Who Lives Here?

A ramble with Miss B (whose leg is doing fine, though I am still chary of taking her running) always shows me something interesting. I’m not sure this tree will survive the hole at its base, but while it does, I think about what could live in such a space.

Stories are everywhere. You can’t escape them, ever.

Audible Cryptography

This is how a dead man fucks with you.

Written music is a code, and breaking it is easier with a teacher. Since mine headed off across the continent, I’ve been tooling along on my own. Audible cryptography isn’t something I ever thought I’d be interested in, but there it is. Despite the frustration, I like it. It gives my brain something else to chew on (other than itself) and the only problem is, now I’ve started trying to figure out music instead of just listening to it. So, it gives surcease with one hand, and takes it away with the other.

Like most things in life.

Anyway, Bach is getting tricky. The minuet itself is simple(ish), but working with my hands so close together and figuring out what precisely he means when he wants my right thumb there instead of over here was frustrating as fuck. At least I have the internet and can look up other performances, and crack the code that way. Not a bad way to spend an evening, all told.

I should again mention the crowdfunding campaign for The Marked, and the writing workshop for teens I’m doing this upcoming Sunday. Other than that, it’s time for me to retreat for a weekend, and steal whatever time I can on this zombie apocalypse story.

Over and out.

Snail Rider


We’re having a plague of snails this year. Of course, many of the birds are very happy about this, since they’re crunchy with a nice chewy centre. Me, I just keep thinking of the Neverending Story every time I see one. I even sometimes whisper to them, Tell your rider to be careful, there’s a lot of birds about. I know I shouldn’t warn them, for they eat the shit out of my hostas every spring…but I can’t help myself. They are so small, and I am so large, that I feel constrained to be gentle.

Although I do wish I could whisper a garter snake or two into the yard. I wonder if they eat snails? I have no taste for escargot, but then again, I am not a snake.

Have a good weekend, my dears. Next week I’ll tell you how the SquirrelThings Five story ended with me flat on my ass.

Over and out.

Star. Wars. Fish.

Our local craft store is home to more than a few kindred souls. I laughed until I sneezed, and nobody paid any attention. (They’re used to things like that, I guess.)

sw fish 1

Betta fish in lovely little vases? Sure. But these fish are special. (Kylo and Solo need to be separated a little more than the others.)

sw fish 2

The Force is strong with them. And syntax theirs strange is.

sw fish 3

This one, naturally, gets the biggest bowl.

Perfect Skull

No, really.
No, really.

The Princess: DO EET.
Sister 1: …I hope that’s not a real animal.
Me: Uh, no, it’s resin.
The Princess: We can put it on the front step.

If there is a more perfect explication of my, my daughter’s, and my middle sister’s personalities than this, I haven’t run across it yet.

(I had a fairytale post planned for today, but things didn’t work out. Next week!)

[1]No, I didn’t buy it. The urge to bludgeon someone with it would overwhelm me, and that would create paperwork. BUT I COULD HAVE BOUGHT IT.

Badonkadonkus Felinum

My backpack’s got jets.

I had occasion to take this picture of Madame A yesterday. She bears little resemblance to the scrawny baby her rescuers found. Now she is a queen, and baby, well.

Baby got back.

I half suspect she was a dog in a past life, because her furry belly is not a trap. Despite having pitons for claws, she does not take blood after you give her tummy rubs. In fact, she throws herself on her back and demands Miss B give her belly-nosings every time we go downstairs. She would be on my heels, like Miss B, all damn day–if not for the fact that Odd Trundles is also at my heels all day, and he is far too Loud and Obnoxious for her taste.

One of these days, she’s just going to smack Odd in the face when he wiggles up demanding at top volume that she play with him, and from then she will rule him unmercifully. (At least, that’s what the Mad Tortie does.) Until that day, though, she heads for the stairs whenever she suspects he’s awake.

Anyway, here is our calico wonder. If you listen closely you can hear her purring.

King Trundles

Surveying His Domain

The Princess snapped this shot of Trundles chillin’ halfway down the deck stairs. Proud and rugged, and sitting sidesaddle (he says it proves he’s a Lady of Quality, and cannot understand why Miss B snickers every time) as he watches me weed a bit of the auld sod. This was after his Afternoon Constitutional and before the rains rolled in; it was a little too warm for Odd’s taste but he wasn’t about to go inside if I wasn’t. Goodness knows I might do something interesting, like suddenly produce some food. Or I might need protection from an ankle-biting zombie.

This dog, you guys. This dog.