We went ice-skating at the foot of Half-Dome today. It was truly gorgeous -- snow and frost and pines and towering mountains, and not half as cold as Paris. At one point I swear I saw Hugin -- or maybe Munin -- winging by, and the other half of that pair dominated the parking area from the ground.

The ice in the rink was scratched and dented from the holiday rush of skaters, and I will confess to giving it some uneasy looks. I never did get the hang of roller-blades or skate-boards, and generally if I'm at an ice-rink I spend 80% of the time attached to the wall and the rest of it off the ice. So when, after about three minutes, I abandoned the wall and took a few turns around without using it as a crutch, I was fairly pleased with myself. I even bragged to Mimi that I hadn't fallen once yet -- an accomplishment, let me assure you!

--Pride goeth, and all that, and so of course I fell two seconds after my boast, doing injury to my tailbone, dignity, and left arm. But I clambered back up and continued on, and by the time I quit the rink some forty minutes later I was much more comfortable and had regained all my missing pride, though my wrist was still rather sore.

Then I went to pull off the gloves.

That was a Bad Idea.

My wrist, as it turned out, was not fine. As a matter of fact, it had swollen up rather badly, with a marvelous lump where the bone ought to have been, and it was impossible to move it or my thumb without a great deal of pain. I hadn't used it while skating, only flailed my arms about, so it was something of a surprise.

I tried to use both hands to remove the skates. It only took my wrist about half a second to convince my brain that that, too, was a Bad Idea.

We got into the van, and I realized that I could not crochet one-handed. Half an hour later, the lap-top died, and even though the scenery was beautiful I think I may have veered close to madness on the way back to Calvin Crest.

So now I'm sitting in Cedar Lodge, typing this with one hand and trying not to move the other one. The swelling has extended most of the way to the elbow along the back of my arm, and now I can't safely move that, either. My wrist is almost certainly sprained, probably with a bruised bone tossed in, I'm to get it X-rayed tomorrow or the day after, and winter term at CSUS starts the 5th. We are hoping that the bone is not actually fractured or outright broken.

Also, the scarf I was working on for my grandmother's Christmas gift will not be finished by the time she arrives, which is a source of vast annoyance since it was almost done.

But hey, I went ice-skating at one of the most beautiful locations on earth.

And I only fell over once.

Water
Milk
Assam
Cinnamon
Cloves
Nutmeg
Black peppercorns
Vanilla
Orange peel
Sugar
Cardamom
Cumin
--------
= Yummy!

The time-space around finals Sucketh.

Except for impromptu games of Star Munchkin, anyways.

I won!!!!!

...My characters are evil and need to die. I did not want to start playing with international politics this close to the deadline, especially when I don't even know what most of the countries are named!

This is fun. Except for the days where I don't do much...

(But I'm still ahead.)

Word count for today's not uploaded yet, but it's still ahead of the strictly-necessary count and behind my personal goal. Ah, well, no classes tomorrow!

14,123. Another 2k tomorrow and I should have a fairly nice cushion for next week.

I wish there were three or four NaNos per year and not just one.

13,465 words and counting. Up to date - now I just need to keep writing and make myself a nice little cushion for the upcoming days.

Next week's the worst.

Currently in play: weretigers, werebears, assassins, abductors, abductees, ambassadors, bodyguards, kings, nobles, international plots, Mysterious Forests, and the odd sorcerer or three.

...Ye gods. I am so going to have to run this through the Mary-Sue Litmus Test when I am done...

First name:

Get Your Cyborg Name

Middle name:

Get Your Cyborg Name

And we cannot forget that I am also one of the:

Get Your Cyborg Name

This was just too much fun.

Biology majors annoy me. They can't get out of the required year of physics, so instead they decide that it's unimportant and they can just skate through it, promptly forgetting every blessed thing they learn the moment the class ends. Never mind that they have to take a second semester of it after they finish the first. Never mind that any half-way decent med school will test you on it before acceptance. So they all sign up for credit/no credit and do absolutely nothing so far as earning a decent grade goes.

They skip out of class incessantly.
They refuse to so much as look at the homework.
When they are in class, they ignore the professor and make no attempts at interaction.

And then they have the audacity to complain when the average score on a test comes back a 35 out of 100, thereby ticking off the professor who is trying to teach these things to them and failing because they Just. Won't. Learn. And, of course, the repercussions from that then fall on both the just and the unjust. Is it time to flee Sodom yet? It's beginning to feel like it.

If physics were any harder than their other classes, I would be much more inclined to sympathy. But these students have for the most part gone through a year's worth of chemistry with A's and B's - a class that requires rather more memorization of formulae than physics, along with ten thousand other rules. A number of them have taken and passed Organic Chemistry, which is supposedly the bane of the Bio major. They've taken botany and zoology and microbiology and genetics and kept up an acceptable GPA, but the moment it comes to the physics class every ounce of skill and dedication that would normally be applied is royally defenestrated. Dr. Mokhtari takes great pains to make sure that everyone has a printed copy of the assigned problems, but what can she do when the students fold them up and never look at them again?

I'm not jumping ship: I'm in for the duration, and I will be getting a decent grade. But somehow I suspect that the Physics II classroom this spring will appear rather barren compared to the current one.

The thought pleases me.

Word count as of last night: 4186. I'm hoping to keep on about 2k words per day instead of 1667 - it builds a buffer into the system. So far, so good!

I swear terzanelles are going to drive me insane. In a good way. I hope. Bleh.

Here's what a few hours' worth of focus got me. Feel free to rip it to shreds.


Her cloak is red and black, and stained with light,
with gold and silver dancing in her eyes:
it hides the watching shadows of the night.

Behind, the brush of sunset sets the skies
alight; the fire spills across her face:
with gold and silver dancing in her eyes

she dips her head and lifts her hands to trace
a binding spell, a rune. The stars are all
alight; the fire spills across her face

and down her cloak; the sunset bonfires fall
and fade. She drops her hands and starts to sing
a binding spell, a rune. The stars are all

ablaze and watchful, bright and glimmering.
Her spells wrap tight about my soul: they spark
and fade. She drops her hands and starts to sing

another tune, a drawing, sweet and dark.
Her cloak is red and black, and stained with light
(her spells wrap tight about my soul, and spark):
it hides the watching shadows of the night.

Today I created a Flickr account. Maybe it'll even get used...

I had weird dreams last night. Parrot finches and Bird Heaven Aviaries just don't mix well with weretigers and 4000-year-old vampires (thank you Tor & Namach.)

Michele, I blame you.

Back home again.

Less than two hours of sleep night before last. Who knows why - I certainly went to bed with enough time to get 8 - but at least I picked up some Naproxin so the headache wasn't too bad. Then last night went to the Jr. High Christmas party with the campers, got back at 10:30, but still left myself ample time to get 8, a full night's sleep.

...Couldn't sleep until past 1 AM, then got woken up by some weird deranged noise. Impossible to say whether it was a pair of big cats fighting or a problem with the pipes, but the toilet was fine when I went into the bathroom. Get back into the bedroom, hear something walking around just outside and sniffing at my window - and no it wasn't a squirrel or raccoon, thanks, very used to the noises those thinks make outside by now. Couldn't get to sleep for another hour, then woke up at bloody 6 AM and couldn't get back to sleep thanks to the thrice-accursed birds. Massive headache means more Naproxin today if I'm to get through Turnover, even though I really don't want to have to use it two days running. Least I didn't take one last night.

...And I have a mandatory "party" to attend this evening that will probably be more of a meeting and will run late. Less sleep.

Someone shoot me now, please?

My refrigerator must have been made by Microsoft - the milk that was supposed to good for another week looks like it was left out three days running, and the meat that should have been edible for ten more days is festooned with white mold. The eggs are long gone, as is the fruit, and I've had chicken and rice for the past three days. To top it off, the lighter is broken and all of my matches are gone, and I have nothing microwaveable left in the cabin.

Hm. I think I need to go to the store.

My tea came! I'm very happy about it. I got good-sized amounts of:

Rooibus Rote Grutze
Rooibus Candied Almond
Formosa Jade Oolong (Tung-ting style, yummy!)

And then samples of these (which I can't wait to try...)

Heirloom Tea Flowers
CTC Irish Breakfast Blend (a collage of Assams)
East Frisian TGFOP (another blend of Assams)
Sweet Almond Green Tea
Green Tea with Red Ginseng
Sencha (a middling grade)
Genmai Cha (which should be interesting)
Formosa Amber Oolong Select (can you tell I love Formosas and Assams, yet?)
Season's Pick Gunpowder Green (that one's Joy's)

And they tossed in a complementary Ceylon sample from the Uva Highlands region, which will probably go to Joy since I'm not normally a fan of Ceylon teas.

Oh happy day!

Love the thunder, but I really rather wish it would stop raining. It's far too chilly - and I thought this place was supposed to be dry.

On a different note, I'm actually going to church today for the first time since I've been here.

It's cold. I'm huddling in my cloak (thanks, Mom!) and waiting for the tea to brew while Saiwe cuddles in my hand, nipping at my fingernails.

All in all, not that bad.

I thought of you last night. Somewhere between "God Bless America" and the Air Force Hymn I remembered the way you laughed, threatened the hapless dogs, watched your grandkids - and it didn't hurt.

Ave atque vale, Papa.

If I do not go away, ought I to get another parrot? My living expenses for the year, especially if I don't get the full 12 k, will be close to maxed out - I built some amount of leeway into the calculations, but not much, not at all.... There's no way basic living costs will be less than 6 k. And the school tuition is 3.3 k. If I get 8 k in grants, and take away 2.5 or 3 k from the summer, I'm looking at having... say 1 - 1.5 k left over. That's... not fantastic. The bird itself would be close to 1 k, and then its upkeep would probably be at least .5 k. No es bien!

If I do get 12 k in grants, then I'm set. Hakuna matata! Say 9 k total, counting the kitties' care and tuition, then that leaves me 3 k in grants plus perhaps 3 k from the summer job - enough to get my license and cover nice things like wedding gifts and extra parrots.

But that's only this year. Granted, if I don't go abroad this year I just plain can't go for school at all. Even 15 k would barely cover getting me into Australia via USAC. I'd need to take an extra job. Much less New Zealand! And since I don't want to go just for a summer, I'd be sunk. A Masters' would be my only option left - that or independent travel. There's no doubt that if I don't go for '09 I'm not going for '10. So I'd be home; I'd have the time and resources to care for two parrots, once the initial purchase price was resolved. I even already have the cage. But would it be wise of me to do so? Any large parrot is going to be hitting sexual maturity and the difficult phase right as I graduate from college and am looking for a Master's program. What will that do to my job pursuits? It's not wise to tie yourself down, Dad says, and I hate it but he may be right. Even if I get a bird suitable for an apartment, I'm still limited. Especially since the adolescent phase is going to peak again right around the time I get done with a Masters' and am looking for work or a Ph.D.

That in mind, if I were to get a parrot, what would be a feasible choice? Large macaws and cockatoos are out of the question, as are Amazons. Much as I love them, they're too destructive, too loud, and too time-consuming. I don't want to deal with the neurotic tendencies of a Grey, yet, though when I have the time I think they'll prove fascinating. Likewise, hawk-headed parrots are just not on. Conures are lovely, but unless I go for another Py they're much too noisy, and besides, I want a bigger bird. Lories and lorikeets are too messy; parakeets are too small. I've never been drawn by the Senegals and Meyers, either.

Some of the mini-macaws could be an option. Illigers, yellow-collareds, and Nobles would probably be best, as Hahns sound a bit more trouble than they're worth. But these guys are all pricy, $700 and up, except for the Hahns. They're destructive, too - not that any parrot isn't, but they do have a reputation for it, unlike Vasas and eclectus parrots. And they can get loud a few times a day. At Crowell this wouldn't be a problem; in any other apartment it might be. And they're still a bit small for what I'm looking at.

A galah, goffins, or Ducorps 'too might work. They're not nearly as loud as their larger brethren, and they're much less stressful - and they're cuddly, too! They're not picky, though they are apparently very very messy, feather dust and flinging stuff. But they're also even more expensive than the mini-macaws. 1.5 k for a Rosie, and 1.3 k for a Ducorps? I don't think so! Even the goffins is $850, and I'm just not sure I ought to spend that much.

Not that eclectus' are any cheaper, and by all reports they have their own special set of problems. The cost of food would be much higher for these guys. The males would be shy, and the females you'd have to be leery of spooking, lest they bite - hard! On the other hand, they're not supposed to be nearly as loud or as destructive as the 'toos and mini-macaws, and they really are gorgeous birds. Of course, they're not as cuddly... but they don't have much of a reputation for being nippy, either, which means a lot.

I like the idea of Vasas, lesser or greater, quite a bit. But would Saiwe be able to handle having one around? I don't want my darling, bratty little GCC to get territorial on me and attack the Vasa - he'd wind up dead meat! The head-hunting stories sound none too pleasant, either, and Vasas apparently take a bit to warm up to new people. I haven't heard of them being nippy, which is good, but... they are strange. And I'm not sure I like the idea of the bird perpetually trying to mate with me at all, like the males apparently do. As for the females - well, some people might find that bald head attractive, but I certainly don't! And they're Old-World birds, too, which means they'd have to get vaccinated against Polyoma and Sarc - I think the 'toos would, too. On the other hand, they're less likely to get hit by hawks if they get loose, which is a Very Good Thing. And they seem to have very fun personalities, even if they're not as cuddly. But is the tradeoff worth it?

Then too there's the idea of living with Michele. If we go in together on a parrot, it needs to be one she can tolerate - okay, so that leaves the entire list open. But it also needs to be one she actively would want. I know she's into the eclectus bunch (and oh, aren't those Vos females lovely?) I don't think she's as fond of the mini-macaws. She loves Greys, though.

Meh.

But if both she and I get parrots, there's the necessity for another cage. We've only the one at present: and that not big enough for much. A Grey, sedentary as they are, would work; a mini-macaw perhaps, though I'd wince. I wouldn't want to put a 'too or eclectus or Vasa in it at all, active as they are.

And then there's the necessity of harness- and flight-training. Will we have enough hours? If we're living on Crowell we should, but what if we're in Modesto? That... wouldn't necessarily be good, especially since we couldn't take the birds to class. We could perhaps keep duplicate cages there, but that would be expensive, even if we did get them at fantastic deals.

Just my bit of rambling...

Evening shifts are irritating. They're not spectacularly bad - we haven't stayed in the kitchen past 9 yet - but I'd rather be done by 2 or 3 in the afternoon. But the sky is a rich Colorado-type blue, and the air is clean, and it's about 80 degrees out, and the air smells of lake and pines - and with all that, who's to complain?

Also, we're supposed to get Net access at the rentals on Friday.

I promised several people a post about the Mill Creek Manor Tea House. I'm sorry it's been so long in coming, but I have had trouble wrestling my thoughts into a coherent pattern. Still, I've gone twice now, and surely I should form an opinion!

Their food - they serve lunch from noon to 4 - is tasty, although overpriced and mislabeled. I blame the pricing on the fact that Big Bear is a tourist town, and the tea house is primarily oriented towards tourists. The mislabeling I am not quite sure what to think of; the "crepes de la reine" were delicious, but they were _not_ actually crepes.

The selection of tea is acceptable, though not superb: perhaps thirty varieties. However, the selection is also very narrow. All but three of the teas on the table are flavored blends, mostly of blacks or greens (though there are a few rooibos bases tossed in). All of them bear excessively flashy names, designed to attract casual (tourist) attention. What is more, the base tea used in these cases is of mediocre quality at best.

Don't mistake me - I am a frequent drinker of blended teas (Earl Grey, anyone?) There's this fruit blend I know that makes the _best_ iced tea, bar none. But I think any balanced tea collection should contain no more than perhaps 25% blended varieties. What happened to the Darjeeling, the Assam, the Ceylon, the delicate varieties of Formosa oolongs, the Ti-guan-yin, the Silver Needle? Tea is a very old tradition, even in Europe, even in "progressive" America: any place claiming to be a tea house should _not_ bow to the whim and fancy of passing tourists and thus disdain it.

-----

When I went to the tea house, I took note of the atmosphere and layout. The building was very cluttered with tourist memorabilia. While this was understandable, due to the dual purposes of tea house and gift shop, it probably could have been organized better. As it was, the motley pastels draped and fell over every square inch of shelf, half-wall, and table, leaving me (me, of all people!) with the distinct impression of _clutter_. This was unfortunately compounded by the tendency of tourists to forget any semblance of manners when on vacation. Ladies and gentlemen, undoubtedly pleasant in their normal lives, leaned over diners' tables, chairs, meals, shoved their way behind seats, bumped the tables in their efforts to see something, attempted to find the price tag on the cozy of one's pot! It was nearly enough to induce claustrophobia.

The table setting... lacked. Instead of being served a pitcher of cream and dish of sugar, I was left to contemplate the small dish with prepackaged sweeteners, and the dismal sight of preserved half-&-half. Neither the taste nor the effect was pleasant. Surely it would not have taken much more effort to ask the customer if they would enjoy cream or sugar? When the tea arrived, it was set down, and then the drinker was ignored until the hurried proprietress slapped down a tab. No attention was given, nor any interaction, outside of that exchange.

The redeeming element in setting was the serving of the scone. This pastry was served hot, quartered, and with a dish of clotted cream and jam. The plate was actually quite elegant, and the scone tasty. Alas! the price, for one scone, was $6.50 - an abysmal charge for what was likely a packaged mixture, no matter how good the taste.

Probably I will go again until I have sampled all the blends that look interesting. Probably I will sit at my corner-table with a book, wincing as tourists climb over and behind me, and refrain from ordering the scone, no matter how delicious. But after that -

Well. I doubt it will become a favored summertime haunt.

The crazy voice lady gave me a bloody A!!!!

Very busy day. Wish the butterflies would go find some sweeter fields and leave me be.

A blonde walks into a bank in New York City and asks for the Loan Officer. She says she's going to Europe on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5,000. The bank officer says the bank will need some kind of security for the loan, so the blonde hands over the keys to a new Mercedes Benz SL 500. The car is parked on the street in front of the bank. She has the title, and everything checks out. The bank agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan. The bank's president and its officers all enjoy a good laugh at the blonde for using a $110,000 Benz as collateral against a $5,000 Loan. An employee of the bank then proceeds to drive the Benz into the bank's underground garage and parks it there.

Two weeks later, the blonde returns. She repays the $5,000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41.

The loan officer says, "Miss, we are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is, why would you bother to borrow $5,000?"

The blonde replies, "Where else in New York City can I park my car for two weeks for only $15.41 and expect it to be there when I return?"

I don't want to cut my hair any more. I won. I'm not sorry.

Namarie.

Sometimes you've really got to love this kind of detailed analysis....

Personally, I'm borderline ENTP/INTP. The descriptions are....

Well. Amusing.

News of note:

-I have nearly decided upon a selection of teas to order from Upton

-I may have convinced several people to at least try to come with me to New Zealand

-I am making some progress on convincing my semi-stalker that I really am not the right girl for him

-My voice teacher is bipolar. Alternately, she has been abducted by aliens, and is being played by one of the same

-The Lounge has a clean courtyard, thanks to Becky

-I am writing a - shall we say, interesting? - short screenplay

-The Lounge has a cat and two kittens. They're adorable!

If you have ever banged your head looking at LotR or Silm fanfic, then this is for you:

"Confused Memories of a Teen Reader"

This is one of the most hilarious quizzes I've taken in a long time.

http://www.directhomefind.com/dream-home/index.php

Mine is a Wizard's Ranch.

Your kitchen is manned by a team of Keebler Drow Elves. There's a Chocolatessen, which is rapidly becoming your favorite room of the house. Having one is also becoming a trend among your wealthy neighbors. Your master bedroom is decorated to look like the treetop village of the Galadhrim. Your study has every fantasy novel ever written, including multiple editions of the Silmarillion and advance copies of Dungeons and Dragons Fifth Edition. One of your garages houses your Hummer, and others contain your H2, and H3... with room for an H4, if they ever invent one.

Your home also includes a roost for griffons. You've never actually seen a griffon, but you keep the roost ready anyway. Your guests enjoy your home theater with hi-def plasma screen TV, and the thrones you watch it from. Outside is the moat that protects your home from goblin invaders and extended family.

And, you have a pet -- a unicorn named "Shadowhooves".

Che fiero costume
D'aligero nume,
che a forza di pene si faccia adorar, si faccia adorar!
E pur nell' ardore
il Dio traditore
un vago sembiante mi fe idolatrar.

Che crudo destino
che un cieco bambino
con bocca di latte si faccia stimar, si faccia stimar!
Ma questo tiranno
con barbaro inganno
entrando per gli'occhi mi fe sospirar.
Che crudo destino...!

I have come to the conclusion that it is very difficult to engage feelings of loneliness when watching a green-cheek conure. They are simply too amusing, and require a good deal of attention to keep out of trouble. Additionally, they want to help with whatever you are doing - typing, playing the piano, brushing your hair, washing the dishes, clearing the table, baking bread, drinking tea, building (or deconstructing) Jenga towers, sweeping, bobbing for walnuts, decorating your homework pages, "fixing" the computer cord -

Also, they think it great fun to crawl around on your ticklish feet.

Then when they decide that they are quite through, they will clamber all over your shirt and pants, shoulders, arms, and head, surf in your hair, burrow through your shirt-sleeves, comb your hair, and preen your eyelashes. After that they will engage in professional dermatology by attempting to remove any moles, freckles, pimples, or mosquito bites that may have appeared on your skin.

All the while, of course, they keep up a constant monologue of parrot-ese, not to be confused with canary, finch, dog, cat, or anything else in the known universe...

I bought 125 books for $25.

It's pretty incredible.

Save a Tree
Read Online Fiction

I spent some time today finding and taking "Song of Ice and Fire" character tests - with mildly disturbing/amusing results. Apparently I seem to exist somewhere between Tywin Lannister and Ned Stark. (Not to mention that one that said Melisandre, too, but I've decided to treat that as a complete fluke. If you've read SoIaF, you'll know what I mean.) Still, the juxtaposition of Stark and Lannister - especially those two! - will probably keep me laughing for a while.

As a note to those who have read, my brother took it and came out as Brienne of Tarth.

The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying. dying, dying.

O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

~Alfred Tennyson

"Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed." ~Dwight Eisenhower, 1954

Fifty-three years old - it might as well be fifty thousand. It is still hard to hear, but does that make it less true?

I want to have this:

"If the world should stop revolving, spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you,
and when the world was through
then one by one the stars would all go out, and you and I
would simply fly
away."

But it doesn't fit. And so, denied that, I would rather be Aubrey than the singer - but I am denied that, too, and I think I am stuck in between.

Where it hurts.

I hate it.

The silver swan, who, living, had no note,
When death approach'd, unlocked her silent throat;
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sang her first and last, and sang no more:

"Farewell all joys, O death, come close mine eyes;
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise!"

~Orlando Gibbons, "The Silver Swan"

If you choose to believe me, good. Now I will tell how Octavia, the spider-web city, is made. There is a precipice between two steep mountains: the city is over the void, bound to the two crests with ropes and chains and catwalks. You walk on the little wooden ties, careful not to set your foot in the open spaces, or you cling to the hempen strands. Below there is nothing for hundreds and hundreds of feet: a few clouds glide past; farther down you can glimpse the chasm's bed.

This is the foundation of the city: a net which serves as passage and as support. All the rest, instead of rising up, is hung below: rope ladders, hammocks, houses made like sacks, clothes hangers, terraces like gondolas, skins of water, gas jets, spits, baskets on strings, dumb-waiters, showers, trapezes and rings for children's games, cable cars, chandeliers, pots with trailing plants.

Suspended over the abyss, the life of Octavia's inhabitants is less certain than in other cities. They know the net will only last so long.

I totally demolished the class structure in the Creative Writing workshop yesterday: sent several people into hysterical laughter, confused a good half the class, and absolutely terrified the rest. And all it took was one little word.

"Lycanthropy."

It started out with Stephanie's rabbit, who had an unusual fondness for coffee. Then her cat decided that it really liked wine - who knows why! After that it was an Australian shepherd who would eat anything - pills, powders, poison - if it was served with ice cream. And did I mention the German shepherd who would sooner bury a hot dog than eat it?

It turns out that we're not done yet. The newest development? My conure simply cannot keep himself away from Earl Grey tea, brewed extra strong, served with warm cream and sugar.

One of the hedges is out. The opening-up of space and sight is wonderful to behold. I'm going to have to keep that in mind when sketching out architectural and landscaping plans.

HERE, in the wild parts of the world -
here, where humans do not come, and crows do not fly,
nor hares creep, and where ship-banners are furled
(when indeed they dare to come at all) - here, in the wild, I lie.

THERE is a curious sort of mist that hangs above the world:
sheer, thick as cobwebs, unyielding as an infant's cry.
It envelopes the dead lands, the mountains, the curled
frozen shores that once, long ago, lived. If I sigh
into it, it does nothing but murmur back, muttering of the world.

BE it so that, far beyond this clouded sky,
words are stronger than I? I have been too long furled.

DRAGONS, dreams, ancient stories hurled
against the bones of Time, and Time's eye,
watching, mocking, the interwoven histories curled
upon each other. I am myth, a fading cry
of what was. The memories have been furled,
bound tight in custom, reason. Still - here, in the wild, I lie:
here, in the wild parts of the world.

A kenning is a description of a thing one saw, often done in formal or poetic language; it was very popular as a form of Anglo-Saxon riddling. Anyway, here's one I made!

I saw this thing once: a face made of red fire and golden flame drowning beneath the water. Waves of her hair drifted golden above the lake-weed, and red strands tumbled lazily about the little silver fish. About her flame was wrapped a great mantle darker and bluer than the water; there were diamonds sewn into the hem and hood and collar. The darkness drowned her fire, and all that was left was the diamond-studded mantle shifting and turning in the lake: the owls and wolves made a funeral dirge.

Reading the Entrails: a Rondel

They'll call it chance, or luck, or call it Fate-
The cards and stars that tumble as they will.
Tomorrow manifests and brings the bill
For every kiss and kill, the small and great.
You want to know the future, love? Then wait:
I'll answer your impatient questions. Still-
They'll call it chance, or luck, or call it Fate,
The cards and stars that tumble as they will

I'll come to you tonight, dear, when it's late,
You will not see me; you may feel a chill.
I'll wait until you sleep, then take my fill,
And that will be your future on a plate.
They'll call it chance, or luck, or call it Fate.

~Neil Gaiman

A kenning I wrought for you...

I saw this thing once: a face made of red fire and golden flame floating drowned beneath the water, red hair drifting above the lake-weed and tumbling about the little silver fish; about was wrapped a great blue mantle with diamonds at the hem and hood and cloak.

Since I received a few complaints about the last one, I've rewritten it to be less - geeky, shall we say? Here is the new version.

A Song for the Unicorn

Once I was as you are now;
I sang and danced and smiled.
But now I have become undone,
a restless wand'ring child;
there is no breath of faith or hope
or joy upon my lips,
nor any warmth of love (or life)
in my chill fingertips -
for once I went – o! Long ago -
to spin within a glade
(of faery moss and chiming bells
and starlight it was made)
but from the night the stars came down
and landed in that glade,
and danced before my dazzled eyes
in moonlight and in shade;
(flowing flashing flames of hair
as white as any snow
that blew about the silver curves
of neck and back and brow,
a slender whipping tufted tail
that lashed and to and fro,
and rising spiral into night
from that white-gleaming brow
a horn that pierced eternity
and danced with faery-light
so that the glade was fair and green
when all should have been dark,
and music rang within it
sweeter than a summer's lark....)

And when it left I could not move
save for to weep and moan,
for in my heart the seeds of beauty
had been deeply sown -
and now that it had gone again
my soul was left to sigh
and I became a wandering lonely
thing where ravens cry....

(But once I was as you are now,
and 'tis no fault of mine
that now I must forever seek
that white unearthly shine.)

Yesterday, with about ten minutes worth of work, Saiwe learned to pick up a bell and drop it in a cup. Today, in less than fifteen minutes, he completely generalised the concept. I could not be prouder.

The bell angles at the end of two large keychains, so when he tried to carry it, he perpetually got it tangled up with his feet. This resulted in his grabbing it and flinging it about as if he were attempting to take someone's eye out, screeching happily all the while. He would retrieve it from my lap, my hand, the bench, the table, even the floor, and drag it back to a cup that might be anywhere, at any height, sometimes even having to climb an arm or flap up to the table in order to reach it. At the bridge (ata, Saiwe! Ata!) he'd fluff up quite pleased with himself and wait for his bit of walnut. And of course, he's also working (again) on coming when cued. (Anan, Saiwe! --Ata!) It didn't take him more than half a dozen repetitions to learn that, either!

Tomorrow, I think I'm going to try to teach him to turn left in a circle - and then Tuesday to turn right!

So Dad thinks that instead of trying to self-ID my strengths, I should ask others about them and see what they think, then use those to attempt to narrow - or broaden - the occupation field. For instance, Dad thinks maybe I should be a mediflight nurse or surgeon with a certification for Canine Search and Rescue, since I love animals, am prepared for just about every situation, like adventure, have something of a healing instinct, and am nearly unflappable by injuries or what-have-you. What about you?

A song from my harp-book -

I once loved a lass, and I loved her so well
I hated all others what spoke of her ill.
But now she's rewarded me well for my love,
for she's gone to be wed to another.

When I saw my love to the church go,
with bride and bride-maidens she made a fine show -
and I trailed behind with my heart full of woe,
for she's gone to be wed to another.

When I saw my love sit down to dine,
I sat down beside her and poured out the wine;
and I drank to the lassie that should have been mine...
But she's gone to be wed to another.

The men of yon forest, they ask it of me:
"How many strawberries grow in the salt sea?"
I answered them back with a tear in my eye,
"How many ships sail in the forest?"

So dig me a grave, and dig it so deep,
and cover it over with flowers so sweet,
and I will lie down there and take a long sleep;
and maybe, in time, I'll forget her...

If you are running over a field of broken glass, and trip, and start to fall - do you throw out your hands to break your fall, or run faster and try to recover your balance?

This site is absolutely amazing. And yes, it is meant to be humorous!

My current favorites:

9. MORAL ARGUMENT (I)
(1) Person X, a well-known Atheist, was morally inferior to the rest of us.
(2) Therefore, God exists.

18. PARENTAL ARGUMENT
(1) My mommy and daddy told me that God exists.
(2) Therefore, God exists.

23. DORE'S ARGUMENT
(1) I forgot to take my meds.
(2) Therefore, I AM CHRIST!!
(3) Therefore, God exists.

27. ARGUMENT FROM AMERICAN EVANGELISM
(1) Telling people that God exists makes me filthy rich.
(2) Therefore, God exists.

34. ARGUMENT FROM MANIFESTATIONS
(1) If you turn your head sideways and squint a little, you can see an image of a bearded face in that tortilla.
(2) Therefore, God exists.

38. ARGUMENT FROM SHEER WILL
(1) I DO believe in God! I DO believe in God! I do I do I do I DO believe in God!
(2) Therefore, God exists.

39. ARGUMENT FROM NONBELIEF
(1) The majority of the world's population are nonbelievers in Christianity.
(2) This is just what Satan intended.
(3) Therefore, God exists.

58. ARGUMENT FROM ARGUMENTATION
(1) God exists.
(2) [Atheist's counterargument]
(3) Yes he does.
(4) [Atheist's counterargument]
(5) Yes he does!
(6) [Atheist's counterargument]
(7) YES HE DOES!!!
(8) [Atheist gives up and goes home.]
(9) Therefore, God exists.

72. ARGUMENT FROM INSANITY
(1) No sane person could have thought up Christianity.
(2) Therefore, it must be true
(3) Therefore, God exists.

73. ARGUMENT FROM EXHAUSTION (abridged)
(1) Do you agree with the utterly trivial proposition X?
(2) Atheist: of course.
(3) How about the slightly modified proposition X'?
(4) Atheist: Um, no, not really.
(5) Good. Since we agree, how about Y? Is that true?
(6) Atheist: No! And I didn't agree with X'!
(7) With the truths of these clearly established, surely you agree that Z is true as well?
(8) Atheist: No. So far I have only agreed with X! Where is this going, anyway?
(9) I'm glad we all agree.....
....
(37) So now we have used propositions X, X', Y, Y', Z, Z', P, P', Q and Q' to arrive at the obviously valid point R. Agreed?
(38) Atheist: Like I said, so far I've only agreed with X. Where is this going?
....
(81) So we now conclude from this that propositions L'', L''' and J'' are true. Agreed?
(82) I HAVEN'T AGREED WITH ANYTHING YOU'VE SAID SINCE X! WHERE IS THIS GOING?
....
(177) ...and it follows that proposition HRV, SHQ'' and BTU' are all obviously valid. Agreed?
(178) [Atheist either faints from overwork or leaves in disgust.]
(179) Therefore, God exists.

104. ARGUMENT FROM FORMATTING
(1) Behold, foolish Atheists, I present you with an incontrovertible proof of the existence of God.
(2) [Christian posts 10,000 word document without a single paragraph break.]
(3) [Atheist's eyes implode.]
(4) I see that nobody can refute (2).
(5) Therefore, God exists.

127. ARGUMENT FROM CHOCOLATE, a.k.a. MRS. POPE'S PROOF
(1) Chocolate is God's gift to humanity.
(2) Therefore, God exists.
(3) Now class, would anyone like to attempt an Argument From Beer?

167. ARGUMENT FROM COLLEGE FUNDING (usable by parents only)
(1) You believe in God.
(2) If I ever find out that you don't believe in God, you won't get any money for college!
(3) Therefore, God exists.

175. ARGUMENT FROM STAR TREK
(1) You will be assimilated.
(2) All your salvations belong to us.
(3) Resistance is futile.
(4) Therefore, God exists.

I am officially speechless.


Link

I'm not a huge addict of modern medicine. I don't take it for headaches or cramps; I really could care less about a stretched muscle or six; I wait through the nauseating symptoms of the flu without complaining. I don't really bother with fancy pain-deadening stuff for nasty bruises or cuts or scrapes: open air is good enough. When insomnia threatens, I don't run for the sleeping pills. But if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a bad cold.

I'm relatively sure that the reason I hate colds so much is that they sit in my throat and won't let me talk, sing, eat, drink, or sleep. Plus they give headaches and make my eyes and ears and nose hurt. And, now I've got Saiwe, I can't be completely certain it's not influenza instead of a cold - and influenza is transmittable from humans to pet parrots. Potentially lethal, too. Poor guy probably thinks I've abandoned him because I haven't been handling him...

I hate head colds.

I got Josh to show me some basic exercises with the weights last night. Apparently I am to do those four days a week and aerobic exercises the other three. I was personally glad that I could bench forty pounds for 15 reps and not the 25 I expected: I'm not starting from quite an awful position as I thought I was. (Still pretty lousy, though.)

In other news, I fear I am coming down with a cold, and am probably going to be constantly drinking tea so as to let the steam relieve my sinonasal cavities.

I was listening absent-mindedly to the TV when I heard something so ludicrous I felt compelled to share it.

Hillary Clinton, speaking of the election: "I want people to make an informed choice."

My resolutions for this year:

• to be able to bench at least 50 kilos
• to play the harp at a journeyman's level
• to finish drafting and redrafting that thrice-accursed novel, and submit it to at least five editors

Anyone else?

Homosexuality and Bisexuality

Still not sure where I am on this entire thing...

You know - a lot of people don't like this as a potentiality for me. They think that it is a waste of my potential and a blatant violation of what I should do with the gifts that have been given me. But there are so many things I could do with those gifts, and so many places for blame - if I could be the one who develops an interstellar drive, thus relieving humanity of the growing population concerns, would I have done wrong in neglecting the calling of medical research, wherein I might have discovered the cure for cancer? And what if both of those would be wrong, because I should have been a psychologist, healing minds, or a pastor tending to the minds and souls of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, or a musician who composed songs that swept the world, or an author whose stories were cherished by children for generations, or a politician who engineered peace within the world, or the cessation of starvation...?

There are so very many glamorous - aye, and needed, I'll not deny that - things that I might do. And then I say, perhaps I should simply be a mother and a wife, and none of those others - and that is held up in parity with those others, even though it is not something I would choose before all of them. I think I would become far too tired, even resentful, if I chose that, and only that.

But I think I could do that and train and breed animals. I think I would be content. Not - stretched, perhaps, in some areas, but happy. I think that more and more these days. I want it to be true; I want it to be mine. But somehow that is not a wise use of my "gifts"; if I am to do anything in addition to being a mother, it must be something bigger.

Why?

I have noticed that fussing with Saiwe is rather like fussing with a toddler. As an example, he decided this morning that he wanted to chew on the computer cord, though he has never done so before. I held my finger up and told him no; he backed off. Ten seconds later he was back again for a repeat performance. The third time, he hung onto the cord, requiring me to pry his beak off it and tell him no again. After about six repetitions, he left it be - and then moved to the rest of the computer. At least he knows better than to nip me - most of the time!