C.J. Cherryh's Blog, page 111

A happy birthday cruise…

Patty and Mike (Briggs) and Sparky (Ann) joined us for an overnight—afternoon at pondside, dinner on the water (all you can eat salmon and roast), with drinks, back to a little sit by the pond at night—dinner cruise on Lake Coeur d’Alene, and breakfast at pondside this morning…we had a very lovely time, the weather was perfect, and the impending company got us to actually put the gardens (front and back) into apple-pie order, and also finally! to get the detritus of the construction projects sorted into order and put away—(wild cheering here!)

Our new resolve is to undertake each new project and clean it up and put it away before taking on another, and we have finally figured how the bathroom project got us so deep in piles of bits and pieces—most projects, eg, installing the new back door, require a certain set of tools (drill, screwdrivers, shims, carpenter’s level, door, hardware and molding, paint and spackling, sandpaper, plus generate a certain amount of crud: powdered wallboard, scraps of wood, spare shims, old screws, and scraps of sandpaper, used paint trays, etc—and you put in the door, put away the tools, throw away the waste, paint, toss the scrap, and you’re done.

Not so the bathroom. Finding a soft spot in the floor required floor repair, a soft spot in the wall meant pulling tile, new wallboard, patching holes, in flooring, leveling new flooring, replacing floor tiles, plumbing to fix the leaks, removal of a wall in Jane’s closet, new plumbing for tub drain, shower, faucets; new countertop, removal of sink, new plumbing, wall plaster, paint, new sofit, wiring, new sockets, new lights, hole in ceiling, work in attic, installing exhaust fan, creating wiring, changing receptacle boxes, new faceplates for the boxes, including creating one where there was none with that combo of switch types, tiling, murals, curtain hanging, window repair…I mean, it was all layered, so you couldn’t just finish a job and put the stuff away. It was do part of this job so you can do job 2, then do part of another job so you can get this far, but you haven’t even gotten to the grouting and the curtains and all… So it was a never-ending, deepening pile of tools (buy a new bit to replace the one that went missing somewhere at the bottom of the pile) and discover that the whole commode has to be taken apart, and you need a special wrench to get the drain out of the tub…and install the new one. Not mentioning pipe wrench, pliers—well, you get the picture. We hired done not so much the job we COULDN’T do, but the guys with the EQUIPMENT we didn’t want to buy, like a watercooled tile cutter…for those monster thick 12″ tiles. Not to mention the mural.

Anyway, say that one end of my kitchen counter was piled with boxes of assorted bits, drivers, sandpaper, you name it, and the mudroom had stacks of other stuff, and the dining table had stuff on it from the garden…

So Jane started cleaning in advance of my birthday, and I joined the cleanup, and we worked our tails off, right down to filling the birdfeeders, coiling the hose in the front garden in neat stacks, Jane got the moon gate repaired and up again, got the garden chairs reassembled from their takedown for reworking, and the paths groomed and the clippings added to the mulch pile and the gate leveled, and created a proper guest room out of the OTHER scene of chaos in the house, the basement…all this in a couple of frenzied weeks.

We were ready for that cruise. We really were. And ready for some party and good times, which we had, out watching the stars by the pond, and feeding the fishes at dawn, with the little sparrows, my rowdy crew that I love even if they are sparrows, having their baths in the waterfall, and finding out that the feeders are full again—I have a strict ethic about birdfeeders: if you’re going to do them, you prepare to do them through the hard season, so you don’t get them to depend on that food and then take it away during the big storm. So the feeders, idle for the last whole year, are now active again, and thus will be available no matter what winter throws at us.

I have a clean kitchen, well, once we mop up after the waffles this morning—and all’s well with the world.

Why is it when you buy extra of something…you never see it again until you don’t need it?

So—I’m out with the weedwhacker getting the weeds that grow between curb and street, and it’s rough, and chewing up string like it’s going out of style. Thank goodness I took a break and got the ones in the walk all the way to the porch, before I continued—and ran out of string. I know I have 2 extra spools, and that buying weedwhacker spools is like buying doll clothes and model trains—model matters, and it’s a pita getting new ones. Can the spools be found? Nay, of course not.

So…at least I got that. Changed Ari’s water. Daily. I hope I’m not delusional, but the wound looks just a tiny bit smaller. Perhaps it’s that the inflamation has gone. Or not. I’m not sure. But she eats like a horse. Just has a hole in her head the size of a quarter. Which may be trending smaller. Fish have amazing recuperative powers if you handle them with clean water and appropriate meds.

No more from the raccoon. But the water’s trending colder, too, and the fish are only active in high sunlight.

We’re making headway on the cleanup. I shredded some sunsetted records yesterday, several bags full: I’ll tell you, of household appliances, a good crosscut shredder that doesn’t overheat is an asset, in these days of identity theft.

The waterlilies are trying to bloom again: Jane waded in and fed them little tablets. This is a good thing.

And we can’t believe this weather. The 70′s, in mid-August. Winter may be interesting.

The dreaded office cleanup…and new resolutions…

A) a place for everything and everything in its place.

B) no more paper on the floor.

C) little objects into a box

D) convention stuff like business cards and cover flats into one drawer all its own.

E) desktop clear of everything. Period.

F) tape, clips, scissors, stapler all accessible.

G) specialty papers like photoprint and label flats all in slots ready for use

H) three bins on the door: one TO PAY or DEAL WITH, one TO FILE, and one RECEIPTS. To be used.

I) mail to be opened, tossed, or assigned one of those categories on receipt.

J) wastecans accessible and frequently emptied

K) the sorting rack reserved for actual work.

L) books and other such sent to storage, not the working space.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. With just a 10×10 clerical space with a 3×5 closet, out of which we run everything from art to bookkeeping and store all clerical supplies (not the boxes of records and older stuff and reference stuff that takes up most of the basement), we just don’t have room for unidentified stacks of things in the little working space, and we don’t need the stress of finding a bill and trying to apply valuable brain cells to figure out if that was the one we mailed last month or not. We’re better at putting PD on things, but we just need not to have stacks of stuff that force us to reconstruct what we did a month ago, before the convention. Stacks are the enemy…

Doing some long-postponed cleanup…

putting together the patio chairs that needed restaining; and the moon gate that needed repair and restaining.

Did I mention we had raccoon tracks on the fence? Cheeky beggars. The fish are safe, even Ari, who’s a sitting duck if we didn’t have those rocks on her tank cover. And I have now sprinkled black pepper around Ari’s tank and coyote urine (dry) around the pond.

Ari’s doing a tiny bit better. We’re crossing fingers. It’s amazing the poor fish can manage a yard square tank, when she’s about 16-18 inches long, herself, but she’s been amazingly ok about it. For one thing, she’s the most hand-tamed of our fish, and she doesn’t freak when I daily lower her water level so her back is out, then refill with fresh water. Many fish would have a fit. She’s just such a sweetheart about it all I hate seeing her so injured. But the wound has stopped bleeding, and is now showing some hope of healing, where before, infection had just made it a mess.

I managed to drop a 50 lb box of books atop my foot. I could scarcely lift the box—set it where I thought was stable, and it plunged from about waist high, edge down, onto the instep of my foot. Oweeee. Good bones, I’m telling you. Dad had good bones. And I do, thank goodness. I’m going to be a wee bit sore.

Got to figure what we’re having for supper. I’m just not inspired this evening. But I’ll think of something. Maybe mac and cheese. That might work.

LYNN ABBEY needs your help…

Lynn’s just put her Out of Time books up on Amazon. She needs reviews. She doesn’t have any. These are really good books. Very good books! Please go help her out, those of you who’ve read them—or buy some! On Closed Circle she gets it all; on Amazon, of course they take a cut, but if her sales and reviews rise over there, so does her visibility which can get other sales, so take your pick and go help if possible! She’d so much appreciate it!

TIX AVAILABLE FOR SHEJIDAN BBQ @ WORLDCON: SEE BELOW! So far so good for the koi pond defense system…

From Warrior of Worry: “I have a limited number of spaces for additional fans of your work. They could email me here (warriorofworry[at]yahoo[dot]com) if interested in joining us.

The BBQ will be on Thursday afternoon at “Chez My Sister’s” (overlooking Lincoln Park Zoo/Lake Michigan), and we’ll meet at the hotel at 1:45 to carpool/cab over.”

ON THE POND FRONT: The little sparrows have come back to the yard, the ravens are calmer in their trees, and we think our problem may have decided to go make an honest living over at Latah Creek.

What we did: we got some 6′ metal tent stakes with just a hook at the top, we got some 50 lb test line, and we strung it low to the ground, hammered in all the way, across his typical flight path, with some diagonals. It’s mostly invisible. But shouldn’t be so to him…eagles having 2 focal spots in the eye, and the ability to switch between–equivalent to having long vision plus an inbuilt binocular vision that brings things close and sharp. They have at least 4x the acuity of sight we do. So I think he’s seen those lines and knows they’re there. And he’s gone off to earn a living. We hope.

Neil Armstrong passes, age 82.

Very sad—but a life well-lived, and a heart that had worked very, very hard. What a wonderful chance he had—and what use he made of it. Plus he lived a good and productive and disciplined life afterward, a worldwide hero who never tarnished his own great moment, and who wanted to go on doing, not just being. That name will go to the stars when we go, no question.

What a day! The eagle came back…

…Jane, after chronic insomnia, was finally ‘sleeping in’ this morning, preparatory to writing a very important scene; and as I’m delaying breakfast, letting her get her beauty sleep—

I spot the damned eagle, who has finally figured out the floating rings, making off with a fish I thought was one Jane’s two favorites.

I had to do something. I ran out, made yet another ring, floated it, got the winter cover on one end lifted to see who was missing (we are currently medicating Ari, who has a terrible wound in her head—we’re not sure from what, but we have our suspicions, and we had set up a 50 gallon enclosure to handle that, so I’ve been dealing with her. Fortunately we have an antipredator screen over her.) And one of Jane’s fish didn’t appear.

I had to tell her, because I had to tell her to watch the pond while I went after something else. She was terribly upset, and lost the scene she’d been trying to put together; and I went off after metal tent stakes and fishing line, in Eagle Prevention Plan #2. We don’t want to hurt the bird–but Plan 2 relies on the fabled eagle eyesight, which, with the common pigeon, the best vision on the planet. We got colored fishing line and strung it at rim level like the work of a lunatic spider, with invisible metal tent spikes hammered in among the rocks.

We have our fingers crossed. That eagle was hanging about watching us, waiting for us to leave—but we did, having done that, and he hasn’t been back in the last several hours.

The good part is we can dispense with the floating rings for something less apparent to the human eye, but that we hope Mr. Eagle can see very well and go shop somewhere else.

The even better part is that Jane’s fish turned up. The one that was carried off was one of our ‘accidental koi,’ that neither of us remembers purchasing. Poor little fellow. We’re going to plant a memorial lily for him.

In the meanwhile, we’re just hoping Plan 2 succeeds.

I need you, my friends: DAW is asking for a list of typos in Intruder. IF you are so inclined…

Can you give me typos you spotted in the Intruder Hardbound, in this form:

1. the text /what it should read/ page number/paragraph number/line number in paragraph.

This would be a great help to a really harried writer. I’m at a delicate spot in this book and the last thing I need is to confuse myself by going back into the prior one.

Just post them here, and we’ll try to put the list in order. That way people can tell if the one they remember has been reported.

Reading the myths and pictures…

Paul’s remark about Methuselah and lunar months made me think of the general problem of English teachers who don’t know Greek culture attempting to teach mythology.

Some oddments to illustrate with Greek and others:

1. the lunar calendar. Remember the myth of the Danaids, the 50 daughters of Danaus. Here’s a Wiki which is pretty accurate and not bad. Danaid myth In essence, what you’re dealing with is at least conceivably a myth of an IndoEuropean takeover of a pre-Greek lunar cult. There are 50 weeks in the lunar year. You may perhaps envision a mother-goddess worship site, a priest, or ‘king,’ and his priestesses. There does seem to be a recurring theme in the myths that men who marry priestesses become ‘year-kings’ and are sacrificed by the women for the fertility of the spring planting. And in this case, they needed to overcome the 50 priestesses who had their own idea about the situation, and decided to have a mega-fertile crop…except for one, who, another legend said, weakened, because her husband was handsome and very nice. And she is the one who carries the bloodline forward into the IndoEuropean age. For more on this culture, Mary Renault’s The King Must Die.

2. Things in the picture aren’t composition: they’re often message. You see a lady with a dove flying about. That ain’t no lady: that’s Venus/Aphrodite. The dove is her messenger.

You know that mystery picture where you look at a black goblet in a white space and rearranging it in your head shows you two profiled faces instead? Egyptian art is like that, particularly the 3-d art, like sculpture. Ie, look at the vacant space and see what shape it forms. I wish I had a ready example, but you may find that the shadow cast by a piece does the same as the goblet.

Supporters of Napoleon did the same sort of thing: the sword cane is a fairly common gentleman’s weapon of the post-Napoleonic era, but if you hold some cane-knobs up to the light, the Little Emperor’s shadow shows on the wall. My brother has one of those.

3. Roman stories. The twins Romulus and Remus are what you call Divine Twins in Greco-Roman stories, one god-sired, one not, one immortal, one not, quite usually. This theme is something Romans have in common with the Spartans of southern Greece, who, incidentally, were Wave B IndoEuropean, ie, IndoEuropeans who arrived hundreds of years after the Wave A folk: read: two separate periods of hardship in the north forcing people to migrate south. The Roman core culture was also Wave B IndoEuropean, but the Romans have many stories telling how they incorporated the local cultures: they started as an outlaw city, accepting fugitives from other peoples, and at first had no women, until they kidnapped some, and then had to negotiate with them to stay. Out of that deal, Roman women got the right to divorce, own property, and do everything a man could do except hold office and vote.

The Spartans—were a warrior culture with very strong women’s rights. The Romans—ditto: viz the story which explains they first kidnapped their mates, then had to bargain with them to stay.

The Spartans—wore red cloaks to battle; ditto the Romans.

The Spartans—venerated the divine twins Castor and Pollux; the Romans had Romulus and Remus, and also venerated Castor and Pollux. You could swear by Castor casually, in vexation, a genteel Ooooh, goodness me!, but you should not swear by the other. That is for men only, and it is not polite for them, either.

The Spartans—also venerated twin serpents: ditto the Romans, symbols which are often painted, rarely mentioned.

The Spartans—made a cult of duty and endurance: ditto the Romans, who valued it in both genders.

The Spartans—had a council called the gerousia (group of old men); the Romans had the senatus (same meaning.)

The Spartans—had two kings at all times; the Romans had a legend how they lost one of their kings to fratricide.