May. 22nd, 2013 | 08:37 pm
posted by: leahbobet
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 1000.
Words total: 68,500.
Reason for stopping: Iron Man 3. It's P.'s and my first anniversary tonight, even though we're both on deadline.
Darling du Jour: The lieutenant's discipline sagged; just enough to speak of long miles, and a hope wasting on wintering branches.
Mean Things: Realizing your best friend is kind of cutthroat; doing a terrible thing to a poor opportunistic cat who was motivated by nothing but snacks.
Research Roundup: Common Lebanese family names; actual shape of a pinafore.
Books in progress: matociquala, Range of Ghosts.
That's the rest of Chapter 12, and a scene and a half of Chapter 13, and a bunch of debris and bits of wrong turns thrown out of the file to fend for themselves.
I should just retitle this book YE OLDE TALE OF PEOPLE GETTING INTO EACH OTHER'S BUSINESS (ALSO MONSTERS). That's all anyone seems to do around here, possibly due to the Margaret Lawrence/Sinclair Ross side of the genetic code. I'm sending them all to an effective counselor for communication training. And I will try to make this conversation pass the Bechdel Test in the next draft.
May. 22nd, 2013 | 05:33 pm
mood: the usual pre-travel jitters
posted by: gwynnega
My schedule is here.
May. 22nd, 2013 | 07:42 pm
posted by: haikujaguar
Some of you will remember my Girl Scout cookie rant, in which I talked about the appropriateness of making five-year-olds “sell” cookies (which meant, functionally, that their parents were doing so in competition with each other). You suggested in that post that I allow you to buy boxes of cookies for soldiers, so I put up a donation button. Counting the boxes I bought, we sent over 70 boxes to our men and women in uniform… which meant Child was one of the only children in the troop to earn the “Gift of Caring” badge.
She received it today, and here it is. It’s the only cookie badge I think we can iron onto her uniform with pride.
Thank you all, for your generosity. You continue to be the most gratifying people to make art for, and I am deeply grateful for you all. :)
Mirrored from MCAH Online.
May. 22nd, 2013 | 04:19 pm
posted by: dichroic
I am not sure giving Macchiato-cat a treat was a good thing: it just led to her getting up in my face to see if there might be More. I deliberately gave it to her in the living room, not near the pantry, to try to combat her (correct) belief that the pantry Is Where Good Things Live, because now every time I open the door she’s there in a flash and has gotten on the bottom shelf a few times. However, I don’t think it worked because she may well be smart enough to remember that I had been at the pantry minutes before.
Oolong does not eat kitty treats; she eats pretzels and gets very excited about popcorn, which makes sitting on the couch and eating a bowl of it a bit of a kitty-fending ordeal. Today was an epoch in their little lives, as they had TUNA for the first time (I decided to have a sandwich of it for lunch). They ate it, but neither one seemed as excited about it as they do about treats / popcorn respectively.
They’ll be coming with us to the lake house for this long weekend, which will make their third time there. They like it there, but are not so thrilled about the process of getting there. The first time, we put calming collars on them, which just meant we had the ordeal or getting those on plus the ordeal of getting them in the carriers. Last time we gave Maka calming treats on the way there (Oolong won’t eat those, either). We didn’t really think they had much effect, until the way back, when she was agitated and biting at the cage, and we realized we hadn’t given her any – luckily, they were packed where I could reach them and she became much calmer after having one. She’s pretty easy to get in the carrier, though, and will even investigate it on her own, though she doesn’t actually get in. Oolong is harder to catch, and doesn’t like being handled. Once she’s in, though, she stays calm and just glares at us the whole way.
We’re not sure they really understand the whole transportation concept. The lake house has is built on a slight slope and has two floors: a main floor with living areas and bedrooms, and a lower floor with some extra rooms that are on ground level at the back, and have nice sunny sitting places for cats. This house has three floors: bedrooms on top, living areas in the middle, and entry and garage below. Both times, after getting back home, they’ve gone downstairs and seemed to be looking for the extra rooms. I think they’re convinced that the car is just a place where we go sit while the house transforms itself.
Now that we finally have the sofa here, we were planning to take one of the rocking chairs back to the lake house, but I think we’ve given up on that idea for the moment.
Mirrored from Dichroic Reflections.
May. 23rd, 2013 | 07:36 am
posted by: satyapriya
The look on Toyah's face when we brought home the safety capsule, ready for TB's birth. She knew, she was almost sure she'd seen one of these before and it boded ill. She looked at it and walked off in disgust, obviously thinking 'Oh crap, another one of those noisy proto-humans'.
Meep loved TB. Or rather, his cot. All those bunnies rugs and soft blankets. As soon as he went in there for a sleep, she'd hop in and cuddle down at the far end of it. TB's feet flexed and waved like a flag even in his sleep. Maybe she got a back massage while he slept.
She quickly learned that when he started making his wake up noises and twitches, it was time to get out. We never had a baby monitor for TB. We didn't need one. We only had to see Meep shoot out of his room to know that he was waking up. She knew that if she didn't leave, he'd abruptly roll over, sit up, and grab, with a delighted: "Aaaaahhhh!" as though he'd just discovered a new periodic element.
The kids were pretty good with the cats. Both learned that if you grabbed or pulled, you got scratched. TG would howl and show me her boo-boo.
"So, don't grab the cat," I'd tell her. "It's your own doing."
Toyah and Meep grew into their teens with us, until we lost both of them within a couple of years of each other. Toyah to cancer, and Meep of old age. I came home one day to find her curled up in a cooling ball in the front yard, Spring sunshine streaming down on her.
TG was at school camp. The first thing she asked her father when he collected her off the camp bus that day was "Is Meep okay?" He didn't know. He said yes.
They came home. I had to tell her Meep had died, and that I'd buried her in the garden.
She cried a long time, for her beloved animal who'd become friend and confessor, secret keeper and sleeping companion.
A cat, who after many years of quiet aloofness, became her lap cat.
We were suddenly without cats. This could not last long, and thus began a long period of kittens and cats through the house before we settled on our current mob. Why so many? Several died. We had extraordinarily bad luck with black cats there for a while. Buffy was hit by a car, and Cherry managed to tip a stone bird bath on herself. Tishy escaped while at the local vet, and was never seen again, although we suspect she'd been two-timing us with an old lady who smelled of lavender.
Giddy, a beautiful grey, and brother to Tish, was hit by a trailer.
There are a few years there that seem populated by death, by loss. Hard on all of us, but TG was desperate for a companion animal, and amidst her own dreadful crises, needed something to hold on to. To have Tishy, her particular favourite, run away like that, my guilt knew no bounds. It was me who took her to the vet that morning. It was me who didn't notice the vet's back door was open. I let her out of the cat carrier blithely, and too late saw the open door. Even then, I did not grab her. She was out the door, and over the fence so quickly, she was like dark lightning.
I asked the vet to put out food for her.
"That attracts strays," he said.
"That's kind of the idea," I said.
We called, we searched, we did a Lost Cat letter drop for streets around.
When we moved from Fankhauser Drive, TG broke down.
"Now Tishy will never find her way home to us," she said.
I had to be strong, to say that she had likely found a new family and was cuddled up with them right now. Inside, I cried too, because new tenants would not know a skinny black cat, if she ever turned up, belonged to us. Tish was gone.
May. 23rd, 2013 | 07:12 am
posted by: satyapriya
After the blue and pink glasses fiasco, which only lasted a year, I retreated into non-statement gold metal rims and stayed there a good long while, probably until university, when large frames became de rigeur, and I rigeured along with them.
I have unfortunate photos of me with huge plastic frames, and a short poodle perm. Oh, how I wanted to be Debbie Hancock on 'Young Talent Time', who sported a perm that started only partway down her head. Straight on top, then poodle perm. She was young and thin, and could sing. Yep, I'll have that hairdo, thanks, and magically transform into her.
I trooped through the mid-eighties with that 'do, and those glasses. The 'do grew out, and I became less and less able to afford the perms, but the glasses remained. The photo of I have of me holding my daughter, a day or so after she was born, I'm wearing a huge, white plastic pair of specs that come out in a sort of Elton John wing. They flatten my face and make me look like Atom Ant.
Metal rims kept me a comfort zone for many years after that until rimless came into fashion, and my then-current partner, now known as XP(Ex Partner), said I shouldn't hide behind glasses, that they shouldn't be a feature on my face. He, meanwhile, sported half-frames of black metal.
Now, as women get older, one of two things happens. Either the skin around our eyes darkens and we looks like pandas, or it fades and we look like owls. I'm an owl. I was getting older. The rimless spectacles faded me out to non-entity. I thought I looked great.
I experimented with contact lenses. Worst decision ever, apart from the poodle perm. 1: I had to touch my eyes. I can barely stand to put eyeliner or mascara on. 2: the amount of fiddling about with lens solution, and whatnot drove me crazy. 3: I had to touch my eyes. 4: the one time I got the lenses in correctly, and I went walkabout in Vermont South, I discovered that there was NOTHING between me and world. There was no nice barrier. There was me out there, with my bare face. Most unpleasant. I felt naked.
Back to the rimless glasses, and the safety barrier of specs.
Since then, I've been through black rims, tortoiseshell, brown, and back to metal frames. The search continues for the perfect pair.
May. 22nd, 2013 | 01:15 pm
posted by: rachelmanija
There was one event in particular which was completely surprising, yet meticulously set up over ten books. There was another, also surprising yet completely set up, which caused me to email Buymeaclue a message whose non-spoilery text consisted of "OH MY GOD!!!!! Also, just opened the part where it shifts POVs and OH MY GOD I KNOW WHERE HE IS."
Now I want to read the whole thing over from the beginning. Due to the unusual structure, it will probably feel like an entirely new experience.
You can buy the whole shebang on e-book at a discount ($30 for the equivalent of four books), or in paper. However, the paper editions are in four volumes, and only two are out. You will probably end up with a mutant half-paper, half-e-book set if you attempt the latter.
I mentioned before that the series reminded me of P. C. Hodgell. By the end, it also reminded me of the Fullmetal Alchemist anime (first series.) In both, nearly all the seemingly unrelated side stories and apparently unimportant minor characters turn out to be integral to the story as a whole. Also the unusual mix of a dark world with a magic system involving some major body horror, with funny moments and a lot of very likable and even idealistic characters who don’t (necessarily) get crushed under the author’s boot.
( Read more...Collapse )
These books just kept getting better and better, from an intrigueing but somewhat rough start. I’m sure they will reward re-reading.
Crossposted to http://rachelmanija.dreamwidth.org/1109
May. 22nd, 2013 | 02:38 pm
posted by: time_shark
May. 22nd, 2013 | 11:22 am
location: United States, California, Northridge
posted by: wyrmwwd
May. 22nd, 2013 | 01:21 pm
posted by: ericmarin
Sinuous black boots
and scalpel cheek bones
from their targets'
words of the Wild Hunt
in poems, in stories
coursing through the ether;
the harassers stumble
at the sight of hounds,
at the sound of horns.