Life

Weekly Round Up

Posted on March 5, 2015 by caseykins

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This week has kicked my butt.  I’m not exactly sick.  It’s like I never got to the “can’t get out of bed so I get to rest and watch terrible videos all day” stage.  I just went straight to the “mild headache, with mucus in Technicolor” stage.  I’ve been sucking it up and going to work anyway.  I took some Dayquil the first few days, but I forgot about Dayquil.  I always feel like I’m seeing out of too many eyes and my brain can’t quite make the links I want it to, even though it’s making most of them.  So now I’m just suffering in silence and drinking as much liquid as possible.  Hot tea for the win.  And I’m much better than I was on Monday.  I’m sure I’ll be fine soon.

I blame my misery on the weather.  I like the rain.  I like the sunshine.  But when the day swaps back and forth from pouring to shining, to pouring while shining, it does a number on my sinuses.  And it all happened mid-day, too, which meant no pretty rainbows to make up for it.

I have learned this week that there’s an award for the book with the oddest title each year.  Among those currently in the running are “Nature’s Nether Regions,” and “Divorcing a Real Witch: For Pagans and the People that Used to Love Them.”  I think those two are gonna be neck-in-neck.

Spring has come to Redlands.  I pointed out the spring-green bits on the top of the giant tree in our front yard, and Brian groaned.  “It starts…” he said.  “All those leaves to pick up next Fall.”  I’m thinking instead about the lovely deep green it turned last summer, and all the cool shade we got.  The neighbor’s plum tree lops over a bit into our yard and I can see the white blossoms through my bedroom window.  The Roger’s Reds went from looking like twisted dead twigs to sprouting little silver leaves no bigger than a dime.  I have a feeling the yard is going to start looking closer to how I want it to look in no time.

The kitten has decided that we’re writing buddies.  Or rather, that she wants me to stop writing and be buddies.  She has eaten two of the cloth bookmarks tethered to my Moleskine notebooks, skittering around the table after them.  When she realized that wasn’t working, she attempted to sit on the notebook.  When I still didn’t stop scribbling, she sat on my hand.  My aunt is in the middle of a house re-do and she gave me a tiny desk with an adjustable sloping top.  The kitten doesn’t understand why the surface isn’t flat.  There has been much snuffling, some climbing and sliding, and a bit of trying to climb underneath the mechanism.    She’s SUCH a problem.  But I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Her problematic mannerisms are what make me love her so much; and that deep, throaty purr of hers.

The last news this week is that 2015 might be just as filled with babies as 2014.  First set of friends just announced they’re having a girl.  I’ll go get out the crochet hook…

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Cannons

Posted on February 12, 2015 by caseykins

I write little essays about things all the time, save them in a file, and forget about them.  Then, when I’m looking for ideas I go through them and have a little fun…

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In the Great Garage Clean-Out of 2013, I came across a box full of picture books that I had loved as a child and was saving for the days when I had my own child. Keeping things “just in case,” was not part of the bargain Brian and I made about things, though. The bargain we made was that we either had to use it, display it, or donate it. Most of the books I was fine donating, but there was a collection of books that were full of gorgeous pictures on glossy paper. “Drummer Hoff” was in there. That was my favorite as a child, and a Maine alphabet book, and “Shh, We’re Writing the Constitution.” So I decided I was making paper flowers out of them to display in my home.

“I found Drummer Hoff!” I said to Brian.

“What the hell is Drummer Hoff?” he said.

“Drummer Hoff fired it off,” I said. “It’s a book about a cannon.”

“I see,” said Brian.

“Private Parage brought the carriage, but Drummer Hoff fired it off.”

“Uh huh.”

“Corporal Farrel brought the barrel, Private Parage brought the carriage, but Drummer Hoff fired it off.”

“I get it,” said Brian. “Please don’t do another one.”

“But it’s so pretty, and then at the end they fire off the cannon and the explosion takes up the whole page, and the last page is the broken cannon all grown over. There’s a bird on it, and some butterflies.”

“They broke the cannon? I can’t believe they broke the cannon. They’re doing it wrong.”

“I blame it on Captain Bammer. He probably rammed it all too hard. Or Colonel Chowder with his sub-standard powder.”

Brian performed a feat of eye rolling. “So basically what you’re telling me is that you were already a history nerd when you were six?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you. In related news, I have found my dream job.  It’s a  calling, really.”

“What’s your dream job?”

“To become the lady at the Yorktown army encampment who sets of the cannon for the demonstration.”

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A Tale of Three Bad Cats

Posted on January 30, 2015 by caseykins
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Look at them… they’re clearly plotting something.

The cats are on a roll lately. It seems like a small kitten would not be that much extra cat, but Jennyanydots is extraordinarily naughty, as my sister in law likes to say. Couple Dots’ single minded determination to get into trouble with the neuroticism of the cats we already have, and it’s been, uh… interesting. Brian is fed up. I open the front door at the end of the day gleefully wondering what they’ve destroyed this time. It’s always interesting, and never what you would expect.

Last week, we didn’t close the lidded trash can well enough. Dots, through much determined sniffing, found that she could pull the bit of the trash bag that overhangs the can and ferret her way in. Evidently, tracking the recycling all over the house is not good enough. She wants the dirty stuff in the actual trash can. Preferably to eat.

This week, we got wise and closed everything down properly. But Dots thinks it was her destruction of the trash bag that led to her victory last week. I came home to find that it had snowed plastic bits in the waste alcove, and that the trash can had a red ring around it where the drawstring had fallen free. Lid still intact, though. The humans take this one. I choose not to dwell on the fact that the bag is useless without the drawstring, and it’s going to be a pain to take out the trash next time.

Anydots and Annie have been tearing all over the house after each other. Usually it’s cute.   I realized the other day, though, that they had knocked my dollhouse staircase over and broke off a few of the rails. They came loose clean, so I’ll just have to glue them back on again. Not too bad. Among things that have suffered permanently from the rumpuses are my glass bread pans, and the carved angel knick-knacks (they’re now headless). The kitchen rug is permanently askew.

I came home yesterday to find that they all preferred eating my novel to reading it. Pieces of draft pages are all over the office, mingled with shreds of paper towel. I had just picked up all the remnants of Christmas wrapping and tissue paper they destroyed a few weeks ago. And we haven’t even mentioned the collection of Brian’s black socks they have dragged all over the house in an effort to pretend they’re dead rats.

Little antisocialite Amy has decided that she will not use any box the dirty kitten is allowed to use. Instead, she prefers the dining room carpet.

They ate all of Brian’s trail mix after doing their favorite sneaky trick. They sniffed it and pretended to be uninterested so we would be careless with it. Once we were at work, they ripped the bag open, binged on the contents, and scattered seeds throughout the house.

I’m a sucker for those cats, though. I really am. Dots has the loudest purr, and she gallops onto my lap while vibrating, marching and lifting her chin for pats. She will suddenly decide that on my lap is not close enough, she must be rubbing her cheek on my cheek, charging at my face. Annie just wants to loll on anyone’s lap and be adored. Amy wants to stand close and be admired with no touching. The older cats clean each others’ faces in the morning and sleep entwined. Dots sleeps outside my door and bolts into the bedroom in the morning as soon as anyone opens it. She sits behind my double-sided face mirror and terrorizes the cat on the other side when I’m getting ready in the morning.

For purring in stereo surround sound, I would do an awful lot. Now pass me that carpet cleaner, and stock me up on super glue. I’m going to need it.

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Turkeys On Time

Posted on January 5, 2015 by caseykins

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My father is the cook in the family. We force him into making his supernaturally fluffy omelets whenever we get the chance. With cheese, bacon, and avocado please. It’s ruined me for diner omelets. His creamed corn recipe is well renowned and a staple at all the fancy dinner occasions (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter…). He wears a white chef coat, brandishes a spatula, and yells bloody murder at everyone to get out of my grandfather’s small kitchen. Except me, because I stuff myself into a tiny corner and hand him things he needs. It’s a good arrangement. I don’t mind being yelled at when it’s all in fun.

For Christmas, my father has a perfect Turkey recipe and prides himself on getting it to the table ON TIME.

Brian and I did the turkey for Christmas dinner this year at our new place. And by “Brian and I,” I mean Brian. I assisted by giving good moral support, not looking too close at the dead bird on the counter, ignoring the neck completely, and deciding on the times to put things in the oven. Turkeys creep me out, and Brian is a champ.

The bird was an hour and a half late. It took just a little extra time than I expected to cook, but I forgot things like resting and carving when I told Brian when it absolutely had to go in.

It was a lovely day, it really was. And the bird was delicious. Everyone kept patting me on the back and telling me how they weren’t too hungry anyway as breakfast had been such a big meal. But I brandished my new wooden spoon in my fancy Christmas apron and felt that sinking feeling when the time stretched forward and still the bird wasn’t done. I had violated the ON TIME stipulation. I was my own pet-peeve.

In other news, who knew that cooking Christmas dinner could be so exhausting? Brian did the Turkey, but I did the potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and 2 kinds of cranberry sauce. And I expedited. I spent a weary Friday wondering if I would do it all again, but by Saturday I knew I gladly would. We are still eating (tasty, tasty) leftovers. The house feels infinitely more like home now that we have some good Christmas memories in it. It was a good holiday. But next year, I will get that turkey to the table when I SAY it will be on the table.

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The Good, The Bad

Posted on December 18, 2014 by caseykins

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To be honest, the end of this year is going out just as it came in. This year was full of either ecstasy or despair and nothing in between… So perhaps it’s fitting that our heater crapped out on us and is unfixable, that we haven’t been able to get the front planter paved over because of all the rain (and mud), the kitten has torn up the guest room carpet, and the Christmas present budget has made things fairly tight.

But in the ecstasy tradition, we are having Christmas day in our new home for the very first time. There will be fourteen of us to sit around the new (and gorgeous) dining room table and eat turkey. In the morning, we’ll enjoy our traditional Harry and David pears and cinnamon rolls in front of the fireplace while we open gifts. I hope the house feels stuffed to the brim. I hope the heat of the oven, and the heat of 14 people, makes it all a bearable temperature in there… (fixing the heater isn’t in the cards until the year turns. Don’t worry, it’s only been in the low 60s.)

I hope you all have the holiday you’re dreaming of as well.

 

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An Old Year

Posted on December 3, 2014 by caseykins

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This week I can finally feel the year getting old. I don’t know why that feeling has eluded me for so long. After all, it’s December. I put the Christmas stuff up already, and by next weekend the season is upon us with a vengeance.

Perhaps it is because it’s finally getting to be sweater weather in California. This is the first week in as long as I can remember that we got four straight days of rain. I got a little Fall in Maine, but I mostly felt like I went from summer to fake-Fall-land and then back to summer again. It is so easy to believe that Maine is a place outside of the world, because I fly in and I fly out and neither life touches the other, except when it does.

This morning, I drove to work in the rain, wipers swishing. Last night, it got cold in the house, and somewhere in the depths of night, and the kitten burrowed under the covers and snuggled up to me. I slept badly, afraid that I would forget she was there, turn over, and crush my favorite fluffy pincushion. But it was cold out. And the other cats won’t let her snuggle yet (maybe never). I didn’t have the heart to move her.

It could also be the time change and those dark evenings, or the fact that Trader Joe’s has started stocking eggnog, spiced cookies, candied sweet potatoes, and real evergreen wreaths.

But whatever it is, I’m glad to see 2014 go. It was a weird year, full of high highs and low lows. The year started with me finding out I was losing my job, but somewhere in the middle we bought the house. Now the year is mostly full of hard work; between sprucing up the yard, work itself, and the huge writing push I’m forcing on myself. I’ve taken on Ukulele Christmas Carols and some crocheting of Christmas presents as well. I’ll never get it all done, but it’s fun to see what lands completed in the bits of time that I can steal. Often it’s not what I think it will be.

And then we are on to a year with no mistakes in it yet.

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Ferguson Thoughts

Posted on November 26, 2014 by caseykins

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I do not usually weigh in on political issues, but I have something I want to get off my chest. You have been warned.  And you should also probably note that I am very white and very middle class, so take my opinion on race for what it’s worth.

A lot of people in my circle feel like the indictment decision in the Ferguson case was a good and valid one. Darren Wilson had a ton of evidence to support his statement that Michael Brown attacked him first, and eyewitness accounts were inconsistent (and that’s an understatement). I don’t exactly feel like it was a wrong choice myself, if the circumstances were different and if race relations in this country were better. But race relations in this country are not as good as we pretend.

The civil rights movement is not as far away as we like to think it is. Our parents grew up in a world were lynchings and Emmet Tills happened. The Montgomery bus boycott and the Woolworth sit-ins happened less than 20 years before I was born. The civil rights movement happened yesterday; and it happened in part because yesterday, when a black man killed a white man, there were no consequences.

It is counter-intuitive, but whether Darren Wilson is guilty matters not one whit to the question of whether there should be a trial or not. Do we not owe it to Emmet Till and the hundreds of black Americans killed in this country to take this matter to a courtroom? Do we not allow a jury of 12 peers to say ‘innocent,’ instead of only a white prosecutor and a white judge? I think we need to. And the fact that this won’t happen now is a tragedy with real consequences.  The verdict may not be Jim Crow, but it sure smells like it.  And that is why people are angry.

I am lucky, because I get to be outraged at the wave of black men being shot in the streets. I do not have to be both outraged and fearful that my children will be gunned down next. I stand in spirit with those on the streets of Ferguson. Your protests are valid; you deserved your day in court.

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NaNoWriMo: The Week 2 Blues

Posted on November 12, 2014 by caseykins

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The latest pep talk for Nanowrimo is not what I needed right now. And I need a pep talk. I’m feeling the week 2 blues set in. I was so excited to see that they had one up on the website, and I’m sure it helped someone move forward amidst some writers block. The thing about Nano, though, is that I don’t usually get writers block. I get writers block when I am worried that everything I’m writing is crap and won’t fit the tone of the rest of the novel. I get writers block when I don’t know how to write a scene and I desperately need it to work. In short, I only get blocked when there are stakes.

There are no stakes in Nanowrimo. There aren’t. However much you’d like to believe that you’re the next Hemmingway, I will have you know that your current novel is not up to those standards (that’s what editing is for). You should also know that’s a GREAT thing. It means your next line of prose doesn’t have to be genius. You also never have to show your novel to anyone, ever. All the “her troubles melted into the fondue pot of life”s and “their eyes met across the crowded room and stuff”s, all those horrible clichés, and the twelve adjectives you used to describe each thing; all of those are between you and the blank piece of paper. The blank piece of paper isn’t talking. There are no stakes

For me this time, there is only the realization that I hate these people a little bit. I don’t know why I decided to spend a month with them. He’s too nice. And why does he cry when she leaves? She’s going to help her country. He shouldn’t cry, he should be angry that she won’t listen to reason. Only he isn’t angry. He’s this warm, supportive, wishy-washy guy. And then there’s her, and she is such a reluctant revolutionary. She’s supposed to like excitement. The baby is supposed to be more than a glorified purse that she carries around and has to make sure she doesn’t leave at restaurants. The leader of the resistance is supposed to be the one that’s reluctant, but he seems ever gleeful to send everyone to their death.   At least Dad seems to be the asshole he’s supposed to be.

I know. It’s week two and we all feel this way. Every year I’m ready for it and make fun of the week 2 slump. But I’m always surprised by how genuinely I hate my novel. This isn’t “ha, ha. I’m over the thrill of week one.” This is honest loathing. I’ll get over it. I’ll feel proud of myself by the end of week 3. But how to charge forward through week 2?

I don’t know any way to do it except to put my butt in the chair and do some uninspired driveling. So that’s what I’m doing.

But I sure could use a good pep-talk right about now. Perhaps I’ll read Neil Gaiman’s (again) for the 1000th time. Or perhaps I’ll take my inspiration from Shannon Hale, who said that if engineers can land a probe on a comet, surely I can do something so simple as meet my word count goal…

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Anydots Update

Posted on November 4, 2014 by caseykins

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It looks like our visitor will stay. We introduced her to the other two over the span of about a month. It was a grueling process in which Brian held one cat and I held the other, and we let them hiss at each other until they were tired of that. Then we let them wander around the room together and hiss at each other. When the hissing subsided, we let them out into the house. Hissing still takes place, but usually only when Anydots has pounced on someone’s tail or has the audacity to try and share the window sill. No one has been beat up, and I consider that a victory.

Jennyanydots has a penchant for getting into the trash and a taste for earrings, or really anything that’s shiny lying around (little magpie). Pens are also her favorite to munch, especially the silver tip of the fountain pen I write with, preferably while I’m writing with it. She has grown a bit in the past month and is infinitely fluffier. Her hobbies include standing on keyboards of all kinds and running break-neck towards dinner plates.

It is the Anydots show, and if you are not watching she isn’t pleased. She’ll meow until she gets your undivided attention. Her meow is rather large for her size, and so is her purr. If she isn’t meowing she’s purring. There is no in between. I may be losing my “favorite” status because she’s been sleeping in the crook of Brian’s elbow, but I love her just the same.

I’m awfully glad she can stay.

Now if we can just get her to stop clawing at the carpet…

She’s too adorable to reprimand.

But I’m doing it anyway.

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To Nanowrimo or not to Nanowrimo? That is the question.

Posted on October 31, 2014 by caseykins

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Nanowrimo starts tomorrow (that’s National Novel Writing Month), and I am still deciding whether or not to participate. I know, right? Nothing like waiting until the last minute.

Except that this isn’t really the last minute. I have a novel, I have an outline, I have a cover. It’s great, just like all novels are great before they’re full of the bad prose and plot holes of a zero draft. I am ready for Nano. There is no one more ready than I am.

So why would I not participate?

I’m at a terrible stopping place in draft five of the novel I’m currently editing. A terrible place. Sure, I’m not in the middle of a chapter or anything, but the queen is about to maybe get killed and I’m about to leave her in suspense for a whole month. It seems cruel. I was supposed to be farther along than this. MUCH farther along. I was supposed to be finished with draft 5 by November 1st. The queen was supposed to know who was trying to kill her.  The main character was supposed to make up with her family.  I was supposed to put it in a drawer, and then dabble with changes, and then have a readable manuscript by January 1st.

Brian and I were to have lovely nights in front of our new fireplace, both bending over a copy of the manuscript while I read aloud, occasionally scribbling things in the margins. (Which is a joke if you know us. We’re more likely to get into horrible fights with me accusing him of being mean to my writing, and he not understanding why his gentle criticism was reinterpreted so horribly wrong. And then he threatens not to read my stuff anymore if I can’t behave myself. Sometimes there are tears.  And then I apologize and dupe him into participating in the same cycle again. But maybe slightly better, because I’m trying to behave myself. I really am.).

My eyes were bigger than my fingers, though. I couldn’t complete 20 pages a day and still be a human. It’s my own fault for giving myself more work than I could manage. That doesn’t make it any easier to put the thing in the drawer at this haphazard place.

I must finish this novel. This year.

But, new novel!!! It’s the prequel to the novel I’m currently writing. That means it’s sort of related, right? We could call it research? No? Anyone?

I’ll probably end up participating. Just knowing that there’s a party of writing going on somewhere on the internets is enough that I can’t stay away. No one can resist the traveling shovel of death, or the wombats, or the mass quantities of caffeine and sugar we’re all consuming. It’s an orgy of words and it’s wonderful. It’s a new novel in only a month; something to fall in and out of love with and then toss aside. The newness is what I crave. I haven’t written anything new in months.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll have time for both?

Yeah, I know.

But don’t rain on my parade, okay?

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