Clay did NOT force me to do this. But I stole the meme from him.

1) Total number of books I’ve owned? I started reading when I was four, and had been collecting books since before then, and I turn 35 in three and a half months, so you do the math. Seriously, I’m a former MS Read-a-thon-er, and total book addict. I did once give my (at the time) mostly-complete collection of Star Trek books to my brother-in-law, but then I started reading TrekFic again, and am once more collecting them. If you’ve seen my reading lists or my book blog, then you can guess at the total. If e-books count, add 10%.

2) The last book I bought?
Well, I just pre-ordered Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, but other than that? I bought the complete works of Poe, a copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology, and a Dictionary of Phrase and Fable (all at the same time) about a week ago, the same day I bought a copy of Murder Ink on ebay. I didn’t time-stamp the purchases though.

3) The last book I read? I’m reading several at once, right now. The most recent book I’ve finished reading is the last in the TNG A Time To… series, A Time for War, A Time for Peace, by Keith R. A. DeCandido.

4) 5 books that mean a lot to me?
– The Earth Knows my Name, by Patricia Klindienst – the as-yet-unpublished book that my aunt is busily revising for her editor. She sent me the most recent draft on CD – it’s about immigrant gardens, and how gardening preserves culture, and everyone needs to go buy it next Spring when it’s available.

– Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, by Kathleen Norris – prairie culture explained. This totally saved my sanity when we lived in SoDak. I can’t say that often enough.

– Fletcher and Zenobia – a children’s book with illustrations by Edward Gorey. I love Edward Gorey. I had a copy of this when I was five, then lost it, and bought a first edition from a rare book seller a few years ago for $62.

– Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Judith Viorst – possibly the only children’s book that is better than Winnie the Pooh, it also makes a great monologue. I know, I’ve done it.

– Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott – Because deep down, there’s a part of me that still wants to be Jo March. Well, maybe not so deep down.

5) Tag 5 people and have them fill this out on their journals.
If you’re moved to participate in this meme, hey, cool. If not, also cool. I’m not naming names because I don’t like ordering people around. No, really, I don’t. :)
Continue reading →

I say… And you think… ?

1. Android:: Data
2. Revenge:: is a dish best served cold.
3. Knight:: Forever
4. Stranded:: at the Drive-in
5. Weakness:: tears
6. Greed:: avarice
7. Walter:: Olivia
8. Dense:: cloud-cover
9. Sheep:: mutton
10. Propane:: tank

Like this meme? Play along here.

(I’m suddenly wondering how many of my blog-friends (from here, LJ, and OD) are answering “Data” to that first prompt. Not that any of us are geeks or anything.)

Click for larger image
* * * * *

After the rain stopped tonight, I wandered outside with Cleo, to make sure she didn’t fall in the pool again. (She didn’t.) When I turned around to come back inside, I saw this guy on the wall above the back porch light, and decided to snap his picture.

I think the laser tracking night framing feature of my camera scared him – and if that didn’t, the flash definitely did – but I got a couple of shots before he skittered away.

Click images for larger versions

Note: As this entry is over 1300 words long, most of it will be found in the extended entry.

Traditionally, on Mother’s Day, my blog focuses on my own mother, the woman we affectionately refer to as Hurricane Susan. Irrepressible, generous, witty, and often surprisingly
sensitive and vulnerable, she has been, at various times, my best friend, my worst enemy, my coach, my competitor, my confidante, and the person I least wish to speak to, all of which is – I think – pretty typical of mothers and daughters. Especially when those mothers and daughters are both type-a aggressive personalities.

I write about her a lot, though, because I work with her, and because we talk via phone or computer, almost every day. So, this Mother’s Day, I want to write about some of the other women in my life, some of whom aren’t even parents, but who have guided me nevertheless.
Continue reading →

I say… And you think…?

1. Texas:: don’t mess with
2. Scholarship:: fund
3. Runner-up:: contestant
4. Mustang Sally:: ride, Sally, ride
5. Jones:: Bridget
6. Hard to get:: playing
7. Jewish:: Bubbie
8. Crew:: J.
9. Cable:: net
10. Assistant:: life-saver

Like this meme? Play along here.

I’m listening to Blues Traveller on Napster, and this song came one. The lyrics have nothing to do with the subject of this entry, but the title is appropriate, so I’m borrowing it.

First, though, here’s a picture of the OTHER desk in my office. It’s an antique writing desk that my mother bought for $400 at a garage sale about 10 years ago, and I inherited when she moved to Mexico.

Click picture for larger image

This is where I keep stamps and stickers, and have an entire drawer (under the fold-out table part of the desk) devoted to greeting cards.

The drawers aren’t visible, but the drawer-pulls are daisies. I think that’s a really cool touch. The calendar on the wall is, in fact, a Winnie-the-Pooh calendar, a gift from my godmother to my inner child.

Also evident in this picture is proof of my total geekiness – yes, it’s true – I watch TNG while I’m working in the afternoon, even though I’ve seen every episode many (many, many) times.

The darkness in this image is due to my camera flash deciding not to work, and the fact that I left the desklamp turned on, but I kind of like the moodiness.

But back to the letter from a friend bit, I received one earlier this week, from a friend in NZ, and in it was an entire page (newspaper page) of boots and shoes. It totally made me smile.

A while ago I mentioned my green glass desk, and a few people wanted pictures. Below is an offering, from a couple of days ago. It’s taken without flash, so that I could get the trees beyond the window, which means it may be kind of murky if your brightness isn’t turned way up.

Click photo for larger image.

So, there’s where I work, and where I write, but not generally where I blog, as I tend to do that from my laptop, in bed. *sigh* I suppose this means I have to take a picture of the laptop propped on pillows now, too.

Speaking of pillows, Cleo and Zorro are both curled up in the space where Fuzzy’s pillow generally resides (I’m using his pillow as my laptop holder tonight). I’ve just finished a glass of lovely syrah, and some pepperoni pizza, and tonight’s episode of ER, and am now watching Better than Chocolate on the Independent Film Channel, and thinking about editing the article I just finished.

Today was one of those days where I know I accomplished things but still feel as though I got nothing done.

Tomorrow the pool repair guys come.

I am so ready for the weekend.

Zing! #1

So, I finally had time yesterday to play with my spiffy new electronic tuner, and had the top three strings on my cello harmonizing delightfully when I got to the C-string.

I’ve had an adversarial relationships with C-strings since I was about nine, and had one pop and hit me in the face. Ever since then, no matter how many teachers and helpful music store folk have guided me through restringing my cello, that string has terrified me. I think because it’s so thick, and heavy.

I’m a strictly amateur hobbyist cello player. I noodle for fun. I’m good enough for community orchestras or church, but not good enough to be a soloist, and that’s cool, because I have a job, as well as two or three other things that I’d really prefer to have as a second career (writing). The cello I have is an advanced-student-quality “Virtuoso” cello from StringWorks in Wisconsin. It’s pretty, with rosewood fittings (pegs and tailpiece) and a really nice tone.

But I’m beginning to think that my problem with the C-string (this is the second time I’ve snapped one, while tuning, with less than half-step increments) might not be that I’m afraid of the string, and might be related to the peg and pegbox itself, because this string slips far too often to be normal. I’ve tried using stuff to help that, and it doesn’t work.

So, I’ve asked our choirmaster, who works at SMU, to ask any cello friends there if they can recommend an actual luthier, who can look at my peg box and figure out if I’m stupid, or if there’s really a problem.

Zing! #2

Last night, at about 7:00, I was in the kitchen waiting for Cleo to come inside from herpost-dinner trip to the rain-damp back yard. She likes to jumb into the raised flower box that runs behind the swimming pool, and then step onto the brick back wall of the pool, so she’s closer to the trees and has a better view of the birds she’s stalking. This gives her a doggie runway that is the length of the pool (about 20 feet), two feet above the surface of the water, and eight inches wide.

We often joke that one of these days she’s going to over-balance on her landing, and land in the pool.

Last night, probably because the rain made the brick slick, she did just that.

Now, when we first moved in here, I took both dogs into the pool, and taught them where the stairs were, so that if they ever managed to fall in, they’d have a decent chance of getting out.

I forgot two things, however.

1) Dogs live in the now. Things that are not reinforced daily, fly right out of their furry little brains.

2) Animals panic when they cease to have ground beneath their feet, and panic more when they land in deep pools of water.

So, it’s twilight, made darker by rain, and I’ve got a scared dog splashing in the pool. I could have gone in after her, of course, but since the filter is broken the water is kind of icky with fallen flower petals and an array of bugs. So I called her.

She ignored me, and kept splashing toward the wall she’d fallen from, which, from that direction, is sheer.

I went to the corner of the pool, on the deck, and clapped, and got her attention, and she turned in the water, but, because she was trying to see me, moved into a position that was almost vertical. I had images of Cleo turning into a black and white canine Titanic, and plummetting to the bottom, but she didn’t, and I moved a bit closer to the pool stairs, calling her the whole time.

Slowly, the clue intercepted the canine brain, and she figured out that I was leading her to the stairs. It took about five minutes, but finally a wet and bedraggled Cleo-pet pushed herself onto the top step,and then onto the deck, where, immediately, she tried to jump into my arms, for comfort, while simultaneously shaking off all the water.

She spent the next half hour drying near the space heater in the bathroom.

I spent the next half hour mopping up the path of watery doom from the kitchen and living room floors.

Two hours later, she was back outside, where she went to the edge of the pool, peered cautiously over it, and into the water, chuffed, and then lowered herself onto her belly, stalking it.

I’m not sure, but I think she won.

The first time I ever went to any kind of Renaissance festival was the weekend of Liz and Brett‘s wedding, when a bunch of us drove to Casa de Fruta, for the faire there. I loved it, but felt a bit overwhelemed at all the sights and sounds.

Last year, we didn’t make it to any faires because we were moving and packing, and then in a new state, and the faires here tend to be in spring and fall when the weather is mild. Still, when I saw the first ad for Scarborough Faire, I informed Fuzzy that we were going.

The first week of the faire, he was on call. The second, I had something that interfered. And so last weekend, we finally made it there, taking the long way to Waxahachie in an attempt to avoid freeway construction. Everything was green and springy, and the wildflowers were in full bloom, so the long way wasn’t bad – either way it’s only about forty minutes.

Scarborough Faire has a permanent location, with actual flushing toilets – actual CLEAN flushing toilets. I generally detest public restrooms, but I was seriously impressed with how clean these were. (Note: the restrooms near the falconry stage have the least amount of traffic.) They also have a gorgeous creekside setting with lots of bridges that get you back and forth to the various parts of the faire – it’s spread over 35 acres, after all.

The vendors are the usual array of jewelry and pottery artists. Fuzzy bought me a watermelon tourmaline necklace from Lucia, the people who also do the gem designs for Angel Sword, and I found a lovely pair of earrings that look like curls of gold ribbon, and weigh nothing.

We enjoyed the Falconry demonstration, which, aside from showing off a bunch of gorgeous birds, also confirmed for us that the large winged predators we see in the skies around here are, in fact, red-tailed hawks. Zorro, at eight and a half pounds, is about the same size as a wild rabbit, so when we got home, I had a conversation with him about being cautious when he’s outside. (We also have an owl in our neighborhood, and I’ve had friends who’ve lost chihuahuas to such birds.)

The food, of course, was pretty typical – turkey legs, steak on a stake, and my favorite, the tasty (if disturbingly phallic) sausage on a stick. Mmm. Bratwurst with mustard and ice cold cider, eaten at a picnic table in a pecan grove on a warm spring day. Perfection.

Fuzzy introduced me to funnel cake. I could have lived without that. Afterwards, we did some more shopping and browsing, and then I demanded alcohol. The large version of the program had informed me that of the eight pubs and taverns at the faire, only one, the White Horse, had hard cider, so we went to find it. This is the pub where all the “cool kids” hang out. It’s not attached to any of the food places, but tucked away on a cliff over the creek, with a canopy of trees. There’s a stage, where there were musicians, and you can hear the running water under the boisterous conversation. I had my lovely pear cider, and then we wandered toward the joust.

By that time, my feet hurt, and there was no way I was going to stand to watch the tournament, so Fuzzy went off to do that, and I watched the women in one of the clothing stores dress a young woman in period clothing. They caught me watching, and ended up dressing me, as well, and so now, I own a lovely forest green and antique rose ensemble – basic, but comfortable. If Fuzzy isn’t on call this weekend, we’re going back (possibly meeting up with some local folks)on Saturday, so I’ll get to wear it all day, instead of just for a couple of hours.

We didn’t really get to see any of the shows, and they have an improv group and a twisted Shakespeare group, so I want to see those when we go back, rather than shop, though I’ll definitely have them braid my hair again.

I’ve often said that if I were truly rich my biggest luxury would be to have someone wash my hair for me. I’m changing that. I’d have someone braid it for me. Oh, I know it was just french braids, twisted and pinned, but I don’t have the ability to braid my own hair. Never could.

Fuzzy has promised to learn, though. :)

Actually, I was still in bed, half asleep from antihistamine taken at far to late an hour before bed, when the pool filter clicked on, and I heard, not the customary bubbling and whirring, but a sound rather like a flushing toilet.

“This is not good!” I informed Zorro and Cleo, who looked at me with slitty eyes, as I left the bed and threw on ratty sweats, so that I could go out to the pool filter and check on things.

Note to self: when walking across lava rocks, wearing shoes is a wise choice.

The stepping stones that lead through the lava-rock landscaping and trailing ivy to the pool filter were immersed in six inches of cold chlorinated water (it felt lovely on my feet, actually), and more was flowing from the intake pipe – the pipe that filters hose water, and is responsible for automatically maintaining the water level of the pool – and the filter cannister was lying on the ground.

I managed to stop MOST of the water, and reduce the pressure enough to turn off the filter, but then I resorted to calling Fuzzy home from work, because I just wasn’t strong enough to turn the stop-cock on the water hose.

We’ve put in a call to our Home Warranty company (note to any who own real estate: if you do not have a home warranty, get one, if you have one, and it comes due for renewal, DO IT. If, as I suspect, we need a new pump for the pool, our total outlay will be $50 because we made sure the pool was ON the home warranty), which, in turn, send out a call to a local company to come look at the stuff. But they haven’t come yet. I’ll be following up in the morning, of course.

In the meantime, I can’t turn on the ppol filter because I can’t figure out how to bypass the intake pipe.

ARGH.

The vinyl pool was SO much easier to take care of.

On the up-side, the chlorinated water will kill all the weeds.