Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 31

In the Rain--a Dawson/Jared fanfic

More con stories tomorrow, if I can remember them. In the meantime, this is for a friend, who might need it:

In the Rain--a Behind the Curtain Ficlet

A funeral, on any day, was the worst day ever.

The rain and the mud didn't even made it worse--it just reassured everybody that the small coffin was just as painful, just as tragic, as any onlooker could imagine.

Dawson stood next to Jared in the pouring rain and held the umbrella over their heads, while Jared clutched his cane and scowled into the gray muddle of somber faces. Dawson had no idea what he was thinking.

The child had been in Jared's special night class--her heart had given out suddenly, and her parents were devastated. Dawson hadn't known her--he volunteered with another class--but Darian had, and she was sobbing in Benji's arms next to them.

But Jared wasn't crying. Just that impassive scowl into the rain.

For the last week, he'd been like that. A ghost dancer in their apartment. He'd made dinner when it was his night, he'd done the dishes, paid the bills--even come to a show Dawson and Benji had been running.

But there had been no sudden smiles, no quiet laughter.

It was like the heart of him had always been meant to be here. In the rain. And Dawson wanted to scream.  He didn't though--just held the umbrella over his head and shivered.

The graveside service ended, and people trudged back to their cars, Dawson keeping the umbrella steady as Jared concentrated on not slipping in the mud. When they got to Dawson's car--a Chevy Impala as an upgrade to the Toyota that had pretty much rolled over and died--Jared got in silently and Dawson closed the door behind him before moving around to the driver's side. Once he sat down and started the car, he asked, "Whereto?"

He expected to hear, "Home!" but Jared surprised him.

"The zoo," he said.

"Really? In this--"

"Please?"

"Alrighty then."  Dawson didn't mention they were both in their best wool suits, or that their overcoats had soaked through. He didn't mention the umbrella still sopping wet in the back of the car. He just drove to the freeway and then the fifteen minutes to the zoo.

Of course it was practically empty, and Dawson had no idea what the person at the entrance thought of two grown men in funeral suits buying tickets, but he followed Jared as he walked to the giant bird pond near the front. After a moment of trying to figure out what his boyfriend was thinking, Dawson looked out at the birds.

And was surprised.

"This is the best day in the world for them," he said, surprised a little. Flamingos, it turned out, gave zero fucks about the rain. The ducks loved it. The other birds were fairly amused.

"Glad it's good for somebody," Jared said, also sounding surprised. He turned then and walked, to ignoring the reptile cage--thank God, although there was a giant gorilla in a sweatshirt and jeans with a teeny excited girl heading that way, because apparently Dawson and Jared weren't the only nut jobs in the rain.  Instead, though, they went to the red panda enclosure--and the pandas were draped about in the rain, seemingly oblivious.

The monkeys didn't mind it either.

In fact, nobody seemed to mind the rain, not even the two dumb humans trying desperately to stay under the umbrella.

At the end of the walk, Jared turned toward the bonobo cages and smiled a little. "She always wanted to dance like animals," he said randomly--maybe the second thing he'd said all day.

"Yeah? Which ones?"

"Depended on the day. Some days she wanted to dance like flamingos. Some days it was leopards. Some days it was zebras. And she'd tell me and Darian stories about why she was making her body go like the leopard or the zebra or the flamingo. And we'd look forward to it, you know?"

"I bet," Dawson said, heart aching. He'd heard them talking about this kid, Megan. But he hadn't heard this.

"And that last day, she wanted to dance like a turtle. Slow. and she wobbled her body back and forth. And she might not have felt s good, because she was slow all day, but we said it was okay, everybody got a turtle day."

Oh Jared. "You couldn't have known," Dawson said softly.

"I know. I mean, me and Darian, we were one part of her life, all week. But... but I like to think we were a part she looked forward to."

"Of course you were."  All the kids loved their studio. They had enough students that Jared was hiring another former dancer to come in on the nights he couldn't. Elena was a nice lady, with an orthopedist husband and a new daughter and an impossibly big Italian family--but she hadn't been there for this.

Jared let out a sigh, and wrapped his free hand around Dawson's waist, leaning his head on his shoulder. Dawson wrapped his arm around his shoulders and nuzzled his hair.

"I'm going to miss her," Jared said, voice breaking.

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks for coming," Jared whispered.

"Where else would I be?"

There was nowhere else to be.  They stood there until Jared started to shiver, watching the monkeys play in the rain.

"Come on, baby," Dawson said, tugging gently. "Someday you'll see a kid dancing and it'll be a monkey day or a flamingo day, and you'll be okay again. And you'll remember Megan and it won't hurt."

"Yeah."

But Jared didn't move until Dawson cupped his wet cheek and pulled him in for a salty kiss. Dawson pulled back. "Someday, we'll come back here in the sunshine, and we'll teach your other kids how to dance like a turtle."

Jared nodded. "Promise?"

And Dawson heard it, the need to know that not all days would be this sad. Dawson had always been the one who could see sunshine in their future. He hadn't ever realized that was a gift, that it would define him, as an adult, as a lover, but here, now, looking at Jared's mercury blue eyes pleading for solace, he realized that it was his most precious commodity. His professor had once said he'd "earned his charmed life"--he hadn't ever known what that meant until now.

He found optimism and hope on this shitty day, and breathed it into Jared's tired heart.

He pulled back and smiled. "I promise. Let's go get warm, baby. Let's watch Animal Planet videos and make up dances for all your kids, okay? Your friend doesn't have to be gone forever, not when she's bringing you joy in your heart, right?"

Jared nodded, shaking a little. "Right."

Dawson guided him back to the car and when they got home, he set water heating for hot chocolate before he joined Jared in the shower.

Warmth seeped into their bones gradually, and soon the two of them were on the couch, cradling their chocolate, doing what Dawson had promised. Amber joined them, having spent the time after the funeral with Darian and Benji, and as they watched bonobos gambol across the screen, she looked up at Jared. "Why don't you ever make a dance like that?" she asked.

"Planning on it," Jared told her, leaning his head against Dawson's chest. Later, they would make love, very quietly, and Dawson would remember those moments, looking at the animals in the rain. The world sucked sometimes, in the cruelest ways. The fact that the human heart could be patched together again and again and again every time it was broken was one of the only reasons Dawson's lover was still walking around.

Dawson was grateful that he was the one with the duct tape and the glue to help Jared patch things up again. He didn't trust anybody else with the job.

Con Stories--Day 1

Okay-- so I'll admit it. I was not in great shape when I arrived in Tampa.

The plan was for Karen and her husband Martin to pick me up and then take me to their house. Karen and I would spend a day chilling and yarn shopping on Tuesday and then drive from Tampa to Daytona on Wednesday.  But Karen had a book signing in a tiny boutique book store Tuesday--and it was fun!  She had a group of readers gather around her--there were probably fifteen or so--and we sat in a small book store, surrounded by pictures of other authors who had enjoyed a book chat there.

It was pretty awesome. And her fans were the best! They very graciously asked me for my card, and I gave them over--it would be great if I got new readers, but they were just so charming to my friend that it's just fine if I'm not their cup of tea.

Anyway, Karen, being the most gracious and amazing hostess ever, offered to do a yarn crawl the next day. It took a while but we hit two stores and a really great restaurant for lunch. We arrived in Daytona around eight, and were both so tired we just got room service and went to bed. I'd been trying to finish edits, and honestly, I hadn't kicked being sick yet.

Thursday was a quiet day. There were people to see and meetings to be had, but I have to admit, I did a lot of quiet sitting and talking, and I slept late and went to bed early. I knew Friday would be bananas, and if I hadn't just taken a day to chill, I wouldn't have been up for it. As it was, I enjoyed every conversation I had on Thursday, including the one with my roommate, Kayla.

Kayla is a reader-turned-writer. She's super-genius level smart and charming and hilarious and her stories about helping with hurricane relief on St. Thomas were hysterical and wonderful and even though the roommate request came in late and I volunteered because I wanted her to be able to come, it turned out to be one of the best moments about the entire con. Kayla, if you're out there reading this, I will room with you any time, if you don't mind rooming with me.

Friday was registration--and Friday was the deadline for having a basket into their charity raffle.

Now I'm usually good for a decent basket--but, remember, sick!--so I had some swag and some books, and, well, a scarf I was mostly done with. I stayed up late Thursday after Kayla went to sleep trying to finish the scarf, and I managed it. I still felt bad, like my basket was sort of weak shit--but apparently the Amy-knit scarf was a big attraction. Melinda, who won it, I hope you stay warm!

Friday was a blur of panels and events and Flash Fiction and Cinema Craptastique. I loved it. Cinema Craptastique was featured probably the worst movie ever--Vikingdom, don't watch it without alcohol--and Flash Fiction had a change in order. I was seated between Lucienne Diver and Kiernan Kelly, and I hope I kept up with both those ladies because they were hilarious and sharp and I'm always afraid of being the weak link in the chain. Eric Asher and Kathy Lyons were in the beginning, Damon Suede was, as always, the anchor, and the result was, as Eric (who hosts these events a lot) "like regular Flash Fiction on steroids!"

I'll take that as a compliment!

And I'm going to leave the rest of the stories for tomorrow--because it's late and #amwriting too--but this convention remains one of the highlights of my year!

A Little Book News Before I Sleep!

So, Coastal Magic was a GREAT convention--I had the best time with the best people. I'm sure I'll have more stories tomorrow--but right now I've been up for almost 24 hours (give or take a nap in a plane that didn't leave the ground for two hours!) and I got business to take care of!

Anyway-- first things first.

If you didn't buy Familiar Demon because you missed Familiar Angel, well, Familiar Angel is ON SALE FOR $.99!!!

So it's a good time to take a gander at this series if you've put it off!

Also--

For those of you who have heard about Freckles, but haven't read it yet, and were sort of depressed because it was unavailable for a little while, well, it's OUT AGAIN ON MARCH 8TH!


And finally, for those of you who missed the cover reveal for String Boys--

Well, here you go.

It's out on May 28th and so pretty I want to cry.



So, I'll be sending out a newsletter (finally!) and I'll get to con news and my greeting home sometime this week.

But in the meantime, thanks for being patient--the convention was great and I had a wonderful time, but boy, after leaving here sick, I was just really exhausted the entire time. Blogging was not on my agenda.

And right now?

Sleep. Sleep is definitely my priority.

I promise, more stories tomorrow!

Amy

... but the sweater is done.

I'm feeling mildly better--but the only--and I mean ONLY thing I did over the last two days was pack, edit, and finish Mate's sweater. Now, Friday night I read at the Lavender Library, and Saturday morning I had a chapter meeting where I got to see Anna J. Stewart and hear Sheryl Lister's rather amazing presentation on dialog, and after that?

Well I huddled in a blanket and tried hard to sleep. I wore my slippers. I drugged the fuck up. I tried hard to kick this bug before it kicked the shit out of me.

Mate cooked dinner. Twice. And brought me my coffee this morning, because it was clear I wasn't getting out to walk the dogs. I've got my fingers crossed that I'll be better tomorrow--I'm going to bed early for a 4:30 wake up and a 6:41 flight.

Here's hoping. I'm also packing a fuckton of cold meds. Wheee!

And as for anything else I've packed?

Your guess is as good as mine. Could fit, could be a circus tent, could be a Chihuahua sweater--we'll only know when we arrive in Florida and it looks like crap.

Also?

I don't know if I have enough swag.

It's bothering me.

Like, REALLY bothering me.

But there's nothing I can do about it now.

The one thing--one GREAT thing--that I accomplished this weekend besides a shitton of editing, was finishing Mate's sweater.

It's crocheted, out of Plymouth yarn cakes and Encore, which is a 25%/75% blend of wool and acrylic. I know--I usually love the all wool myself, but for throwing in the wash with the rest of the sweatshirts (which is how my family cares for yarn!) this is pretty much  the best.

The pattern is my own, top town, and what was supposed to be a straight line down the center, a sort of pattern feature caused by joining the yarn, seems to be a spiral down the front. I am STILL not sure why it does that, but Mate swears it doesn't matter. He's also not sure he'll wear it to work--but I think he's pleased.

He posed like Obi Wan Mate for a couple of pictures--be sure to tell him he looks very wise.

Ugh... I get on a plane when?

So, Squish and Mate have been sick ALL WEEK, and they've shared.

Last night I started taking Zicam and Motrin and spiking a fever and I'm EXHAUSTED but I can't sleep and I have a reading tomorrow and a meeting on Saturday and I need to fold clothes and pack in the meantime.

*sniffle*

I'll be honest.

I took the kids in for a mani-pedi today--it's been the only really fun thing they've gotten to do all week, and they've had it OFF. Squish got purple nails with flowers (in spite of my mother's assertion that this will end up with her getting pregnant at sixteen because she's not old enough for dark colors, I am made of wet cardboard and I think Squish is too level headed for that bullshit, so I caved.)

ZoomBoy got turquoise sparkles, Chicken got pastels, and I got brand colors that I immediately biffed.

Twice.

And I was wearing capris and sandals ALL DAY and I don't think that made the whole "I'm sick!" thing any better.

So I'll be downing Zicam for the next five days and hopefully I can sleep on the plane, and then I'll be at Karen's house for a couple of days and then we're going to Coastal Magic.

If you see me at Coastal Magic and I look a little... uh.... o)).((o, it's because all the things are hurting and I want to sleep.

But I'll be there anyway--because I miss everybody, and, well, I said I would.

Everybody, let's cheer on  Zicam and Motrin, okay?

Do your balls hang low...

So, Mate and I were watching TV tonight and I had a sudden urge to talk about a book I turned in a month ago.

Yeah, right? I don't do this often, because as proud of I am of what I do for a living, I also tend not to inflict my imaginary people on my loved ones, because I'm very aware that once I do, I don't stop. I do this in public, too--if you hear me plotting out loud and suddenly I get all tongue-tied and blushy it's sheer self-consciousness. I'd just as soon drop the finished version on everybody's plate and run away and very carefully only look at the good things you have to say about it. But sometimes, sometimes, I HAVE to talk about my imaginary people and this was one of those times.

So I open my mouth to tell Mate about the character arc of Kell, a secondary character in Beneath the Stain and Paint it Black, and how proud I was that Kellogg James had a lot of character growth when Mate shifted in the couch across from me and grimaced.

"Wha--"

"I twisted my balls. I went to cross my legs and there's not as much thigh gap as there used to be. Ouch."

I opened my mouth and closed it and we both started that insidious laughter, the kind that snorts between your tongue and your palate and that won't stop.

"It happens!" he explained. "It's like, they sag low, and pretty soon you're sitting on them!"

I can only make sounds at this point. And we sit for a moment, snickering, and he says, "They get tangled! That's something that doesn't make it into your books!"

And I manage, "Every time you open your mouth something more wonderful comes out!"

And we''re stuck again, not able to breathe.

Finally, I say, "You know, you can talk about this all night long and it still won't stop me from talking about imaginary people!"

"I know!" he howls and we're gone.

The kids come in and ask us what's so funny, and we can't. We just can't.

I finally get around to telling him about Kell and his wonderful plot arc, but I just keep thinking about "That's something that doesn't make it into your books!"

Watch me.

Fun With Maths and Engineering

Okay-- you have to click the link.

THIS LINK HERE. 

DO YOU SEE THAT?

Like, OMG-- it's a baby jacket made in two pieces. By crocheting a SIX-SIDED SQUARE, each side with a right angle. Which is like... you know, WAY TOO MANY ANGLES. So, when you fold this six-sided thing, something magical happens. Something that only needs an arm seam to make it half a jacket.

And you add another six sided square and OMG IT'S FUCKING MAGIC!

I can't even...

I'm just...

Like, OMG CAN YOU EVEN?

AND THERE'S A GROWNUP VERSION! 

And the thing is, it's like the Elizabeth Zimmerman Baby Surprise Jacket  because with that, you're working on a misshapen rectangle, that looks sort of like a tortured starfish, right? and then, when it gets to be the right size, you sew up the shoulder seam all the way down to the wrist and SURPRISE, IT'S A JACKET! Which is, as you know, how it got its name.

And yes, I should know this by now. I've been experimenting with sweaters and crochet and how to make a sweater in one piece, just add arms later, and I really really really love doing ALL OF THAT.

But I have to tell you.

Math and I have never been friends. I used to cry when I had to do physics homework. The only way I could ever reason my way through math was with words.

So to see math done in yarn, and to see it engineered to look like something amazing, and--ESPECIALLY with the use of color--to make it more than amazing, to make it MAGICAL...

Well, it makes me think better of people and the Goddess. It just really does. Because we could throw on any old thing, really. We need clothes to protect us from the elements. There are EASIER and CHEAPER ways to get sweaters-- every knitter and crocheter knows it.

But we don't do that. We sit with a project on our laps and work on it until we take string and a hook or a couple of sticks and make something beautiful and amazing and functional and sometimes even fun, and we give it to somebody else and say, "On to the next miracle!"

And we take joy in almost every stitch. (I say almost. Yes, I've had some projects that I've hated... but you try not to hate on the project... it feels like that poisons the wool.)

So there you go.

Today's daily miracle.

A six sided square with 540 degrees of angles, folded in half, and sewn up along two sides, then joined with another piece of the same yarn-igami.

And in the simple things, I see the divine.

*runs around with hair on fire*

So, was GOING to spend all day working on the Shitty Craft Book-- spent it working on swag instead. The good news is, part of my swag is Suitcase Sachets, made wit Scentsy-- and it smelled REALLY good. But other than that, I've got bits and bobs--and a pressing need to write 3K tonight after I'm done blogging. Don't mind the snippets here folks, I can hardly hold a complete thought in my widdle bwain.

*

We got home from the grocery store and saw Dewey sitting on the porch, staring at us with what ZoomBoy calls his judging face.

Me: Oh my goodness, lookit dat FLOOF!

Mate: That is the dumbest cat we've ever had.

Me: No! He's just composed!

Mate: Bullshit! That face right there? The face ZoomBoy calls his judging face?

Me: Yes--isn't he cute?

Mate: That's the face someone makes when they're listing to the sound of the wind whistling between their ears!

Me: OMG!

Mate: *whistles* whhhhooooooooooooooooooooosh......

Sadly enough, I'll never look at that cat the same way again.

*

While Mate and I did Avenger's Swag Assemble (also known as Amy Lane's little sweatshop) we watched The Umbrella Academy-- first six episodes. OMG. At first we were like, "Hey, it's like, the Avengers meets the Royal Tenenbaums" and then we realized that we had the Royal Tenenbaums right, but the crossover film would be Looper. And it's really good. And stylized. And ironic. And rip-your-heart-out. And dark. Really really fuckin' dark. But we loved it, and it kept us good company as we worked on swag for SIX HOURS.

*

The kids gave the dogs baths.

The funny part was Geoffie, who was SO JEALOUS. "All those OTHER dogs are getting attention, why aren't *I* getting attention? Huh? Huh? Huh?"  And then she got a bath and she was SO HAPPY!!!!!

Dogs are weird. That dog is more me than any human I know.

*

Mate and I went out to dinner Friday night because it was February the 15th, and February the 14th is for amateurs. Anyway-- dinner was WONDERFUL, but the funniest part was our waiter.

He looked like Dex.

I mean, he lOOKED LIKE DEX.

And he had a Dex voice.

And I was so distracted.

"He looks like Dex!" I squeaked. "Like from my books."

"I know who Dex is," Mate said dryly.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I do."

And then I was no longer distracted, because Mate knows who Dex is.

*

Squish keeps getting upset because her YA novels don't end on an HEA. I keep giving her my old Harlequins instead.

I think this is how a lot of us started reading romance.

Because dammit, we wanted to be happy at the end.

Waiting, Sweetheart, Waiting... A Jai/George Installment

"George... George? Hello, are you going to give me that tablet?"

George looked up from outer space and pulled himself back to the ICU. "Yeah, Amal-- here."

Amal Dara was George's supervisor--it was his job to check out George's paperwork from his shift. Off duty, they were friends. They'd tried dating--once--but both had agreed that their one kiss had been like kissing a relative. A female relative.

"Where are you? You've been somewhere else all week!"

George smiled faintly. "Going camping tonight. You know. Sort of..."

"Hoping you don't get stood up in the mountains?"

George had tried to explain--oh, he had. He'd tried to explain about Jai taking care of him, about how steady he'd been, about watching the sunset together, and the marvelous kiss. He'd talked about sleeping folded up in Jai's arms, like he was delicate and precious. He'd tried--he really had.

Apparently all Amal had heard was, "You threw up on the guy and you think he's coming back."

George grunted. "He texted me last night and said he'd be there." He couldn't seem to emphasize how much he thought this meant. "And Annaliese is watching the cat. So, you know. If nothing else, I've got my camping gear ready. I might as well go."

"Go and not get laid," Amal said.

"Don't be judgy. It wasn't like I was getting laid anyway."

"Yeah, cause you're too good for a threesome!" Amal laughed and George rolled his eyes.

"George, Harvey, and Gary," George reminded him. "Think about how boring that threesome would have been, with all those names. 'It's like, hey, I've got a small white penis, you have a small white penis, we all have small white penises! This'll be GREAT!'"

Amal smirked. "I've seen you in the showers. You have a medium white penis."

"So. Much. Better." If George rolled his eyes any harder, they'd sproing out of his head. "The point is, I don't care how big or what color his penis is, he's interesting. He's... he's kind. And he sat and watched a sunset with me with the sort of concentration other guys spare for sports. And he acted like kissing me was a big deal and not even you can pretend to do that."

Amal grimaced. "That may be true," he conceded. "But this doesn't mean I want to spend next week searching the mountains for your remains. You are going to be here Monday morning, aren't you?"

George smiled reassuringly. "Unless I get the stomach flu again, I promise."

Amal just shook his head. "Tell Annaliese to call me if you don't check in on your cat. What was this guy's name again?"

"Jai," George repeated. "No, I don't know his last name."

"That's reassuring."

"I think he used to be with the mob," George told him. "But don't quote me on that."

Amal was staring at him, so George snagged his tablet back just long enough to sign himself out and then gave it back. "Have fun looking for my remains!"

But as he hit the showers and then hopped in his truck for home, he wasn't thinking about being scared. He was thinking about seeing Jai again, and the way his brown eyes had been gentle and smiling as he'd kissed George goodbye in the dark of the morning.

He was wondering if they'd light up with joy when George showed up around sunset, and if George could get another kiss looking decent, when he'd gotten a couple of them looking like hell.

*  * *

Jai paced the campground for the third time, making sure everything was set up like it should be. He'd brought spaghetti and was reheating it on the camp stove, along with a small pot of hot chocolate, and some cut up apples in the ice chest. IT wasn't fancy, but Jai didn't eat fancy, and they were camping and...

And George had texted him back. Had reserved the camp site. Had double checked. Had told him when he was leaving. Had texted him from the gas station.

Every text had been like a little bell signaling, "We shall have sex now!" in the back of Jai's mind.

He tried to tell himself it was ridiculous--George would take one look at him, his giant body, his evil smile--and shrink away in revulsion. The Jai who donned coveralls and helped Ace and Sonny out in the garage was an ex-mobster. Hell, he still performed nefarious deeds if he was needed. His George... his sweet, gentle lost little soul--didn't need a Jai in his life.

But apparently Jai had hope, because the tend was up, the sleeping bags were zipped, and Jai had even remembered a little bit of eucalyptus mint freshener for the bags and the pillows.

The tent didn't smell like feet.

It was a miracle.

The only thing that remained was to see if George would actually show, and if he did, would he actually--

Oh no. There he was.

His truck hadn't been looked at since Jai had tuned it the month before, and Jai grunted. Why did people think they could abuse their vehicles and not have them turn rabid? He'd have to look at it while they were there.

But right now George was skidding to a halt, back end of the truck fishtailing as he came in to rest behind Jai's Toyota.

He slid out and practically ran across the campsite, and right into Jai's arms.

Jai caught him, surprised. He'd been expecting a moment of awkwardness that would enable George to beat his hasty retreat, but what he got was an arm full of George--more than that. George gave a small hop and wrapped his legs around Jai's waist and took his mouth.

Jai opened for him no question, so primed for this kiss they could have been in a firefight and it wouldn't have stopped him. He sucked on George's tongue or a moment and then let George free to plunder, to take his mouth to assert ownership, while Jai cupped his ass and pulled him as close as humanly possible with that much clothing on.

Finally, George wiggled and Jai let him slide down his body. "Into the tent?" he asked breathlessly, eyes huge, pale cheeks a mess of razor burn because Jai could shave three times a day and still sport stubble.

"I have dinner," Jai said, hoping that wasn't a deal breaker.

George straightened up and smiled. "Really? That's..." He bit his lip, the shyness from their last meeting not entirely gone. "That's wonderful. You cooked dinner?"

"Spaghetti." Jai shrugged. "Hot chocolate. Apple slices. Is not fancy."

"But it's thoughtful," George murmured. "It's thoughtful, and I'd be a heel to turn it down. Let's sit down and have dinner, Jai. Let's talk about the last month. And then let's go to the tent and..." Oh, that wicked smile he had, when he was letting Jai know sex was on the table. "Let's finish that kiss."

It was Jai's turn to bite his lip. "I thought the kiss was finished," he said with dignity.

"Oh, no. That kiss is just getting started, my friend. I have so many plans for where it will go!"

Rain, Rain...

So, it's been raining here pretty steadily all day. Chicken and I went to take the dogs to the park and found that all the walkways near the little stream were flooded--as Chicken told the dogs, "It's a Chihuahua death trap there, guys, and we want you to live!"
So, super short walkies, obviously no shimmies, and rain and rain and rain.
Sacramento is used to rain--before climate change, it had a ten year flood cycle. Every ten years it flooded. Every twenty years it got Biblical. Right now is the first time in twenty years that's felt Biblical.
When I worked at Natomas, they had to wait to get clearance to build more in the area-- they were afraid of the levee breaking. Apparently, after Hurricane Katrina hit Louisiana, Natomas was rated in the three most likely places to flood. I'm not sure if the levee was shored up, or if the seven years of drought made people dumb, or if money changed hands, but they've been building up a storm out there-- so far, nothing bad has happened.
But Natomas is really close to Rio Linda--a.k.a. Levee Oaks, which may sound familiar to folks who loved the Keeping Promise Rock books. One of the things that prompted the big flooding scene in that book was that Rio Linda floods ALL THE TIME. One year, my friend was looking for horse property and had an appointment to meet her realtor at a house in Rio Linda. The realtor canceled, my friend went anyway, and the house was UNDER WATER. 
Because that's Rio Linda. 
One year, when we lived in Sacramento--close to where Fair Oaks turns to J Street, but a few blocks over--we got a call from Mate's mother. She wanted to know if we were okay. Her call woke me up and I was like, "Uh, yeah, Dee-- we're great. How're you?" 
"Amy, have you even looked outside?" 
"Nope. Looks sunny out there!"
"Have Mate turn on the news."
And right there was a picture of our block. Our set of fourplexes were the only ones NOT under water. Lucky us.
In 1986 a series of SUPER DOOPER SHITTY decisions ended up with my friend and I driving on a flooded road on the shittiest night of the year. Her distributor cap got wet because the car was up to its hood in water (and NOT as she maintains, because a good samaritan stopped to drag a picnic table across a flooded bridge, which I helped with) and the car eventually stalled and we walked the three miles to the place her horse was being stabled. The whole thing that set us off was that a number of horses drowned at Cal Expo (where there's horse racing sometimes) because nobody had let them out of their stalls, and she wanted to check on her horse.  I'd told my parents I was staying with her--and didn't want to admit to doing anything so bumfuck stupid as walking three miles in knee deep flooding, barefoot, so, while my folks' house was a mile away, we just kept walking to make sure her horse was okay. Damned animal was fine. 
Anyway--I remember rain.
I'm going to give thoughts of safety to everyone, man or beast, outside tonight, and wish everybody inside a snug, warm, safe house. I"m going to hope that we all stay dry and that the rain finds a place to go that wreaks havoc on neither man nor road.
I'm going to quietly remember that although there will always be things like work and stress and things I MUST DO TODAY OR ALL WILL BE LOST, there are ALWAYS forces bigger than myself out there, and they need to be respected.
In this part of California, where drought can break you and rain can wash away the pieces, we know how to respect the rain.