tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38410173931296226142009-02-20T09:04:00.485-08:00All and Some<i>It is an excellent circumstance that hospitality grows best where it is most needed. In the thick of men it dwindles and disappears, life fruit in the thick of a wood; but where men are planted sparely it blossoms and matures, like apples on a standard or an espalier. It flourishes where the inn and lodging-house cannot exist. - Hugh Miller </i>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-88989590546593926372009-02-20T09:03:00.000-08:002009-02-20T09:04:00.523-08:00I fail at updates.But Raeyn's been aces lately.<br /><br /><a href="http://virtualquill.wordpress.com/">VirtualQuill</a>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-71923145862179849482009-01-14T09:42:00.000-08:002009-01-14T09:44:02.683-08:00The Living YearsI've only just found out that a very dear person and amazing long-distance friend passed away suddenly on Sunday due to meningitis.<br /><br />I can't even tell you precisely when Sharon and I tripped over each other: sometime between '95-97, when both of us were mad for <i>Highlander: The Series</i> and both putting our size ten toes into the whole fan writing pool that would later become an obsession that took up a decade or more and furthered a friendship that distance didn't seem to have much impact on.<br /><br />I can't tell you what I had to offer this delightful woman from the UK except my own writings and encouragements for her to keep at her epic length work. But I do know that she has been there for me during multiple major life tragedies. Sometime with just an encouraging word, a quick virtual hug, or even some sage wisdom. More often though she offered palpable and touchable signs of her affection and kindness: cards for no reason at all as well as holidays, flowers for my birthday, when my mother died, last year for my surgery for breast cancer. She'd sent me king's cakes for Christmas which were always anticipated and devoured within days. <br /><br />We've only me in person once or twice, at various conventions, but she was and remains -- even with her passing -- a robust laugh in my ear, a sympathetic pat on my shoulder, and encouraging whisper, and a smiling face I have no doubt I'll see again some day.<br /><br />God speed, Sharon. God bless, and thank you for being a part of my life -- you are so sorely missed, but not forgotten. Thank you so much for being my friend.allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-82473620019035601672008-12-29T09:55:00.000-08:002008-12-29T14:01:01.712-08:00Gracious Me...Tempted to let this year go without a whimper, as well it should, the scurvy dog, but that would be denying that anything at all good happened, and that's just wrong.<br /><br />So, for the fast year in review and a mix of good and bad, more or less chronologically.<br /><br />1. The erstwhile (thank you AuK!) got a job. Not a great job but steady and regular and not overtaxing for her health and condition. Also, possibly to join union, which could mean healthcare, finally. YAYS!!<br /><br />2. Was finally rid of the tenant from hell. I'm still close to $5K in the hole thanks to that particularly delusional and sociopathic personality, but my blood pressure surelu did come down. Score 1 for the health benefits of getting rid of toxic personalities.<br /><br />3. HAH! Cancer 2, Me //bats it out of the park//. I'd say I feel like a survivor but I don't. Wasn't anything so dramatic, but I'll give myself points for having actually stuck with the surgical treatments and the insane amount of testing from May through October. I gave myself the last two months off. Everything's healing nicely and I'll dive back in after the new year...I'm only now dealing with the emotional side of all that -- hence the long silence. It's getting better. <br /><br />3b. Also to the good...*cough* some 30lbs lighter than when I started. Not my first choice of a diet regimen, but knees are certainly happier with me now. <br /><br />4. NIECES!! \0/ Score TWO!! No pics but arrival of two healthy, if early, adorable twin girls to Nephew Number 1 and his wife. No year can be totally bad when new ones come into it. <br /><br />5. New Washer! Okay mixed...new washer yay! 'cause the old one finally called for a cab to the old appliance home, which was not so yay. Not an expense I really needed, but still: Ooooh. New. Shiny. Power Tool. //pets//<br /><br />6. Kittens!! Also like the washer, not really a change desired, but still...KITTENS!!<br /><br />7. Best friends in the world...from start to finish, bar none, for the flowers and cards and jokes and airfare, and company, 4 days in Baltimore, outrageous, awesome wonderfully generous, each and every one. <br /><br />8. Second Life: which is a huge time suck!! OMG...such a time suck and yet...has kept me engaged and entertained and distracted and led me to a whole new set of people and potential friends. Also Fashion! Like I could never wear! Or afford! House of My dreams! Time spent with my girl, Cai! Nameless! La Reve! Rez! Botanica!<br /><br />But mostly fun. I may not be writing, but I am having *fun*.<br /><br />I have a half dozens draft posts save in her from the last 6 months...some just waiting for a spell check..so if yo use back dated commentary, that would be why. <br /><br />That's it...maybe more later because I would like to talk about 2L, which has been a huge thing for me since July (yes, about the time the first diagnosis came in.)allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-13304271269636980262008-09-05T15:32:00.000-07:002008-09-05T15:33:29.231-07:00Watch this space...For SL updates, writing updates and ...well...<br /><br />stuffallandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-77938825872676035902008-06-17T17:20:00.000-07:002008-06-18T19:23:13.415-07:00Dea-we be-wov-ed...Marriage is back on the books for Californians, and here's hoping this time it will stick. There's going to be no moving as yet, because November is too close.<br /><br />Not that going to Cali to get married would make a damn bit of difference to the Dear Old state of Georgia, but still...<br /><br />**holds breath**allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-73545009159251102282008-03-29T13:54:00.000-07:002008-03-29T13:55:06.416-07:00Cool & Rainy - White Pizza Time!You know that 12-14 inch cast iron skillet I keep telling you guys you need to buy? Well, here's another reason why you need one.<br/><br/><lj-cut text="White Pizza with Asparagus & Proscuitto">White Pizza with Asparagus & Proscuitto<br/><br/><br/><br/>Ingredients:<br/>- One package of Middle Eastern Flat bread (White or wheat). Flat bread, not pita bread, like the kind you use for gyros.<br/>- 1/4 cup good extra virgin olive oil and a pastry brush<br/>- A Peppermill<br/>- Fresh or dried oregano (fine chop)<br/>- Olive tapenade or finely chopped green and black olives<br/>- Shred white cheese (I use the six cheese italian blend -- you can also use fresh mozarella for this)<br/>- 1/2 yellow onion, sliced very, very thin<br/>- Cooked asparagus tips and stems cut in 1 in lengths<br/>- 5 or 6 finely sliced pieces of Proscuitto, rolled up and chiffonaded<br/>- 1 small can of artichoke hearts, sliced<br/>- Vegetable oil<br/><br/>Heat oven to 500 degrees. Turn your lage cast iron skillet upside down on the rack and brush the bottom with oil (canola,or vegetable -- don't use olive oil for this part, it'll burn). Leave pan in oven.<br/><br/>While the oven's heating up, lay out your bread and brush <i><b>generously</i></b> with olive oil, one side only. Fresh grate a little pepper and sprinkle with oregano. <br/><br/>Sparingly spread some olive mixture on the bread (Seasoning, not ingredient.)<br/><br/>Cover with shredded cheese, then spread ingredients over top. Don't be stingy. Drizzle more olive oil (about a tblspn) over everything and give it another shot of pepper.<br/><br/>Place pizza on cast iron pan and allow to cool for about 5 minutes or until cheese is melted and edges are turning brown. Remove and let cool for a minute before slicing. <br/><br/>So, easy. So, so good.<br/><br/></lj-cut>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-42449745952793288272008-03-18T15:27:00.000-07:002008-03-18T15:34:35.787-07:00Arthur C. Clarke has died.From the <a href="http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5ijDA5bgxiHlTvS_r-SSjskS1Tq1wD8VG3BKO4">AP</a>, science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke is dead at 90.<br/><br/><br/><i>Rendezvous With Rama</i> is one of my favorite books ever. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601088&sid=axkmx6LQPGFQ&refer=home">Bloomberg has more</a>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-62384151052006080522008-01-21T06:37:00.001-08:002008-06-18T19:27:15.922-07:00Monday morning contemplationsI have today off, which is rare enough it seems these days, and had big plans to do a lot of writing this weekend, which I have done, but despite one short posted and pretty satisfying, I am still plodding through my charity fic, not from lack of interest, but from lack of pictures in my head.<br /><br />It's a trend that has persisted a lot longer than I'm comfortable with, and one I'm not quite sure how to correct or even if there are exercises I could try to kind of corral my brain camera into something that looks more like a film and pan and less like the Blair Witch project.<br /><br />It's a weakness and a strength as a writer, I suppose, that I can, with some degree of success translate the images in my head into a pretty vivid textual representation, but it's a weakness in that when the images are fragments and unconnected, I don't get a story, I get a collage of unrelated artifacts and not even a decent shadow box to frame them in. <br /><br />I've got epics, <i>epics</i> in my head, but they are all playing like the movie trailers on the On Demand station, enough to pique interests but really not lending themselves to an overall summation of plot or purpose. And that's what it feels like -- like there are dozens of movies I'm dying to see, that I would cough up more than matinee or vidoe rental prices to see played out on the big screen but none of them are playing near me, nor available in my area and I'm afraid by the time they come to pay per view, I'll no longer care about seeing them. <br /><br />Messing with timestamps helped some but I probably should have limited it because I had initial images for everything, but the further away I get from that initial jolt the harder it is to go back and find the frame and reference I had when I first read them. <br /><br />Plus much of what is playing in my head really comes without reference, or without a context -- body tattoos and burning fields, and a soundtrack of sounds that is both dialogue and musical but it's not music I've ever heard before and the dialog is all in some foreign language. Like this:<br /><br /><i>The small pool is utterly still in its raised basin, barely shimmering with ripples when he presses his hand, fingers spread wide, onto the surface of the shimmer and then lifts it. Droplets form and fall from his fingertips, from his palm, each one strike the water and chiming like a tiny bell, soft as a whisper and followed by a murmur, of voices rising in answer.<br /><br />But it’s not the sound that makes Dayen gasp or jerk his head up, but the sudden flicker and shimmer that's reflected by the disturbed water, catching the light of candles and torches and casting new movement on the dark walls. Shadows dance and coalesce, move along the alabaster stone like a child painting ducks in the dark. <br /><br />They flickered and danced, swelled to fullness and Dayen could see his home that was, and the tree that was no charred and bitter. Saw the ploughs raised like weapons and weapons raised for slaughter. He couldn't hear the screams and the flames that had danced across fields and orchards flickered black and washed over everything.<br /><br />He wanted to throw up or run, strike out at the one who had summoned these images form his own past, his own history. He relived them enough in his nightmares, and they told him nothing he didn't already know. <br /><br />He turned away from the shadows, wondering if this was why no weapons were allowed past the temple gates, for fear these callous seers would incite such retribution for their cruelty. <br /><br />Save no hands formed these shadows, and no movement from Samuel caused them to appear -- only the light on the water, and the blank walls playing canvas to a future Dean can't see but is meant for him anyway.<br /><br />Then the last drop falls from Safael's fingers, striking a deep chord and the waters go still and the shadows on the wall fade. Samuel watched him carefully -- he'd never taken his eyes off Dean, never glanced at the shadow play on the walls. But he waits for Dean to speak.<br /><br />"I'm no seer." The accusation is there, but Safael ignores it.<br /><br />"And yet you see."<br /><br />"I came to you for your visions."<br /><br />"No," Safael chides him and pulls his hand back, wiping the lingering wetness of his palm on his tunic, leaving the cloth stained a darker red, like wet blood. "You came to me for answers. I can show you what was, what is, and what shall be, but none of it will tell you what you want to know. </I>Why."<br /><br />I know what it is but I don't know how it fits or how to get that and that is incredibly weird for me. <br /><br />(Note: for those of you on the bigbang journal, you'll see a different variation of this bit of navel gazing. Apologies. This is less about specific stories than the process itself. )allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-88104035234259427592008-01-01T11:40:00.001-08:002008-01-01T11:40:17.149-08:00that meme<I>Based on an exercise developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University. If you participate in this blog game, PLEASE acknowledge their copyright. BOLD WHICH APPLY TO YOU:</I><br/><br/><lj-cut text="The privilege meme -- and then some."><br/><br/><ul><br/><li> <b>Father went to college</b> -- <I>Two quarters on a football scholarship</I> </li><br/><li> Father finished college </li><br/><li> Mother went to college </li><br/><li> Mother finished college </li><br/><li> Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor </li><br/><li> Were the same or higher socio-economic class than your high school teachers </li><br/><li> <b>Had more than 50 books in your childhood home</b> </li><br/><li> Had more than 500 books in your childhood home </li><br/><li> Were read children's books by a parent </li><br/><li> <b>Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18</b> -- I took Clarinet lessons while in grade school, between 4th and 5th grade. The lessons and the instrument were both provided by the school. When I was 14 my mother bought me 6 guitar lessons -- with an option to buy more if I liked it. I went to all six and haven't picked up a guitar since. Both my mother and I desperately wanted me to learn to play piano -- but the cost of a piano even used, and lessons, was more than we could ever get together before I left for college. </I> </li><br/><li> The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively </li><br/><li> Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18 </li><br/><li> Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs </li><br/><li> Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs </li><br/><li> Went to a private high school </li><br/><li> <b>Went to summer camp </b> -- <I>I went to a Girl Scout camp twice -- the second time because I got so ill from an ear infection the first (earlier) session of that year, I had to be sent home.</I> </li><br/><li> <I>Family vacations involved staying at hotels</I> -- we stayed in many <I>motels</I> while I was growing up -- sometimes for vacations but most often while we traveled between various places to live or visiting relatives. My mother's family was all up north, my father's all down south and we made that three day drive a lot when I was a kid. I was in my thirties before I stayed in an honest-to-god hotel in New York while travelling on business. </li><br/><li> <I>Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18</I> -- it was a mix always. Some hand me downs, some used, some my mother made, some new. My sister and I aren't built the same and she is six years older than I am. We usually got new shoes and one new dress or such for both school and church, but I was hunting for clothes with my mother at garage sales and goodwill until I was aobut 16 [[ then I went by myself. *g*. ]] </li><br/><li> <I>There was original art in your house when you were a child</I> -- the only original art in our house ever was either on the refrigerator or proudly displayed paint by number sets which all of us loved. </li><br/><li> <b>You and your family lived in a single family house</b> -- <I>my family always rented houses until the last move back to Georgia. My father was insistent that we kids have a yard to play in. We lived in an apartment when we first moved back for about two years and then ---</I> </li><br/><li> <b>Your parent(s) owned their own house(s) or apartment before you left home</b> --</I>--my family moved from the apartment to my grandparents house. But my parents didn't buy it. They financed the renovations to make the house suitable for a family of six and built the one bedroom apartment in the back for my grandparents to move into. My father didn't actually come into possession of the house until his parents died. My mother bought her first house in 1989, some five years after she and my father divorced the second time. My older sister and brother both bought houses (a couple of times) before either of my parents actually owned one. </li><br/><li> <b>You had your own room as a child</b> -- <I>I had my own room once when I was child, when we moved to New York and my younger brother was still a baby. When he was born, a few months before that move, my sister, brother, and I all shared a room. I didn't have my own room again until my sister got married. </I> </li><br/><li> You had a phone in your room before you turned 18 </li><br/><li> Participated in an SAT/ACT prep course </li><br/><li> Had your own TV in your room in High School </li><br/><li> Owned a mutual fund or IRA in High School or College </li><br/><li> Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16 </li><br/><li> Went on a cruise with your family </li><br/><li> Went on more than one cruise with your family </li><br/><li> Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up </li><br/><li> <I>You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family</I> -- I wasn't aware of the exact dollar amount, but I knew heating costs were always a problem and expensive. When we lived up north, most of the heating was by coal oil, and down south by gas, but we were forever being told to wear more clothes if we were cold. Touching the thermostat was absolutely forbidden by anyone but an adult. However, when my mother and Moved into an apartment together after my parents divorced, heating was included. AC wasn't, but my mother was more than happy to keep the apartment toasty warm the four years we were there. Since owning my own house, even in the south, I've become a mirror of my parents. I won't let the roommate touch the thermostat at all. We have dogs and blankets. </li><br/><br/>All the above aside, I still feel I was far more privileged than a good many people. I've spoken before about the fact that my family was poor, but we weren't impoverished. I can't remember ever going hungry or being denied the occasional store bought treat. My mother and grandmother both baked pretty often, and while I was probably never in style clothing-wise, I think that had more to do with the fact that I was never conscious of what the other kids were wearing, or if I was are, thinking they had really bad taste. <br/><br/>Things we wanted to do, like music lessons or scouting or whatever, my parents -- and my mother especially -- tried to find a way to at least let us try it, knowing her children sometimes had short attention spans. I never got my piano lessons, but I got music lessons, and a uniform and good shoes when I wanted to play basketball. I got a home perm when frizzy hair was in, and my ears pierced when I was 14. (14 was a year of utter indulgence for me, I Realize in retrospect. Mostly, I think because I'd nearly died early in the year from a botched tonsillectomy and because my sister was getting married and was getting a lot of attention. My parents disliked playing favorites for the most part. )<br/><br/>My parents didn't pay for college for any of us, but all four kids went and graduated, even though my mother never did, and my father only made it through a couple of quarters at Ga. Tech on a football scholarship. I'm not even sure my paternal grandfather graduated from high school, although my paternal grandmother went to the teachers college for a year. <br/><br/>For good or bad, my father's itinerant ways occasionally gave us the illusion of far more wealth and privilege than we actually had -- summers spent at expensive golf resorts because he got a job as the pro there. Other summers spent on houseboats on Lake Lanier because he made friends with a guy who knew a guy. We won passes to Disney one year because my father was a traveling salesman and he entered every kind of drawing as he traveled. He was certainly willing to listen to a sales pitch to get a new color TV or a weekend at timeshare or to swap labor on a deck build to get us a Commodore computer when computers were exotic and expensive.<br/><br/>My parents had a knack for making friends with people who had more money and/or privilege than they had -- not out of a mercenary skew to their friendships, but because both of them, above all else, were brought up to think that no one was better than they were simply by economic difference. My father played a mean game of golf and my mother was a proficient bridge player. Through social and church activities they made friendships that lasted until both of them died -- people I still hear from occasionally. So by association I got to go where kids better off than I was got to go, and being poor meant that going out to eat was a rare thing and toys didn't get replaced if we broke them.<br/><br/>It meant repairing or re-dying clothes if they got torn or stained, and that my mother cut my hair until I was in my teens and then paying the local barber 2 bucks rather than 10 at the salon. It meant used bikes and used cars and other people's boats and homemade birthday cakes. It meant shoeboxes of homemade biscuits and sausage and coolers full of snacks when we traveled, eating our lunch out of the cooler at rest stops and being given a dollar to spend at Stuckey's when we stopped for gas. <br/><br/>The above list is interesting, and maybe it's my blue-collar background showing, but privilege isn't so much what you have as what you do with what you've got. And by that standard, I had a lot of privilege -- and the utter confidence of my family that I could do anything or be anyone I wanted to be. <br/><br/>Some days it's easy to forget that. <br/><br/></lj-cut>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-6029366310500341502007-12-31T17:21:00.001-08:002007-12-31T17:21:07.625-08:002007 can kiss my ass -- 2008 is the year of the Rat, and it's MINE!!<lj-cut text="any year that starts with being laid off, should give you a clue..."><br/><br/><b>December 2006</b> <br/>Laid Off after 15 years. Meh.<br/><br/><b>January 2007</b> <br/>Fic-Writing on the Wall (Reaper 'verse, Dean/Sam, PG13)<br/>Fic-Speaking in Tongues (Dean/Sam, Reaper 'verse, Adult)<br/>Fic-Uncut and Unmannerly (TFATF, Dom/Brian, Adult)<br/><br/>The Death of a Friend <br/><br/>Fic-Six Ways to Sunday (SPN, Gen, Dean & Sam. Nightshifter coda)<br/><br/>One Funeral and a New Job<br/><br/><b>February</b><br/>Escapade!<br/><br/>The great apartment clearing party. Now with cat. <br/><br/><b>March</b><br/>Sweet Charity<br/><br/>Fic-Never Use a Rock for a Hammer (Never Verse, R, Dean/Sam)<br/>Fic-Never Tell a Joke Without a Punchline (Dean/Sam implied, R)<br/>Fic-Never Promise Me a Rose Garden (Dean/Sam, R)<br/>Fic-Never Talk To Strangers - part one (Dean/Sam, R, Miracles xover)<br/><br/><b>April</b><br/>Fic-Never Talk To Strangers - part two (Dean/Sam, R, Miracles xover)<br/>Fic-Never Talk To Strangers - part three (Paul Callan, Dean/Sam, R, Miracles xover)<br/>Fic-Never Talk to Strangers - part four (Paul Callan, Dean/Sam, R, Miracles xover)<br/>Fic-Scrapbook - a family album : Page 7 - Honey and the Moon (Salvation 'verse, Sam/Sarah, Dean, R)<br/>Fic-Never Talk To Strangers (part five) -(Dean/Sam, Paul/Alva R, Miracles xover)<br/>Fic-Hemingway Never Slept Here (Dean/Sam, NC17, Schmoop)<br/><br/>1 year older<br/><br/><b>May</b><br/>New Car!<br/>Loss of an Uncle - and returning to my childhood<br/><br/>Fic-Someday (AHBL 2 Coda - Gen. Dean, Sam, PG)<br/><br/><b>June</b><br/>Fic-Time's a'Comin' (Salvation 'verse, Dean, Sam, All audiences)<br/><br/>Incest Wank <br/><br/>Fic-Do You See What I See? (Gen. Sam & Mary, Dean - Salvation 'verse)<br/>Fic-Dead Man's Curve (SPN: Dean/Sam, NC17)<br/>Fic-Balisong, no murmur. (SPN, Dean/Sam, NC17)<br/><br/>The Frog Arrives<br/><br/><b>July</b><br/>Race Imbroglio<br/>Pay it Forward<br/><br/>If I'm ever this sick again, just shoot me. <br/><br/><b>August</b><br/>IBARW<br/><br/>Fic-Second Sight: For How Shall I Endure, all audiences, future-fic, angst.<br/><br/>Jaredina arrives<br/><br/><b>September</b> <br/>Sweet Charity Part 2 now with Tea<br/><br/>Fic-Shift (Salvation future verse, all audiences)<br/>Mini-nanowrimo gear up<br/><br/><b>October</b><br/>Coolness part 1 - dvd commentary on "Hemingway Never Slept Here"<br/>Coolness part 2 - Reap the Wild Wind - audiofic<br/>Coolness part 3 - Spnroundtable<br/>Not so cool - Tenant From Hell Moves in<br/>Hello My Ulcer<br/>WINCON!! Now with 50% more fangirls!<br/><br/>Fic-A Year and a Day - part one<br/><br/><b>November</b><br/>Mini-nanomowrimo or The Month That Ate My Brain<br/><br/>Fic-A Year and a Day - part 2 through 19<br/><br/>Nephew 1 - Brain Tumor 0 \o/<br/><br/>Best gift ever - Mag7 trilogy bound and beautiful<br/><br/><b>December</b><br/>Fic-Timestamp fic #1 - Changes for Raynedanser, TFATF, PG, Dom/Brian<br/>Fic-Timestamp fic #2 - Home (Star Trek AU - Original Characters) for the mole<br/>Fic-Timestamp fic #3 - Too Much to Know - Salvation verse, PG, Leigh & Sam<br/>Fic-Timestamp fic #4 - Cowboys, Mag7-ATF, Vin, for Cee<br/><br/>Many presents & Cards & MUCH LOVE OMG!<br/><br/>Goodbye to Rosie the wonder dog.<br/><br/>Fic-Timestamp fic #5 - SPN-Second Sight: And It Shall Come To Pass (Dean, Sam, PG)<br/><br/>The office move that wasn't horrible.<br/><br/>Still here.<br/><br/>+++++<br/><br/>What's not in this list are most of the disasters personal medical and financial that seemed to crop up every damn week to the point where I just couldn't post about them anymore except to people who are very good with sealing wax and kitestring at helping me hold it together. I'm in that weirdest of all places where I have a job I adore but it isn't really enough to make ends meet and the tenant I thought might help ease that has turned into a financial and very possible legal quagmire that's sucking my energy almost as fast as it's eating my income. I've spent the last three months being spectacularly angry and depressed -- a duality of existence I wasn't even sure was possible. It will get better one way or another, up to and including my putting my house on the market just to be rid of her. <br/><br/>Which isn't to say there hasn't been some good things this year. My friends -- first and always. I've written a good deal more than I realized and I got to see people I adore both at Escapade and at Wincon. There is no bad in that. My family is by and large doing well despite some scares and this was the first Christmas since my mother died that I have spent most of it crying. I still miss her, and much of the Christmas decorations I have belonged to her -- but still, it was quiet and peaceful and exactly what I needed. <br/><br/>I've lost some dear people this year, most of whom I wasn't close enough to geographically or financially viable enough to be able to make my final good-byes to. And two very dear friends lost parents this year and I can only empathize and hope they know I'd do anything to make it easier, having been there already. <br/><br/>I said it before Christmas and in the past week, it hasn't changed: 2007 is a year I am glad to see the backside of. I'm going to have to make some tough decisions in the first part of 2008 -- including whether I can go to Escapade unless the rest of my life straightens itself out. I've made it this far largely due to the love and support and kind generosity of my friends. That's pretty much the only thing I'm clutching to my chest about the past year and running into the new one with as fast as I can. <br/><br/>Tonight I'm eschewing a gathering of local friends because my ulcer has decided it wants its share of new year's attention. (My own fault -- far too much caffeine and not enough sleep lately.) <br/><br/>Despite this past year's stress, I still have a roof over my head and options that may be difficult but are neither dire nor things I can't recover from. I'm not sure if the decisions I have to make are opportunities in disguise or tests of character. I guess I'll find out.<br/><br/></lj-cut><br/><br/>However, 2008 is the year of the Rat -- We rats are tenacious, pragmatic, and adaptable. <br/><br/>So, this, my friends, is my year.allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-71363323526303439162007-12-15T16:35:00.000-08:002007-12-15T16:53:50.873-08:00The Organization for Transformative WorksThe <a href="http://www.transformativeworks.org/">Organziation for Transformative Works</a> is a nonprofit organization established by fans to serve the interests of fans by providing access to and preserving the history of fanworks and fan culture in its myriad forms.<br /><br />Needless to say, it's launch has created a stir in <a href="http://scalzi.com/whatever/?p=203#comments">some circles</a> like <a href="http://scalzi.com/whatever/">John Scalzi's</a> blog, Boing Boing, and others, but the discussion on Scalzi's blog is probably the most active and informed -- or mis-informed depending on how you want to look at it.allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-19245876902741594962007-10-20T04:26:00.000-07:002007-10-20T04:36:03.838-07:00Random Word a DayOccasionally, I will go to google images and type random words, just to see what comes up.<br /><br />This morning's word was "afar". I, of course, was thinking of afar in an entirely different connotation:<br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img style="WIDTH: 283px; HEIGHT: 467px" height="467" src="http://chaikhana.net/images/Afar-Girl.jpg" width="192" /></p><br /><center><span style="font-size:78%;">image from </span><a href="http://www.selamta.net/"><span style="font-size:78%;">http://www.selamta.net/</span></a><br /><br /><img src="http://chaikhana.net/images/afar-gold2.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">image from <a href="http://www.tigraionline.com/">http://www.tigraionline.com/</a></span></center><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><center><br /><img src="http://chaikhana.net/images/Afar-girl-Bilen-Camp.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">image from </span><a href="http://www.pendercreatives.com/"><span style="font-size:78%;">http://www.pendercreatives.com/</span></a></center><center><br /><img src="http://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/Newsroom/NewImages/Images/afar_ast_2002086.jpg" /><br />Afar Ethiopia Depression from NASA's Terra Satellite<br /><br />and the Afar region from the Modis Satellite:<br /><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/a6/AFAR-MODIS.jpg/466px-AFAR-MODIS.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /></center>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-8736487930500609412007-09-29T04:23:00.000-07:002007-09-29T04:44:33.806-07:00ECUSAThe House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church in America are to make a statement to the church at large regarding a great many things, all of them geared toward stablilizing the communion and the church at large, in the face of demands by a good many more conservative churches and dioceses in the Anglican church at large. The largest of these is the church in Nigeria, where the state of human rights is so deplorable, it seems laughable to me to even address their concerns until they clean their own house.<br /><br />The catch=22 of Christianity toward the GLBT community is both intolerable and unsustainable. It makes no sense to promote monogamy on the one hand and make it impossible for people desiring that state to have no acknowledgment or blessing for those unions. I get taht the real controversy behind Gene Robinson's confirmation lies there, cart before the horse, and in general the church acknowledges that's the problem as well. To then demand that the church abstain from codifying those blessings, and to refrain from confirming Gay and Lesbian priests in monogamous relationships, without those blessings is the worst kind of political maneuvering.<br /><br />I get that maintaining the communion is important. But I'm well past the point where I think that maintaining it at any cost is neither what Christ has extolled us to do, nor waht reasonable people should be willing to do.allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-78523008385592160102007-09-27T18:01:00.000-07:002007-09-27T18:40:27.341-07:00Recipe: Poor Man's StroganoffI sincerely wish that blogger had cut tags, but they don't so c'est la vie!<br /><br />Poor Man's Stroganoff (with two bonus cheating tips)<br /><br />It's all in the seasoning, babies:<br /><br /><center><img height="320" src="http://chaikhana.net/spoon/stroganoff_smal.jpg" width="353" /></center><br /><br /><strong>Poor Man's Stroganoff</strong><br /><br />*1-1 1/2 lbs lean ground beef (if you can't or don't buy lean beef, brown the onions and beef together and then drain off the excess fat.)<br />*One package of egg or wide noodles. (or rice. You can serve it over rice if you prefer, although I wouldn't recommend brown or jasmine rice for this..)<br />*1/2 large yellow onion, rough chopped<br />*1 shredded carrot<br />*3-4 center stalks of bok-choy chopped small (leaves included) OR 2 stalks of celery chopped small, leaves included<br />*1/2 cup mushroom fresh or canned, sliced. (These will be added nearly last)<br />*1/2 C sour cream<br />*1/4 sweet red wine (I prefer Port)<br />*1/2 tsp butter<br /><br />Seasoning<br /><br />Quick:<br />*1 package of onion soup mix (the dry kind) PLUS<br />*1/4 tsp cumin<br />*1 tsp paprika<br />*dash of allspice or nutmeg<br />*1 Tbls dried parsley (yes, dry)<br />*1 C hot water<br /><br />Less Quick<br />*1 Tbls or 3 cubes beef boullion<br />*1 Tbls chopped or minced <strong>dried </strong>onion<br />*1 tsp garlic powder<br />*1/2 tsp onion powder<br />*1 tsp McCormick's Nature's Seasoning (You can use another mix but you will notice that no where in this do I mention salt and pepper.)<br />*1/4 tsp cumin<br />*1 tsp paprika<br />*dash of allspice or nutmeg<br />*1 Tbls dried parsely (yes, dry)<br />1 C hot water<br /><br />Put the water onto boil. When it is add the noodles to cook. If you do this right both noodles and stroganoff will be done at the same time.<br /><br />In a skillet over med-high to high heat (Check your pan specs) brown the beef and onion.<br /><br />In a medium measuring cup or bowl, mix your dry seasonings and hot water.<br /><br />Drain meat if necessary, add seasoning mix and bring to a boil. Add wine. Reduce heat slightly an allow to simmer. Check your noodles.<br /><br />When you've reduced about a quarter of you liquid in the beef, toss in the carrots and cabbage or celery and allow to cook to reduce by half.<br /><br />If noodles are ready, drain and cool with cold water to stop the cooking process, set aside.<br /><br />Add butter to beef mixture. I don't like mushrooms but if you do? Add them now.<br /><br />Stir and reduce heat to low and stir in sour cream.<br /><br />Run hot tap water over your noodles to heat them up without cooking them, drain again and place on plate or in a past a bowl. Spoon beef mixture on top.<br /><br />Garnish with a little dollop of sour cream and some paprika, and yes, if you like the taste of scallions, I highly recommend them as a munchable garnish. Take a bit of scallion, then a bite of stroganoff and be amazed.<br /><br /><br />The cheat tips?<br /><br />1. Cooling your noodles with cold tap water, even to the point of refrigeration, and then warming them back up again with hot water for a few seconds is a great way to ensure you have plenty of pasta when you need it without worrying about it being overcooked. If you go as far as refrigerating (or even freezing it) toss the noodles with a little oil before storing, and make sure your water is boiling or close to it. You can dip a strainer or collander of cold pasta into the water for about 20 second much like you would blanch vegetables. Two of the restaurants I've worked for did this routinely, and people were always kind of amazed that in a high volume market, the pasta was never over or underdone or cold.<br /><br />2. That little dab of butter -- butter isn't a seasoning or additive often thought of in connection with beef (although Ruths Chris Steak House has a made a name for itself with it) but for dishes like this, it adds a richness to the sauce and a nice texture on the tongue. You really do only need that 1/2 tsp though -- anything more and your sour cream will taste more like butter cream (or so I think), mostly because used this way it is meant to flavor rather than being a fat to cook in.<br /><br />3. Not a tip but an add on: this recipe works perfectly well with better cuts of beef as stroganoff is meant to be; beef or sirloin tips are especially nice. But honestly, the seasoning is what makes it good and it works regardless of the cut of beef, so unless you are just into the bite and chew mouth texture of tips, save yourself a few buck and go for the ground beef or ground chuck. I do not recommend stew beef though. This is a fast dish, and stew beef needs time to become tender.<br /><br />And just for comparison, this is a classic Stroganov recipe: (Excellent, but takes more time and I'm not all that fond of what Worcestershire does for beef when it's the primary seasoning.)<br /><br />Classic Beef Stroganov<br /><br />1 pound beef steak, trimmed of fat<br />2 tablespoons butter<br />1 tablespoon oil<br />1/4 pound mushrooms, sliced<br />1 small onion, finely chopped<br />3/4 teaspoon salt<br />1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce<br />dash paprika<br />dash white pepper<br />1/2 cup sour cream<br />Chopped parsley, for garnish<br /><br />Slice meat across the grain into cut into thin bite-sized strips.<br /><br />In a skillet over med-high, melt butter and oil until foamy. Add the mushrooms and onion, and cook quickly, until browned. Remove the mixture from the pan and reserve.<br /><br />In the remaining drippings ( you may need to add more butter) brown meat on both sides. Re-add mushroom mixture, salt, Worcestershire, paprika, and pepper<br /><br />Reduce heat and add sour cream. Stir until sauce is heated through but don't boil. Serve over noodles and garnish with parsley.allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-88773700334048723282007-09-24T20:06:00.000-07:002007-09-24T20:17:44.118-07:00autumndespite the 90 degree weather today, it's still shifted to autumn for me. The evening's are cool after the sun goes down, the air less oppressively moist, and the cicadas are tapping out their last songs for the year. No leaves have turned yet (unless from drought) but the Dogwoods are sporting their red seeds, the Crepe Myrtle's are starting to fade and the grass isn't growing so quickly with or without rain. <br /><br />I've got nothing of real interest to say at the moment, since I'm not as willing to shift into personal mode here, but I do welcome fall as I do spring. Even here in the south, Summer and Winter are too extreme, too much for me most days and I far prefer spring and fall. <br /><br />So, I'll bring you some Sara Teasdale instead and a nice cup of cinnammon tea<br /><br />September Midnights<br />by Sara Teasdale<br /><br />Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,<br />Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,<br />Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,<br />Ceaseless, insistent.<br /><br />The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples,<br />The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence<br />Under a moon waning and worn, broken,<br />Tired with summer.<br /><br />Let me remember you, voices of little insects,<br />Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,<br />Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,<br />Snow-hushed and heavy.<br /><br />Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,<br />While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,<br />As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,<br />Lest they forget them.allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-43777477130005897462007-09-03T19:44:00.001-07:002007-09-03T19:48:05.991-07:00The internet age of idiocyI was going to post a bunch of links to the SWFA vs. Scribd kerfluffle but I was too slow and other people are far more informational and even-handed than I would be, so instead I will point you to <a href="http://www.tobiasbuckell.com/2007/08/31/boingboing-points-out-sfwa-dmca-misuse/">Tobias Buckell</a> who has done an excellent job of summarizing the events and fallout and gather various perspectives.<br /><br />I keep trying to have faith that at some point, publishers, professional organizations, movie studios, the music industry and other businesses working damn hard to get every consumer dollar they can will figure out a way to use the internet without pissing off the very people they want to give them money for product.allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-44438793718656429912007-07-22T18:41:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:54:00.375-07:00Inspiration<center><img src="http://chaikhana.net/images/foekillerwest.jpg" /></center><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Foe Killer Creek - 2 larger images"><br /></lj-cut><center><br /><img style="width: 416px; height: 259px;" src="http://chaikhana.net/images/foekillereast.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="width: 399px; height: 265px;" src="http://chaikhana.net/images/foekillerwest2.jpg" /><br /></center><br /><br />images taken 2007-07-22 8:59 a.m. w.Olympus D-490allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-39304390772063715772007-07-20T18:46:00.000-07:002007-09-03T15:01:52.566-07:00Life after Harry PotterI'm not a Harry Potter fan. I know that makes me a bit odd and out of step, and I did try, but not so much with the books. I find the movies entertaining but I don't rush to see them either. So, of the good -- you'll find no spoilers here. Of the bad...<br /><br />Well, actually there is no bad. That people love them, I think is very cool and seriosuly, JK Rowling gets huge props for getting that many people, kids and adults alike, all exicted about reading again. That is the best thing ever.<br /><br />But after the last book, then what? What series or authors could possibly capture people's attetnion like that again?<br /><br />Quite possibly nothing, but even so, people are going to be looking for something else. I'm not so much on what's being published now, and the series I'm going to list are finished, and possibly difficult to find, but worth it if you can.<br /><br /><img alt="" src="http://chaikhana.net/images/planetbuilders.jpg" align="left" hspace="1" vspace="1" /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/search-handle-url/105-2318109-9003625?%5Fencoding=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books&field-author=Robyn%20Tallis">Planet Builders by Robyn Tallis</a>, a series of 10 books, science fiction about a planet being colonized and the kids (post adolescents and young teens) who are affect edby any number of odd things on the planet, from telpathic leviathans to smugglers. Excellent young adult series that I still enjoy. I really wish the series was still in production.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img alt="" src="http://chaikhana.net/images/greenknowe.jpg" align="left" height="200" hspace="1" vspace="1" width="133" /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Children-Green-Knowe-L-Boston/dp/0152024689/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/105-2318109-9003625?ie=UTF8&s=books&amp;qid=1184928913&sr=1-1">The Children of Green Knowe by L.M. Boston</a> and subsequent books, originally released in the mid to late 1950's, follows the children living in an English manor, past and present, which intersect in the topiary gardens and grounds of Green Knowe. This is a richly descriptive set of novels, atmospheric and haunting without being frightening. There are ghosts and magic and peacocks and hedgehogs with personaility. I believe there are six books in all, and they've recently been re-released.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img alt="" src="http://chaikhana.net/images/mindblast.jpg" align="left" hspace="1" vspace="1" /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/0380758520/ref=dp_olp_2/105-2318109-9003625?ie=UTF8&qid=1184929330&sr=1-4?">Space Cops by Diane Duane and Peter Morwood</a>. Three books, science fiction, you can find them used. I was seriously upset when they stopped after three. I love these book, Probably a bit more sophisticated than is interesting for the post adolescent crowd, but exciting and fun anyway, with an excellent repartee betwee the two main characters, and yes, if you are slash fan -- adorable couple these two would make. Officers Evan Glyndower and Joss O'Bannion are partnered in pursuit of interplanetary criminals. It really does read like a police procedural if you like them, but with a twist. Evan is the full-body-armor muscle and Joss is the mixed heritage, brains, but really they are both smart, and Joss has a certain arrogance in the idea that his well-mechanized partner can save his skinny butt. There's a lot of humor in the books and a lot of partnered trust and loyalty. Excellent reads.<br /><br /><br />I'll poke about and see what other series I can find that I can actually connect you to, should you want to read. (Nothing like being recommended a book and not being able to find it.)<br /><br />I'm also currently reading a series bu Rob Thurman, and hope to have a cogent review of the two books I've read so far.<br /><br />And what are you reading after Harry Potter?allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-9073457622117122672007-07-15T17:00:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:31:47.237-07:00All creatures great and smallOn my sidelinks is a link for Disgruntled Letters. The blogger is a Veterinarian here in Atlanta who I tripped over looking for a decent Nam Sod recipe. She delivered that but so much more. She's drily funny, has a vast array of interests (including food. She's got great recipes and better descriptions of places she's gone), some great pet stories and some sad ones but mostly it's all fascinating. <br /><br />Anyway, she doesn't post frequently, but I checked her today and just about fell out of my chair laughing. Given the fact that my latest fannish love deals with slashing brothers, her entry was particularly appropos.<br /><br />It's the latest entry off the link or you can click here: http://ajkdvm.com/?p=142allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-91009822305770225042007-07-13T22:26:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:30:57.059-07:00Some things never get old...I think it's possible that the only artist of this style and genre I like better than Shirley Bassey is Eartha Kitt (Okay, and Joan Baez..but still) <br /><br />Like Kitt, Bassey's got a voice and astyle that generates instnat recognition. And not unlike Johnny Cash, she may well reach an entire new generation of listeners by doing covers of the songs of other artists. <br /><br />Ladies and gents: Shirley Bassey covering Pink's "Get This Party Started" (via kungfu monkey) <br /><br /><br />http://kfmonkey.blogspot.com/2007/07/bassey-covers-pink.html<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />OMG, this woman has pipes!allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-34135994545051336352007-07-10T22:35:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:29:58.997-07:00Well. This is a little depressing.<center><br /><p><img src="http://bluepyramid.org/ia/lmvh.jpg"><br><br /><font face="Georgia, Georgia Ref, Book Antiqua, Garamond" size="5"><br />You're <i>Les Miserables</i>!<br><br /><font size="4">by Victor Hugo</font><br><br /><i><font size="3">One of the best known people in your community, you have become<br />something of a phenomenon. People have sung about you, danced in your honor, created all<br />manner of art in your name. And yet your story is one of failure and despair, with a few<br />brief exceptions. A hopeless romantic, you'll never stop hoping that more good will come<br />from your failings than is ever possible. Beware detectives and prison guards bearing<br />vendettas.</font><br><br /><font size="2" face="Times New Roman"></i><br />Take the <a href="http://bluepyramid.org/ia/bquiz.htm">Book Quiz</a><br />at the <a href="http://bluepyramid.org">Blue Pyramid</a>.</font></font></p></center>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-1773696730229676952007-07-10T22:25:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:28:46.379-07:00chickens<img alt="" hspace="8" align="left" vspace="8" src="http://chaikhana.net/eyes/roadchicken.jpg" />Years ago, there was a writers group called the HLWC. I'm sure it was Highlander Writers something or other...but mostly it was just a bunch of writers who tossed things back and forth: ideas, story snippets, style discussions... <br /><br />One of the challenges that got tossed was to do a writing exercise themed around "Why did the chicken cross the road?" Aside from being often hysterically funny, it also said a lot about people's styles, how they approached text ideas, what themes they played with... <br /><br />I tripped over my own response today --<br /><br /><lj-cut text="10 years later, there're still some consistent style choices I make"><br /><br />//I hate the Road.// It was an unworthy thought, petty and chickish, but staring at the long ribbon of darkness stretching east and west like some horrible scar on the landscape, the chicken couldn't help but wonder what about the flattened conglomeration of rock and tar and asphalt could engender such animosity in her. <br /><br />She came out to look at it nearly every day, feathers carefully pulled away from the abomination that had been part of her environment for as long as she could remember. Or since yesterday anyway. She made no apologies for her abysmal memory. She was a chicken for God's sake! Not some demented archivist for the trivia of life.<br /><br />The other chickens seemed willing enough to ignore it, to ignore the road, its ugliness, its complete lack of discernible purpose. She envied them. She envied them their innocence and their blithe dismissal of the monster that lurked just beyond the edge of their yard.<br /><br />She envied them but not as much as she hated the Road. If she were a horse she would use her shiny hooves to pound on it until it cracked, to mar the smooth unbroken surface with gashes and gouts and prove to the road that it wasn't impervious, wasn't timeless wasn't....immortal. <br /><br />She had seen the huge metal machines skimming across it, of course, all power and speed and spitting foul air, yet the Road ignored them, rebuffed their travels like the ducks shook water off their backs. The Road remained maddeningly intact, arrogantly unmoved by the massiveness of both the size and number of the vehicles that traveled it.<br /><br />Then came the day she could no longer stand it, when spite and anger overcame her ability to be rational and logical about the Road or what it meant or why it was there. The academic exercise was no longer enough. She couldn't just stand here while the Road went on and on.<br /><br />She dashed out, oblivious to danger, oblivious to the squawks of her sister chickens who were shaken from their gravel gazing by the sight of their sister, white feathers all ruffled and the glint of madness in her eyes. <br /><br />With beak and claw she attacked the Road, pecking and scratching, ignoring the squeal of those heavy tires as they sped past her, seeking out any weakness, any break in the smooth black armor.<br /><br />She almost fell over it as the back draft from a passing metal monster sent her tumbling, beak over tail feathers, to the far side. The near miss didn't break her resolve, but it softened it. A bit. A fraction. This damn Road was going to kill her yet, or she it. Smoothing ruffled feathers, she pulled herself to the edge, looking across to see the other chickens peering at her, cheeping and squawking to each other in mumbled commentary -- of her foolishness, no doubt. <br /><br />Staring at her nemesis she almost admitted defeat, would have had her movements not been accompanied by the small rattle of stone. She looked down to see a few of the tar blackened pebble of asphalt tumbling away from the angled edge of the road to rest at her feet. Just a few. An insignificant amount given the size of the Road.<br /><br />But it was crumbling. A tentative scratching at the edge produced a few more pebbles and she increased her effort until she was surrounded by several dozen of the small tokens of decay. <br /><br />She looked up, studying the Road, viewing it as she had not before, without anger, without hate and mostly, she admitted as she had not before, without fear.<br /><br />It was just a Road. Inanimate, unfeeling, enduring. Just a road. It would neither care nor notice when it finally crumbled. <br /><br />Picking up one of the small black pebbles in her mouth she recrossed the unchanged expanse, ignoring the stares of the other chickens, ignoring the fresh feed scattered on the ground and returned to her nest and lay the small black bone of the road carefully amidst the straw and feathers. <br /><br />She still disliked the road, but it wasn't a hatred born of challenge. Or of affront -- just the singular disdain and mild hatred she had for all things that were pointless. And maybe just a little whiff of compassion for the road that would never know where it had been or where it was going. <br /><br />Epilogue:<br /><br />Years later, and not so many it was, the farmer came out into the yard to spread food for his flock of fine plump hens and found the still and quiet bundle of feathers laying next to Route 4. Old Roadie didn't look like she'd been hit by a car. She looked like she had just come out here, next to the asphalt and settled down to sleep. Must have gone over in the night. Picking up the carcass, the farmer didn't see the tiny rounded pebble of black, much smoothed, laid, if he had noticed, very carefully right against the edge of the long and winding road. <br /><br />-<br /><br /></lj-cut><br /><br />~mine ca. 1998allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-41660709130168642502007-07-10T14:23:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:27:15.005-07:00grief<center><img alt="Japin Honoo - shame" src="http://chaikhana.net/eyes/Japi_Honoo_shame.jpg"><br /><br />I meant to find her when I came;<br /><i>by Emily Dickinson</i><br /><br />I meant to find her when I came; <br />Death had the same design; <br />But the success was his, it seems, <br />And the discomfit mine. <br /><br />I meant to tell her how I longed <br />For just this single time; <br />But Death had told her so the first, <br />And she had hearkened him. <br /><br />To wander now is my abode; <br />To rest,--to rest would be <br />A privilege of hurricane <br />To memory and me. <br /><br /><p><img alt="Japi Honoo - free" src="http://chaikhana.net/eyes/Japi_Honoo_free.jpg"><br /><br />the digital artist is <a href="http://www.japihonoo.com/">Japi Honoo</a><br /><br />~|~ ~|~ ~|~ ~|~ ~|~<br /> <br />i grieve <br />for lack <br />of grief,<br />for sorrows<br />not forgotten<br />but displaced<br /><br />in hours<br />darkly late<br />past midnight<br />before dawn<br />sleep eludes<br />and hollow<br />the reasons<br />i wake<br />yet again<br /><br />I grieve <br />for memories<br />that hold<br />only echoes<br />the loss<br />of accompanying<br />reason in<br />waking once<br />and again<br />the hour<br />when grief<br />was born<br /><br />there should<br />be something<br />to fill<br />this empty<br />quiet tomb.<br /><br />~mine 2007/07<br /><br /></center>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-26741279663871795242007-07-08T18:46:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:26:17.411-07:00the dancers, they say<blockquote dir="ltr" style="MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px"><blockquote dir="ltr" style="MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px"><p><img height="448" alt="" hspace="10" width="313" align="left" vspace="10" border="0" src="http://chaikhana.net/eyes/dancing_shoes_kowalik.jpg" /></p><p>AUTHOR'S PRAYER <br /><br />If I speak for the dead, I must <br />leave this animal of my body, <br /><br />I must write the same poem over and over <br />for the empty page is a white flag of their surrender. <br /><br />If I speak of them, I must walk <br />on the edge of myself, I must live as a blind man <br /><br />who runs through the rooms without <br />touching the furniture. <br /><br />Yes, I live. I can cross the streets asking <br />"What year is it?" <br />I can dance in my sleep and laugh <br /><br />in front of the mirror. <br />Even sleep is a prayer, Lord, <br /><br />I will praise your madness, and <br />in a language not mine, speak <br /><br />of music that wakes us, music <br />in which we move. For whatever I say <br /><br />is a kind of petition and the darkest days <br />must I praise. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.blueflowerarts.com/ikaminsky.html">Ilya Kaminsky</a><br /><br />photography by <a href="http://www.piotrkowalik.co.uk/">piotr kowalik</a><br /><br /><br />~|~ ~|~ ~|~ ~|~<br /><br />i can trace no steps back to where I was before,<br />before age, before experience, before years were marked<br />by the steps i've taken<br /><br />i could waltz once, with clumsy grace, and <br />foxtrot to the sound of rhythms<br />older than the steps we traced<br /><br />to dance within form and society is a skill<br /><br />to dance with the <em>exultation</em> of a child<br />is a gift that fades as quickly<br />as the sound of footsteps<br />down an empty hallway<br /><br />~mine 2007/07</p></blockquote></blockquote>allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841017393129622614.post-48239799014828352882007-07-07T19:29:00.000-07:002007-09-03T14:25:09.015-07:00no watchman<center><a href="http://chaikhana.net/eyes/night_guard.jpg"><img height="325" alt="" src="http://nerdrum.com/works/1979-1986/night_guard.jpg" width="400" border="0" /></a> <br />The Night Guard by <a href="http://www.nerdrum.com/">Odd Nerdrum</a></center><br /><br />The whole distance to be crossed was not above a quarter of a mile. <br />But they had no sooner debauched beyond the cover of the trees than <br />they were aware of people fleeing and screaming in the snowy <br />meadows upon either hand. Almost at the same moment a great rumour <br />began to arise, and spread and grow continually louder in the town; <br />and they were not yet halfway to the nearest house before the bells <br />began to ring backward from the steeple. <br /><br />The young duke ground his teeth together. By these so early <br />signals of alarm he feared to find his enemies prepared; and if he <br />failed to gain a footing in the town, he knew that his small party <br />would soon be broken and exterminated in the open. <br /><br />In the town, however, the Lancastrians were far from being in so <br />good a posture. It was as Dick had said. The night-guard had <br />already doffed their harness; the rest were still hanging - <br />unlatched, unbraced, all unprepared for battle - about their <br />quarters; and in the whole of Shoreby there were not, perhaps, <br />fifty men full armed, or fifty chargers ready to be mounted. <br /><br />The beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of men who ran <br />about the streets crying and beating upon the doors, aroused in an <br />incredibly short space at least two score out of that half hundred. <br />These got speedily to horse, and, the alarm still flying wild and <br />contrary, galloped in different directions. <br /><br />The Black Arrow, Ch 27 <br />Robert Louis Stevenson <br /><br />~|~ ~|~ ~|~ ~|~ <br /><br />there comes no warning in darkness <br />in the slip-slide of shadows over dips <br />and around corners <br /><br />the cries of birds fade to whisper and shrills <br />call-out, call-out, to home, <br />until only the night starlings stand sentry <br /><br />the sentry is gone silent <br />no watchman on the street <br />we will have no warning <br />when night become discrete <br /><br />~mine 2007/07 allandsomehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15201991905692943359noreply@blogger.com0