writer’s group 2nite

It’s inspirational. Everybody’s writing different genre stuff.

1400 words on HOTM yesterday. I broke down and got beautiful salty Indian food for dinner because it was hot as balls yesterday and I did not want to cook but I wanted something tasty.

Heard from Mike, he’s doing okay. Party planning for Paul’s birthday continues apace.

Twenty minute walk just now. There was no milk in the house and I got cream because I think I’m going to make coffee.




October 2004 now complete

I’ve copied everything over to WordPress.

I was a different person then.

A worker was trimming roses at New West Quay yesterday and I got some to take home. We had a lovely walk, and I got a teensy bit of shopping in.

Paul’s 70 next month; we’re having a shindig at his place. I have a short list of people to call to invite. He wants sushi and something in the Instant Pot so that will be easy to wrangle. I’m slowly assembling a list of things to do.

It’s been four years since I stopped talking to Sandy. I miss her, but not enough to pick up the phone or email her. She’s still plugging away at Red Deer according to social media.

It’s been almost 18 months since I quit facebook. I’m good with that.

I didn’t realize I’ve actually quit church three times now. I’m not going back and this time I think it took.

Weird to review 2004.

You know that I have lots to say

But I don’t necessarily say it.

Found a love letter I wrote to a friend ten years ago. I never gave it to them for reasons that make sense to me, and didn’t give it after because our friendship altered, many times. I don’t know how appropriate it would be to give it over now, but it’s quite a piece of writing, so I’m transcribing it.

Almost finished reposting September 2004 into this WordPress blog. Lots of amazing pictures. Note to self, more pictures.


paper girl

I bought art supplies, pens and paper yesterday, thanks to Paul. We went on an expotition. Also I helped him with some government paperwork. It was a papery day. Also got a bullet journal. Wrote 850 words on Conversion, the chapter in which Michel, Oddi and Harri kidnap Sissy to take her back to stand trial in Vancouver, and things go wrong three different ways, but not entirely. Wrote another thousand words on a fic that is going so poorly I think I’d rather work on main projects today.

Time to take biscotti out.

Time to put biscotti in. This will be my last bake for a while. I’m on the Dash diet, apparently. Essentially it is a death diet; there’s nothing worth living for and you quietly starve yourself to the grave while worshipping your dropping BMI and blood pressure.

Time to take biscotti out.

Back to the doc on the ninth August. Still no dementia test – she thought it was better to tell me how I’ve got three times the normal chances of popping my clogs or stroking out. Gee thanks but hey, reality.

Now I shall tell the truth. Couple of days ago I turned the yellow clingstone plums that Peggy gave me into plum sauce AND THAT WAS A WHOLE SCENE because it changed colours four times while I was cooking it. First it was orange and then it was pink and then it was green and then it was, well, plum coloured. It changed colour partly because I put a lot of baking soda in it and it foamed up and turned green I felt like I was at Hogwarts. I cooked pork tenderloin in it and gave it to the folks at planet bachelor because Katie should not be stuck doing the cooking all the time. I RECYCLED THE PLUM SAUCE and cooked Jeff’s birthday dinner of chicken thighs in it. GOD THEY TURNED OUT WELL.  Then I recycled the sauce, I know when to quit. The rest of the plum sauce (there were MANY PLUMS)  I’m going to turn into some kind of low salt dessert, I just haven’t figured out how. OR MAYBE I’LL FREEZE IT I dunno.


sore back

Two grand worth of la z boy dual loveseat showed up on the sidewalk during our walk yesterday so we hauled it home and I am sore like woah. (Jeff did most of the work.) We’ll set it up after we get it cleaned. It doesn’t have any crap in it currently but safety first.

Missed a chance to go swimming with Alex yesterday but I was toast. My eyes are itchy right now and I didn’t feel like adding to that.

Happy BDAY Jeff!!!!



Patsara was fantastic (Jeff pronounced himself pleased and I ordered a bunch of to share appies which were, candidly, incredible) and we came back here to sing and play and talk and Jeff and I cleaned the house somewhat so yay us. Carry On Wayward Son was involved, plus the THR5A amp of posts previous. I drank two whole beers at the restaurant; feel fine. It was lovely to see Tom U., I hadn’t seen him in ages.

David Dowker’s chapbook Time-Sensitive Material (see Instagram links Here and Here) will be launched shortly. Congratulations Dave!

Alex dropped by yesterday and volunteered to be ‘left behind at grandma’s’ so his mamabear could get an alone phone call and he watched Chelyabinsk and Pompeii videos with me, plus he has this thing about the R Crumb Stoned Again animation that I don’t quite get. He’s 4.

Volcanoes! Meteors! Optical calcite crystals! Dinosaurs! Cartoons! Unboxing videos of die cast Disney merch! Throwing picks into the dulcimer holes and howling with laughter when I disapprove! Singing along to the soundtrack of the Xenon pinball! It’s all here for his enjoyment.

Happy Birthday Mike

My clothes arrived from Eshakti and I am officially in love with the grey onesie. The pantsuit is lovely and elegant and fits perfectly. I still can’t believe it got here that fast, in time for me to play dressup.

A thousand words yesterday on the fanfic and about two hundred words on Conversion – had a talk with Jeff about where it should go a couple of days ago and am still trying to figure out the shape of chapter.


updated destiel song

I’m really enjoying that. (it’s back under blooooooberries) Sang it for Paul, who snickered. I’m also developing a little dance to go along with it, which is completing my ridiculousness.

Brekky at IHOP with Jeff.

The landpeer cut down the dead tree in the back yard so no more clothesline and no more flickers getting brekky across from my bedroom window. Jeff is going to address the ‘remounting the other end of the clothesline’ in the fullness of time.

I am upset about the damned tree. Nothing to be done. They left at least part of the felled stump in the yard where it will still be food.

The next little while will be a whirlwind (a slow one, maybe a willywilly) of activities; supper tomorrow for Mike’s birthday (he asked me to dress up, which is making me unusually excited; I MAY GET AN UPDO.) Then another birthday dinner with the gang at the Thai restaurant on Saturday, and Jeff and I will be hosting the afterpartay. YAY I HAVE A REASON TO CLEAN MY HOUSE.

Just spoke to Tammy and how good to hear her voice.

Much biscotti, which I will be trading for plums from Peggy later.


Alex is off camping

Which I think is most delightful for him and his krewe.

The Expanse is back in December YAYAYAYAYA

I will be going to a meetup of genre fiction writers downtown this evening. I am slightly nervous since they’ll all be children and it will probably be the world’s noisiest sports bar and I won’t be able to hear a fucking thing. However, don’t try, don’t get, and they’re apparently going to be doing an anthology.



Ate brekky with Katie and Alex on Saturday. Alex crawled under the table and tickled my leg. It sounds gross but it was charming, and we laughed our heads off. I also showed off my optical calcite crystal to him and he played with it briefly.

as for the rest I’m working on a few tunes and doing a lot of anarchist reading

Lazy day

A fine response to a dictator’s rally.

I think I am getting used to the meds. Still not much movement in my blood pressure; as far as I can tell I’m taking half the correct dose to ensure I tolerate it and I’ll likely be taking more when I go back to see the doc on the 29th. What is definitely lower, ever minute of ever day, which is reducing strain on my heart, is my pulse, which is actually close to being that of a normal adult for a change.

I’m not feeling super sleepy or depressed, two of the things you’re supposed to watch out for.




And Peggy got more biscotti and updated me on the refugees.

The men of this family simply do not pay the slightest attention to people who tell them not to smoke indoors unless they are six foot five. The concept that they cannot smoke indoors – which even the most hardcore smokers do not do in this burg – is entirely opaque to them. This means their desire to all live together in a rental house is not going to happen (they are refusing to live in an apartment, and insisting on a house, which is very funny in that poke in the eye way) since no sane landlord would rent to them, and the so person currently housing them has eight people including 1 pregnant person and four smokers living in her smoke free house.

No fuckin’ good deed eh fOlks.

I’m going to turn those bloobs into pannnncakes.

Do not read this lyric, it is rude but when I came up with it last night I could not stop laughing. It’s me making fun of Supernatural YET AGAIN. There are 800 wingfic stories on AO3 – a subcategory of either romance or smut – and heaven knows how many elsewhere…

This shown below was updated 1 august.

Angels in their true form are big and stern and feathered
To look upon us in that state makes humans come untethered
Gender is irrelevant to Heaven’s fighting squad
Taking orders, smiting demons, ever faithful to my God…

Who then gave me Dean Winchester to reconstruct from hell
He spake, “Start with his mouth, because you’ll get to know it well.
And please don’t ever worry about anything I’m plannin’,
‘Cause gay love saves the day, you know it’s absolutely canon.” <— I had the quote wrong, OF COURSE

Spread ‘em, spread ‘em, spread ‘em up to heaven
I’m gonna spread my great big wings for you
Spread ‘em, spread ‘em, spread ‘em up to heaven
I’m gonna spread my wings for you
I bet you’ll like most everything they do

Interspecies romances are always such a trial
I don’t know what I should feel and Dean’s good with denial
And yes I non-stop worry about what dear Chuck has planned
And so should you until the very last episode’s in the can

Spread ‘em, spread ‘em, spread ‘em up to heaven
I’m gonna spread my great big wings for you
Spread ‘em, spread ‘em, spread ‘em up to heaven
I’m gonna spread my wings for you
I bet you’ll like most everything they do

biscotti is done biscotti recommences

I’ve been told I’m fun when I rant, but this will be softer than a rant, so it’s a ramble.

Now I believe I’ve mentioned that I have music constantly. Having other people’s music is good, for it drowns out my own, (see previous comments about earworms) but there are times I do not wish to hear anyone’s music but my own, as it is an act radically invasive of cultural space to just not bother to learn a lot of other people’s tunes because a) your own are so much better and even if b) they a-really fucking are not, they’re yours, and explicitly and publicly acknowledging how men really own most musical space and are pissed and contrary about it unless they self select not to be ‘wads that way, by hanging about with women and making music with them.

I’m enjoying Spotify because I’m finding stuff I wouldn’t hear otherwise, no longer dependent on various gentlemen to find me interesting new stuff.

It’s making me think of how songs are constructed, how a lot of songs have all the percussion required by law and sense built into them, but it’s often overkill on acoustic songs.

I don’t mind people in new music using autotune if they leave it for exaggeration in the choruses and don’t chuck with the vocals too much during the verses. Choruses are supposed to be arresting and catchy in pop music. Robert DeLong’s Long Way Down is a worthy exemplar. Whether the lyrics are about the ‘rough patch’ of a relationship or a literal angst fest about the end of the world, it hardly matters. The crunchy, precise sonic palette is entirely too tidy… it’s the end of the world with a Perfect.Fucking.Soundtrack.

‘we can’t get higher than we get

on the long way down’

I would cut myself to have written that.

I am enjoying Better in Blak (the tune, not the album) by Thelma Plum. The first words of the first verse are like a gut punch, delivered in a deliberately blank, emotionally dialled-in expository voice, and then the rest of the song is a joyful reclamation of rage and agency delivered in infectiously catchy power pop. She’s Indigenous from Australia (no national affiliation I could find).

I’m listening to “Albaki” again, and it’s just wild. I WANT TO DANCE LIKE AN IDIOT TO THIS MUSIC. STOP ME FROM no don’t bother, I’m just going to have some fun.

I ha’e toasted almonds mither and likewise procured eggs and butter, and further adventures in biscotti await.