they’ll buy in North Burnaby. Oh well.
HIGHLY RECOMMEND the documentary The Flat. If you are into family history, it’s a must. Seriously. It has so many twists and turns it’s like a particularly unbelievable novel. mOm you’ve been warned, and it comes with subtitles.
I am so lucky to have family that loves me. I am crabby, in pain, worried out of my mind because I’m not healing well, and Jeff just banged on the door and offered to take me to breakfast. Coffee and cream here I come! Also, the cats are adorable; Margot has been particularly cute of late, and she’s being very biddable when I have to decruft her. Hard to believe she’s five, watching her skitter all over the kitchen to chase a kitty treat.
Assange...etc. I love the spit that Sterling gets on things once he starts ranting….