Clothdragon

Pain and Longing

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 16:04:00 +0000

I suppose you'd have to read my other blog to know that I discovered the most extraordinary classes held near me and, especially, how much I loved it even with my cow-like grace and complete lack of strength -- or that elusive thing known as "muscle tone".

Well, there's been a new development. During last Thursday's trapeze class. (I balanced on a trapeze!! Only sitting though, to go with my new mantra: Start slow, don't die. Or possibly: Start slow, don't break your spine and spend the rest of your life paralyzed from the neck down. --The first version is catchier.)

Anyway during one of the many parts that push your ab muscles, something in my stomach popped or snapped --or crackled. (Everything in this class is ab mucles. Except for the parts that are ab muscles PLUS arm muscles.) And now it hurts.

Not always, but every time I use those muscles.

You know, like when I stand.
Or sit.
Or bend.
Or walk.
Or try to get out of bed without looking like a turtle flipped onto its back.
Or when I try to get out of bed exactly like a turtle flipped on its back.

It was bothersome enough I looked up "hernia." It would be internal organs poking through some of the muscle tissue just to the right of my belly button (in my case), but the description says it should be easily diagnosable.

I should be able to feel a noticeable lump.

Unfortunately, that's also where I keep most of my extra fat, so that wasn't half as helpful as they thought it might be. (Neither was the soft, rubbery muscle-type material I keep under that fat.)

An alternate possibility is muscle strain, which isn't much better because both diagnoses say stop pushing the muscle so it can rest and heal. That is not an easy thing to do. While normal life is not as ab-intensive and trapeze play, I haven't figured out who to do much without that muscle yelling at me.

More horribly...

I can't practice that move we all did so easily as children (hanging from something and raising our legs over our heads so we could loop the bar and hang by our knees --Look, Ma. No hands.) so that our next class can be more than rehashing the same few exercises I'm just too weak to manage.

I want to do all the fun stuff!

I put up a bar to practice on, but as long as that muscle is feeling weird and painful and wrong (and, likely, until that neck/shoulder thing lets me look to the right again -- really, though, how often do you need to look to the right?), that bar does nothing but taunt me.

Tauntingly.

I can hear it now.

Your children could do this.
If your geriatric dog had opposable thumbs, even she'd be able to do it.
With her eye closed.
And one paw tied behind her back.
Come out and play-ayyyyyyy.

How long do these things take to get better? Because 4 days is already too long to wait.

Oh, but guess what!
Being hamstrung by injury makes me write more.
Two whole new chapters.

Take that, exercise bar.

Beads and Wire Make Sore Fingers Giveaway

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:32:00 +0000

We made a craft from Polish the Stars last week. I'll start by showing you their beautiful example photo:

Isn't that amazing?

Yeah, ours aren't quite that cool.

First, rings were not quite as easy to find as we'd expected so we ended up with five inch rings from Michael's Craft Store, instead of the suggested four inch. They were the kind people crochet around or use for Dream Catchers, I think. One way or the other, they look clunky compared to the wire we found easily as our local bead shop. Maybe hers were made of thinner diameter rings too?

Then, I made them with my wonderful, beautiful, creative children who really only wanted to do the beads so the trees were put together as quickly as possible - which was also not as quickly as we sort of, maybe, a little bit expected when we saw pretty small thing but didn't pay too much attention to the instructions.

You see, you start with cutting twelve wires to a certain length. Not fast.
Then you wrap them around the ring to attach them. Also not fast.
Then you group them in threes and braid them. Not fast again.

All of those are things the children did not have the patience or inclination to do. (That could just be my children or that my children are only 9 and 5)

What they did want to do was choose beads. And only choose beads. They put up with twisting up a tree shape, but the whole time they were staring at the bead box. And then they didn't have the patience to put the beads on so they picked beads and handed them to me and I did all the attaching.

And our rings being a greater diameter than what Polish the Stars found, even our adding length didn't give great amounts of wire to work with at the end soooooo...

Without further ado, here's Little Girl's attempt.

We made hers first so the shorter wires were a big issue in this one, obvious on the side where the branches got stretched further there wasn't room for beads. And Little Girl has gone all pink and sparkly so ... let's just call this a candy tree.

This also got promptly eaten by Grimm - we suspect to punish us for leaving him home that day when I added grocery shopping to the picking up the children chore making it take longer than usual.

Little boy made this one:

He used a lot of green beads, so he did get the idea it was supposed to be a tree, but both children LOVED the letter beads and were determined to spell their names out.

Sister made one too -- about the size of a large keyring, but try as I might I cannot get a picture of that one to come out well. Even on the macro setting on the camera (which is the only setting I know about - made for small things, I think), so just know it's pretty. Probably the best of the bunch.

And I made this one:

Shown last, because I was the last one finished. Because I had to help so much with the children's. Where somewhere in the middle, when my fingers were bleeding from dealing with all those tiny wires (and my natural clumsiness), I began to wonder what I needed a beaded metal tree for anyway.

Which ended up being a good thing because, since Little Girl's is destroyed (my intention is to salvage the beads from hers and Little Boy's because they'll want to use their name letters again somewhere later) and putting mine out somewhere visible will break her heart - my tree needs a new home.

Comment below to win.

MIA - But not really

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 20:21:00 +0000

I haven't been writing, but I've been here. Not kidnapped or racing to save the world, as it seems I should have been for having missed several weeks of writing in a row.

It's all holidays and not fitting into a normal week.

The kids were off two weeks, starting the week before Christmas. Husband was off the week after Christmas. Then Monday, Jan 2, was no school, no work for all of them (which ends up including me). The 9th, Husband just got back from running the Goofy (1/2 marathon on Saturday, full marathon on Sunday) and had taken the day off for the sole purpose of confounding my efforts to get back into a routine -- certainly not to recover from having run 39.3 miles over two days, as he suggests.

Then Martin Luther King day happened (today) and everyone is home again.

I should have three weeks (before the next thing happens) to get our schedule straight again. Then we'll have two weeks of weirdness in a row (Husband off at conference, and another school holiday) before things are good for a whole month. Then spring break, random other holidays, summer vacation, Gencon, then both kids being in the same school (Little Boy in actual kindergarten rather than Florida's VPK program), my MIL retiring and possibly trying to take over our children (What happens if she's with them more than I am? If they spend most of their days with other people and I only get the 3 hours a day Husband has now? Will we spend all that time arguing over homework?)

Way too much stuff.

But for something more cheerful: I went to the gym today and their rows of televisions showed me that one of my little round guys grew a beard in order (I assume) to look more like Husband (and therefore to be even more adorable).

See.

There are no other possibilities.

Next week, I'll share some more photos.

We tried a craft I found on Pinterest. It wasn't as easy as I'd thought it might be so I'll share what I learned to make it easier for the rest of you.

There's the Happy and Then the Guilt

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 02:11:00 +0000

We had a very merry Christmas, if you wondered. Busy, lots of people, starting off with a breakfast casserole and presents -- the star of which was this thing:

Sister got it for Little Boy and it has been through everyone's hands more than once. Our baking present of the year was Finnish Pulla Bread. Oh so good. Everyone who got it, loved it. I've made extra to have here and we keep going through it. Perfect, except the four hours it takes to make. Next batch, I'm going to see if it will work for sandwiches if I don't braid it -- it rises differently.

I got the cables for the Mac Air my sister gave me (early so I could do NaNoWriMo) so now I can attach it to the giant monitor (that used to be on the ancient Linux box) and use it like a desktop. Husband got me the mac version of a bluetooth keyboard and trackpad when it took an hour to convince the computer I'd unplugged the old usb keyboard this morning. (There are Mac-afficianados who say Macs just work. They don't. They have problems too, and it takes a long-time Windows user much longer to figure out how to fix them.)

Anyway, it's sort of nice working on a large screen. It's been years since I've had that. I actually wrote stuff today. (I've been using the research excuse. Researching instead of writing. I've been researching all sorts of things. Mostly gods. I have a list still. Chinese, Japanese, Egyptian, Indian (Middle Eastern?), Native American, and Sumerian. What have I done? Classic (Greek, Roman), Celtic (Irish, Welsh, British), and Norse (Lapp, Finnish, Germanic, Slavic). There are some interesting similarities. Golden Apples come in 3's in several of them.)

I'm avoiding thoughts about next week when I have to admit I haven't come close keeping my New Year resolutions from last year, but I need to because Husband turns 40 on New Years Eve and months ago I'd invited friends over for a party I haven't thought about since the invites. We were going to all wear black and mourn his lost youth.

It seems like a party I should have spent more than four days planning.

Probably the avoiding-thinking-of-New-Years thing. (Many apologies to Husband -- and friends who expected more.) Slightly worried that the anti-depressants I've been prescribed for their handy-dandy little intestinal calming side effects are calming more than my intestines, but not terribly. You guys would tell me if I'd changed, wouldn't you? (E-mail coming soon to ask what type of party you'd prefer.)

Bring it back around, you guys. Christmas happy, New Year guilt. Christmas guilt, New Year happy.

Let me know I'm not alone.

Thoughts on Identity

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 23:24:00 +0000

I've always seen myself as eminently normal. Middle of the road. Average. Plain and boring. I also suck at remembering names and I can never place names and faces together if anything at all is different from that first meeting. (In other words, if I met you at work, you might look familiar at the grocery store, but I won't know you.)

All this put together makes me absolutely amazed when someone recognizes me. Or compliments me. (Also I have well and truly left thin behind despite my occasional fantasy of jumping up and down on the Wii. When I'm picturing it, I'm screeching, "Obese! I will show you obese!")

Recently, I got a huge number of compliments at Husband's work party. I think it's the pink and purple hair, but there were also people in love with the clunky dragon necklace and the boots. (I don't shave as often as I probably should so my ankle was bleeding profusely half an hour before the party. Boots were a practical decision.) Same thing when we went to Orlando on Sunday, where some drunk guy tried to hug me because I looked so lovable.

But, even like this, even knowing most people don't have pink hair and at least once there was a stigma with those who have altered nature, I still feel average. (Even being overweight is average in the states :)

I don't have problems with normal.

I expect that everyone feels average because we each become our own baseline, due to pure availability and practicality. I once had an argument with a lit teacher (a black lady who was very concerned with both racism and sexism) who said that we (her mostly white class) were all at least a little racist because we started our descriptions of black strangers with the word black, but did use the word white to describe white strangers. My argument was that to be tall, the stranger only had to be taller than my completely average 5 foot 5 and being only 5 foot 2 was enough for them to be short. (I give a few inches either direction where I'd probably say they are my height.) --Though I do have a friend who is 5 feet even. I thought she was my height for years, until one day she didn't wear platform shoes. I also know someone I thought was much taller than me until we stood next to each other one day and I realized it was just that she is so outgoing and just exudes happiness so fully that her personality makes her seem bigger than life.

I have smallish eyes, an upturned nose, and full lips (my best feature -- unless you count large boobs that came years after all the other girl's). I hated my freckles and dreamed of them fading until I was in my twenties and people stopped asking me if I swallowed a dollar (that came out in pennies) or said they were angel kisses (is that creepy or what?). Or asking if I'm Irish. (I love the Irish legends, but we haven't found an Irish ancestor yet. Still hoping.)

Husband still calls me beautiful, but other than the nit-picky little things I believe everyone has, I've always been happy being normal. (Less happy being overweight but that's an issue of not being as flexible as I'd like because there is too much flesh in the way, not because I want to achieve an unrealistic standard of so-called beauty.)

On the other hand, I've always been one to smile -- you know how you catch eyes with someone you're walking by and smile a greeting? Well, I do that a lot. People smile back a lot. Almost always. So I was surprised when an older man glared at me instead of returning the smile. Really glared, like I'd kicked his dog or something. When it happened again later, with another elderly stranger, I realized I'd just changed my hair to a color nature doesn't choose for hair.

Feathers, maybe, but not hair.

On the other hand, pink hair has gotten me more compliments than I've gotten since I was single, in college, and underweight (that's a word, right?). I haven't changed a bit inside, (well, not in the last few months, at least) but to strangers....

I've become different.

Most people love it and see me as daring (I'm not), but to some, I think, I've become scary. One of those people; whatever those people are.

It's an interesting thing to watch.

t-shirts

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 15:34:00 +0000

Sam and Fuzzy has another t-shirt I love.

Have I mentioned before that I wear mostly t-shirts.

I've always loved t-shirts but I gave them up for a while because I realized I was giving people an excuse to stare at my breasts -- there were some slow readers when I was in college. Now I am old and I don't care anymore -- and I love witty sayings. Wearing them around is just bonus. I figure it's like a lot of people feel about their tattoos except I can (and often do) change mine daily.

But the first Sam and Fuzzy t-shirt was ...

There was so much drooling.

That's when I discovered topatoco shirts were very small and I wear an xl for them. Truly. My 9 year old is wearing the medium I got for Christmas last year. It fits her shoulders just fine, only hanging short-nightie long. Even the xl there is sort of tight. Not a bad thing if you recognize it up front. Unless you're bigger than me and also prefer the thinner fabric they usually use for the ladies shirts. (I assume the men's shirts come larger since even my moderately sized husband would look funny in my t) But, since I'm bringing up topatoco, I felt I needed to mention the sizing issues. I was shocked and dismayed when the first order didn't fit. (There was much dismay going on.)

Anyway, their new shirt is...

Isn't it wonderful? Lots of want.

But I think I might like one of Threadless's even better.

No words necessary.

They're having a 24 hour sale where everything is marked down to $10. I'm so tempted right now, you just can't imagine. I keep telling myself I have plenty of t-shirts. Plenty. I don't need these. But doesn't he look so happy?

So now that I've admitted one of my great weaknesses, tell me... where do you find your favorite t-shirts?

Book Wish

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 16:01:00 +0000

My book wish just got here! Thanks to Paperback Writer, Lyn Viehl, who had a bad day and thought offering to be a book fairy would make it better. It did for me. Today wasn't going too well before the book got here...

I asked for Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

Grimm had left the unpleasant type of presents in the playroom and then after his punishment (an extended outdoor time instead of just a few minutes for a potty break) he did the following around thing, begging me to prove I still loved him. I'm fine with sitting still for ten minutes petting him reassuringly when he's had eye surgery. Not so much when the issue is him pooping in my house. And worse, me having to clean it up.

Little Boy woke me up early when I had a hard time sleeping last night. (He didn't realize the sleeping difficulties, but still, I am easily grumpy in the morning and early-to-rise makes it worse.)

Then, this being the first normal day in a while with both kids in school, husband at work, and me having 3 hours of alone time, I am forced to remember that I'm losing NaNoWriMo -- which wouldn't be so bad if I could figure out how to get back on track with this writing thing at all. If I could come up with an after-NaNo plan.

But now, my book wish has come true -- and I hear this is an excellent book -- so the day has to turn around and be great.

--Or, alternatively, as I am typing the word "great" Grimm could throw up on my comfy chair. As my finger was on the 'e' in fact. Because the finger for my day wouldn't have been so obvious if he had been able to wait for the end of the word.

Okay.

That kind of day. I am now prepared.

For a better day for you, read Bloggess. She wrote the longest sentence I've ever seen outside a Georgette Heyer novel.

Small Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 16:40:00 +0000

I cannot remember which book it was, but I remember reading one lately (in the last 3 or 4 months) that had a recommendation from the Dresden Files books author, Jim Butcher, on the cover. (At least I think so. I wish I could remember the book so I could double-check, but I did a library binge and don't think I own the book I'm thinking of.)

Anyway the recommendation was one word, "WINNING," which I remember because of the Charlie Sheen thing and my curiosity whether it was sarcastic or sincere. Before Sheen it would have been such a simple quote and very nice, but since then.... I pushed the thoughts around in my head and tried to decide. I don't hunt people down online and follow their every thought -- if I did I wouldn't let a series lapse for 3 books before I remembered to get back to it -- but I didn't remember hearing that Butcher was an ass.

As far as I know he's not online much -- I remember being pointed toward his blog once upon a time and thinking he seemed nice. He had a few posts, mostly talking about his career, all the effort he put into it, and giving writerly advice. How I did it, but not necessarily how it will work for you. I remember liking that about him, that he didn't say, this is how it works and how you will all do it if you want to get ahead. He didn't update though, so by the time I found it there hadn't been anything new in a good long time and I didn't follow. I do still buy his books though. If he's begun to post regularly and/or become an ass since then, I haven't heard.

So I assume he is actually a nice guy and he meant that the book was actually winning, as in it won him over and would win over others. (I keep thinking it was one of the books in Kat Richardson's Greywalker series, which I just read all in a row and did enjoy) But, being who I am, I was fascinated how the word changes meaning like that with one really famous misuse -- or cluelessness, if we assume Sheen actually thinks he's winning -- and whether Butcher had heard about that whole winning debacle when he chose that endorsement.

Like the swastika which I associate with the nazi party though I have two antique Rudyard Kipling books with swastikas on the cover. (One printed in 1910 and one in 1920) Not because Kipling was genocidal well in advance of the actual genocide, but because it used to mean luck or possibly symbolize the sun. Maybe both. But, since then, it was linked to something so terrible I'm not sure it will be able to have pleasant connotations ever again.

Okay, I probably over-analyze the little things while I let the big things slide, but I'd love to hear what you're over-analyzing or what else I might have missed that has changed meaning in such a big way.

NaNoWriMo plus Flu equals November Halloween Photos

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 12:30:00 +0000

I hate flu days. I know how odd that makes me when most people love them so, but I can't get past it. Not even for you. I will always hate flu days.

Now, as I get better, I need to try to catch up to everyone else on NaNoWriMo.

While I do that, have Halloween Photos.

Sister as the 11th Doctor

Me as the 10th Doctor

Dallas as the 9th Doctor

Husband as the 4th Doctor

Traveling Jane

Allan as the Newspaperman who stays in London for Christmas
even after the alien attacks and crashing cruise ships

And the Doctors Together

Causing a time vortex with the scarf

And a Happy Halloween to you.

(You know, last month.)

Frustration and Stress Makes all Things Worse

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 16:10:00 +0000

My poor dog had an ulcer on his eye -- which apparently means cut, not something like a blister like I'd imagined. Then it made his eye burst and we'll be having it out tomorrow and doing a massive antibiotic thing between now and then while he continues to bleed from his eyeball every time he winces away from me (which is every time I try to put medicine on it) or the kids or when he rams his cone into the doorjamb.

It leaves me stressed and anxious so when I see these political links I get extra grumpy. Like this image:

Am I the only one who wants to ask "What the F#@K do you think a scholarship is, if not a handout? You just admitted handouts paid for 90% of your education." It's either from some government program or some liberal who wanted more people to get a chance to go to college. If you need it, you ARE one of the 99% whether you want to be or not, and if you don't know that, you are a F#@King moron who probably listens to too much Glen Beck. (It hit the library blogs forever ago when he said he didn't depend on the government for handouts his whole life but he got his education from the Public Library.)

Who pays for the Public Library? I'll give you a hint: it's not the tooth fairy with some sort of magical tooth-based economy.

Seriously people, if it doesn't come from your paycheck, it comes from someone else's and that is the definition of a handout -- and this coming from someone who paid for college with loans and wished like hell I'd been smart enough to figure out how to apply for and get handouts (scholarships) before I went; AND wishing I'd been confident enough to do it or didn't feel so average middle of the road to apply when I went back for the Masters degree. (I was a mommy worried about returning to the workplace after 5 years home, but what about that is stand-out enough to get scholarships? I should have tried, at least.)

I would have happily accepted a handout, but I would have known what it was when they gave it to me. And I don't understand how other people (supposedly smart enough to be in college and particularly the ones who graduated a college) don't realize exactly what a handout is.

A handout is money from someone else's pocket. That's it. It's not hard. Now, if some college out there knows who wrote that poster, please pull their scholarships. They are NOT smart enough to have really earned it.

AS AN ASIDE: I curse way more in my head than I do out loud and in my head f#@k is my favorite --for it's versatility. It's a noun, it's a verb, it's an adjective, it's an adverb. It does it all. (But we don't want to discuss what it does to it all.)

Jealous of Husband's Office No More.

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 15:44:00 +0000

Remember a few weeks ago, my manic rearranging fit where I painted my bedroom orange and got rid of the oversized furniture to repurpose smaller stuff we had scattered around the house and finally got a bedroom that actually looks big and pleasant? Also where I moved the second-bedroom-come-toyroom (my two are still sharing a room) and put ALL the toys into what had been the study (the carport closed in well before we bought the house) with bookshelves and Husband's desk, and we changed the room saved for kid2 (playroom) into an office for Husband and I stared at my office/sewing room with sadness because sewing stuff took up so much space that it always looked cluttered and messy no matter how clean it was at any time and was all jealous of his single-purpose clean room?

Well, it is all different now. (that's the old room)

I've put my sewing machines (one sewer, one serger) in the laundry room (also closed in when they changed from carport to study) and stuffed all my fabric in there too. (All the tools had to go onto the porch to make room, but we'll hope that works out better and with less bugs and rodents than Husband worries about.)

Now I have the most beautiful office ever and everything will be perfect once I convince my brain that we don't need to keep rearranging and it is now time to settle in and write.

See, here is my reading spot -- temporarily taken over by the dogs.
(Chair found at Haven Hospice Attic thrift store yesterday -- I was so happy!)

My writing desk with Nostradamus looking over me.
Don't ask. It's the only painting with a face I've ever gotten at a
garage sale and I really have no idea why I liked it at all.
Sometimes I think he's a spy and is very suspicious of everything I do.

This is a wide view from the door to show my wall of bookshelves.
I haven't decided whether I'll use Dewey Decimal or Library of Congress organization.
The smaller, gray bookshelf is all fiction and alphebetized by author.
I haz organization!

And this is the door where I ran out of red paint and left the other wall green.
(When you take down wire shelves there's a lot of wall patching to be done
and painting after that if you don't want to look unfinished.)
I stopped in a point above the door because I hate painting the corners between door frames.
The arrow makes it look purposeful, Right?
Also new, from the thrift store, is the clock so reading time doesn't get away from me.
It ticks loudly, each second a reminder of the time I've just lost.
It may be in cahoots with the Nostradamus painting.

I need to figure out photographing small rooms -- older house, bedrooms are all 10x10. These pictures still look cluttered when it really does look beautiful now. Now I have to write things worth a beautiful office of my own.

No pressure.

I think I need to nap now.

Religion and Business

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 18:40:00 +0000

We just had a very nice plumber come to the house to fix a leak we found in the utility room -- in our house the utility room is obviously a poorly planned add on when the previous owners enclosed the carport to make another room. The utility room was so poorly planned it had a wall down the center of it when we first bought the house. (They'd decided it needed to be bigger but they left the first attempt wall up. You had to walk through a hole in that wall to get to the washer and dryer.)

So we've hired a lot of plumbers for that room alone over the eight years we've had this house. The problem is remembering which plumber we used last and whether or not we were happy with them (and the name I thought I remembered wasn't in the phone book at all, so maybe the business isn't there any more?).

Anyway, we tried a new plumber this time and he was very nice and he said something like -- with all the plumbers in the phonebook, thanks for giving us a chance. Which was also very nice. Fixing one small leak that took less than half an hour cost a bit over $100, but I'm also used to that with plumbers. There's something about so tight it stops leaking but not so tight it cracks the PVC and starts leaking again that Husband has trouble with so we've called a lot of plumbers.

But there was something on the card they handed me when they walked in the door that, if they'd had the same thing listed in the phone book, I wouldn't have given them a chance at all.

And I probably won't call them again because of it.
As long as I remember, I suppose. They may eventually benefit from my lack of memory.
But what saying could they put on their business card that would drive me away?

"Christian Owned & Operated"

Yep, something that simple.

Why?

-Because they think it's important enough to put on their card.
-Because they think I need to know their religion or that I care which religion they belong to.

I stopped going to our last dentist when I called for a new appointment and their message machine said "I'm sorry, we're closed for the next two weeks as we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior."

They could have said "the Christmas holidays." They could have said "Christmas." Or any winter holiday related theme. Or even to celebrate their own religious holidays. "Our" includes me in their religion, and even if that wasn't the point of that phrase, they felt the need to tell me which religion they were.

Volunteering that information feels (to me) like their attempt to capitalize on the "good Christian" image. You can trust us, we're Christians. That sort of thing. The sort of thing that ignores the pedophilia in the church system -- and the fact that if pedophilia is discovered the church moves the pedophile to a different area to continue abusing children instead of turning them over to the police; that ignores the good Irish Catholic orphaned childen's homes that abused scores of children for decades.

It also ignores the fact that currently the most outspoken Christian communities are swearing America is a Christian nation -- which means they don't want me here; that they are vocally taking my country away from me. Saying that back when I was much younger and joined the army, I wasn't there for my country, I was there for theirs and would I please get out now.

It may be aimed at Islam and Muslims, but I feel the sting.

They claim allegiance to a club I don't want to support.

I'm an atheist. There are few times where I find that important to mention. When I read an article saying that people don't trust atheists, that they'd rather their children marry someone of a different faith than an atheist, then I sort of want to wear it on my shirt. See we're normal. I have a husband and two kids who are well-behaved and intelligent. We don't steal and we rarely lie. We don't go drinking and use that as an excuse to hurt people. The worst thing about us is that we're sort of boring in our lower middle America home and our lower middle America jobs. That sort of thing.

But my employer (eventual employer) should have no reason to know what religion I am. If I go in with my religion stated on the top of my resume' or business card, what it's saying is that I expect special treatment because of the church I go to.

It just feels wrong.

Does it feel wrong to you too or is it just one of my twisted atheist tics?

Sleeve Prototypes

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 12:00:00 +0000

These are something I've been considering for a while, but I sat down Sunday and made some prototypes -- neither of which are usable, but both of which taught me something. (Both prototypes are made out of fabric I happened to have lying around, not something decided upon for practicality for this project.)

Count Vampypants, the coffee cup sleeve, taught me....

Leftover white denim (lightweight) works reasonably well for the face, the sweatshirt fleece works well enough for the ears, but the black fleece for the hair loses little fuzzy bits constantly so I have to work hard to keep his face looking clean.

Also, his fangs sort of disappear into the white cup.

I'm not sure how to solve that problem.

He also works as a rather large cuff bracelet -- I'm considering making the next version with velcro or something that would let them be made smaller to better fit a wrist -- not sewn in a pre-made circle, but easily circled later.

Goblinimus, the sleeve, was made of a green fleece. That doesn't work at all. It is too fluffy and I can't get the finished version to even slide onto the cup. (Fluff adds volume so, even though I made both our of the same size cutouts, Goblinimus went together noticeably smaller.) He teaches me that I need a smoother fabric. NEED, not prefer. Or I need to add a full inch to the pattern width -- and people who don't go to smooth-cup Starbucks (choosing instead the lumpy styrofoam or foam coated paper, like my sample cup) will probably still have to work it on.

Maybe velcro really is the way to go.

Also, I don't like the smooth bottom edge for Goblinimus. Next version, I'm going to make it jagged all the way around. Like ^^^^^^^^^^^.

I think I can also do a Frankensleeve, and Cthulhu, but I need to wait until I get a green that is not fleece.

Have I discovered my next binge activity?

I'll let you know next week.

Own Your Life

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 11:30:00 +0000

I've been painting my bedroom.

Two shades of orange.

Odd thing, when I chose the colors (in my very practiced and considered way of walking up to the wall of colors in Home Depot and grabbing two oranges that looked right) the women there said something about wishing they could do bright colors. I must have stood open-mouthed for several seconds in confusion. What is there to say without sounding rude -- but seriously, what stops anyone from doing bright colors.

People should be able to paint their rooms any color they freaking want to.

It's a wall, in a room. And no one is going to see it except for the people you invite into your home anyway. (Unless you're me and post photos online.)

Taa daa! Orange. And I think I need to make a bedskirt. (The other oversized bedframe we are getting rid of to save space in our tiny bedroom had a wood surround so you never saw the bedsprings.) It's only half-done so far, but completely redoing a bedroom is way more exhausting than I remembered. I suspect it always is.

Also, my sister has the cutest dog in the world and I have proof -- in a dog-sized Doctor Who scarf, of course. What else would she wear?

My dogs are cute too, but hers is 3 pounds of alpha dog fury, which has it's own appeal.

My ancient pekingese thinks the little fluffball is the super-cool treat saved for when she does that certain special trick. She always gets that hopeful look in her eye (she only has one) as she stares at the dog 1/4 her weight -- but fully half her size if you count the fur.

Yeah, we run the gamut from tiny dogs to smallish dogs. Kisa is 3 pounds, Foo is 7, Ti is 12, and our largest, Grimm, weights in at 18 pounds. And because I know someone will ask, Kisa is fully grown. She's six years old now; older than my youngest child -- but her vocabulary is smaller.

I had to share because I think that one ended up being the best picture we got.

But I'm having Doctor Who issues lately.

I suppose I need to start with saying that, since Husband spent the last week in Vegas, we kept the last episode waiting until he came home to watch with us. Two episodes Sunday (plus, Lodger from season 5 to remember Craig before we watched his second appearance.) But I'm frustrated at the doctor's taking-the-choice-away-from-others thing he's been doing lately. 'I offer them all of time and space, how could they resist?' he asks. (I used single-quotes because I'm not sure of the exact quote, but it was something like that.)

I'll tell you how they resist. Right now, I'd resist. Before kids, I'm there. Once my kids are grown and on their own, I'm there. Now, I'd laugh; my eyes would become dinner plates; and I'd run a finger around the plaque on the Tardis. Hopefully, I'd get to share the sight with the Husband and children. And I'd wave goodbye.

Other people resist for the same reasons they stay in a job they hate rather than risk failure by following their dreams. They resist because they can't imagine leaving their friends or the small town they grew up in. They resist because they've built their place of comfort and don't want to step outside those boundaries.

There are people who, for some unknown reason, cannot paint their room a bright color.

But when people are willing to step outside their comfort zone to try something new, that is an excellent choice that should be supported rather than pushed away with the idea that it was his fault for offering them something new. Nobody blames the mountain for the people trying to get to the top. Nobody blames the sea for the people trying to get to the bottom.

Stop it.

Life is a series of choices. He should certainly own his, but he needs to let his companions own theirs too. He sees the adventurous people. They're the ones to look at him, talk to him, help others when someone screams. But if he opened his Tardis to the public and offered rides to everyone who passed by, most of them would say they were on their way to work, on their way home, to the grocery store; don't have time.

It really frustrates me when people devalue the choices other people make. Maybe because I do it too, making excuses, and trying to find the reasons for things my less responsible family members do, spending myself into a hole trying to help them before they ask.....

But we should all let them own their choices.

Make them own them?

Because taking it away from them (It's not their fault; they can't help it; it was too much for them to say no to) means we don't have any more respect for their decisions than we do our dog's decisions.

And after our Evil Genius (Ti, our geriatric one-eyed pekingese) I even have more faith in my dogs than that.
We actually caught her dragging shoe into the other dog's bed in a frame-up attempt. She'd also watch the other dog run circles and dart into the path, brace herself, and become an obstacle to cause a high-speed accident. Multiple times.

Dogs are smarter than we give them credit for.

And so are people. (Okay, maybe not the people who believe Fox "news", but the rest of the people.) I would like to stop hearing the they-couldn't-help-it defense now. Thank you.

Where I've Gone Manic

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 11:00:00 +0000

So does everyone else have cleaning jags, or is it just me? (Have I asked that before, it sounds familiar all of a sudden.) I've spent the last week cleaning and rearranging. Husband was jealous of my office/sewing room -- yes, the room he clutters with things needing mending (like I really do that) or ironing (I never do that, but the ironing board is next to the sewing machine). But, anyway, he was jealous.

If only he could have a room of his own. (You can insert loud wistful sigh here, I'm sure I heard one. I very pointed one.) You see, his room was the biggest room in the house -- the converted garage (converted to a weird slanted-ceiling'd room long before we got here -- very long judging by the avocado green linoleum we ripped up) -- but he shared it with a lot of kid's toys and the kid's computer. And a television mounted over the fireplace (yes, in Florida; no, I don't know why) because he loved that idea and I was so happy to have gotten it on super-mega-sale for him for Christmas one year. But the tv broke. Apparently Westinghouse televisions have an issue that costs more to fix than it costs to buy a new one twice as large. Maybe next Christmas I'll get lucky with a television that doesn't discover issues.

But back to that room of his own idea.

He sighed.

Always with the sighing that makes my brain twist around and try to figure things out. And since our two little ones love sharing a room we'd had a room ready for when they wanted to not share anymore, saved for them by putting all their toys in there. Okay, a lot of their toys. I garage sale. They have a lot of toys.

But I got an idea to put all the toys (really all, this time) in the converted garage that has previously been known as 'The Study' and will henceforth (for two years?) be known as 'The Playroom'. I say two years because we figure we have at least that long before the children don't want to share a room any more. At least I hope so because I hit the manic stage this week and had most of the change carried out while Husband was at work.

Perhaps I should bring up how many books we have. I love books. I bring books home every week I garage sale, without fail. You don't know how hard it is for me to pass up books. How, if people have a lot of books out there, it actually hurts to leave without finding even one to bring home.

Every muscle in my body was protesting by Wednesday, but I couldn't stop.

I even sent 5 bags of toys to Goodwill. (Don't tell the children, I'm pretty sure they won't notice. And I'm going to try really hard to keep from collecting again on their behalf -- they get enough from family members who grew up poor and want to make up for that with my children. Yes, I almost certainly count for that too.)

I've gotten their bedroom pared down again to only sleeping and dressing functions. I've gotten the playroom put together so it looks nice and all the toys have a place -- even if they are never in it again. I'm trying to ring the put-it-away bell every hour or two.

I've had to rearrange MY office/sewing room because our big double bookshelf won't go down the hall into the ex-playroom/new Husband's-office. So he gets my half-height bookshelf, and a new one we've recently acquired. Yes, more moving stuff. More moving books. Desks. Sewing machines. Crawling under things trying to fit more stuff into my already packed office.

Husband's new office is horrible with books in stacks and his computer (and other contents of his desk) in the laundry basket. But he has the right to choose where to put his own stuff and I am supposed to leave it alone until he gets back from Vegas -- on Friday! A whole week with a wreck of a room!

While he's gone. Knowing I get insomnia when THINGS ARE DIFFERENT so I'll probably be functioning this week on four hours sleep per night. How could he not understand that cleaning that room was ever so much more important than whatever his stomach acid is doing to his internal organs because of that speech he's supposed to give at his conference?

Is there any wonder I keep having this urge to keep going; to start on the bedroom? To go through my clothes. To purge my shoes. And really, how many sets of long pajamas do I need when I don't seem to ever get as cold as I did before I had children. I can't remember the last time I wore any of them -- but they have dragons on them and how can I get rid of them. My brain is going all twisty at the mere thought of that. I also NEED my knee socks. I love those. Particularly the rainbow ones. Even if they do take up a whole drawer -- all the socks together, that is, not the rainbow ones by themselves.

The good news is that I've managed to finish two books this week.

(Once upon a time this would be an ONLY TWO BOOKS issue, but I've been having trouble getting past chapter three lately -- though I swear you cannot blame me when the first six pages keep talking about the rain. Yes, lots of rain. Got it three pages ago, and turn the page -- I swear I will kill someone if there is another page of rain, turn the page -- okay I lied. I don't know who I should kill to follow through on that promise, but if the author was right here in front of me this very instant I might do a little damage...)

But two books.

FINISHED and enjoyed.

Dark Descendant by Jenna Black
and
Working Stiff by Rachel Caine.

I sat down and read them all the way through during a week when I've gone all manic and stopping to eat is an annoying weakness of this annoyingly weak body so those of you who aren't suffering my family's weird type of mental breakdown will probably really enjoy them.

And if you do suffer my family's weird type of mental breakdown -- how do you stop the manic? Is it eating cake? Because we had a birthday this week and I've got some cake.

Okay, I have some cupcakes.

And I've already eaten two.

But I am willing to try some cake-shaped cake (instead of cup-shaped cake) if you think it will help.

Reversals

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 13:54:00 +0000

Starting off an interesting week with...

Little Girl cannot find her bike helmet frantic-ness.
Little Boy falls down while we're walking the dog and cries all the way home.
I cannot find Little Boy's lunchbox.
I cannot find the instructions for my new computer stand (garage sale) that I wanted to look up today.
Discovering that the box of individually bagged chips Lazy Mom gets for kid lunches comes in regular and extra spicy because this box is the extra spicy type my children will not eat.
Finding out the milk has gone bad when it would not stir into my morning tea.
I'm also out of the cereal I usually have for breakfast.
And then... Little Boy did not get ready for school while I was stressfully unable to pack his lunch.

Getting Little Boy out to the car and into VPK is no harder than usual.
Then we move on to the reversals...

Where I am happy to discover the automatic postage machine at the Post Office is working. (It wasn't last week.) That lets me mail out the Monster Purses I owe people now instead of when I return to that neighborhood to collect Little Boy from school. Much happiness!
Where Publix lets me exchange the spicy box of chips for the normal one, they have normal ones in stock, and it all happens very quickly. Hooray for Publix!
Where I collect cereal, and another box of tea (just in case) and I'm still out of there by 8:50. Go Cashiers!
Where I get home by 9, which is my scheduled writing time -- which I am currently spending venting -- and things are suddenly looking much better.

Then I get home and Grimm has decided to make his views on the hats I force him to wear pretty unmistakable.

I'd found it at a garage sale this weekend. Wouldn't it have made the best pictures?

He is now kenneled for a time.

I'm trying to make my point of view just as obvious -- which is, in essence, that I will pet and hug him when he can forgo 1)chewing on things that are not his own, and 2)pooping in the house.

I am nearly certain this is not too much to ask.

And to end on a happier note -- last night I took a bunch of moon pictures. (It was particularly pretty then.) The second picture had the flash bouncing off my hand. I'd held it up in a silly attempt to block the streetlight. The other two captured the colors better than I'd expected.

Photographical Ramblings for the Holiday

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 00:55:00 +0000

Shall we first find amusement at my sister's accidental creation of what will forevermore be called

American Fish and Chips?

And those of you who know me on Facebook know that I recently decided my new

French Bulldog

desperately needed a top hat.

See how much he loves it!

It's obvious, right?
But he looks so good.

He makes me think of Evil Nate. (Leverage)

Also known as Badger on Serenity/Firefly.

Oops.

Maybe Grimm needs a tie too.

Love that guy.

I'd say he's not in enough, but what he's in, he does so well.
That might not be true if the put him in everything.
Mark Sheppard, apparently.
I should look up what else he's done,
though for a while it seemed he made a cameo in everything we watched.

And while I'm thinking about it...
Does anyone else have the urge to curse every time they visit IMDB lately?

Most people go there to look things up, right?
So why is it that
every time I go to click into the search field
(you know, to look things up)
something else loads and sends me to TV
or the recent big advertisement thing?
Hate that.

Also, family bike rides hurt if you haven't been on a bike in a few years.
Treadmills just don't work the same muscles.
My thighs hate me.

Anyway.
Hope you had a great, stress-free, holiday weekend too.

Gone All Poem-y

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 19:51:00 +0000

My sister sent me to Wicked East Press because she noticed the call for Father Grim's Storybook and thought I'd enjoy writing something for them. --And I did, except I let the title guide me and didn't read all the submission requirements, like the requested length, which would have told me that they weren't looking for poems.

When I think of Mother Goose, I always think of the poetry.

Jack Be Nimble, Jack and Jill, the one about the cat and the queen (Pussy cat, Pussy cat, Where have you been....), Little Jack Horner -- did you notice "Jack" comes up a lot in these poems. Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross. I've always wondered what a cock-horse was.

Looking it up, I realize that Puss-in-Boots is Mother Goose too. And Little Red Riding Hood. Sleeping Beauty. Probably any number of others I'd attributed to the Brothers Grimm. Or noone's sure so they're attributed all over the place depending on where you look.

But since my first thought was dark poetry, that's what I wrote. And since I can't use them there, I'll inflict them on you here -- and if you writers out there have unsold short stories, go visit the site and see if they'll fit any of Wicked East Press's anthologies.

He Travels Light....
He travels light, dressed all in black
A black hood conceals the skull
Where empty eyes can see the lack
Of life within your soul

His scythe held tight in bony fist
Slides soft through flesh and bone
One last sigh; they're laid to rest
And in a blink he's gone

Next to next, his schedule goes
Each appointment a surprise
That soon begins to decompose
within those empty eyes

With Dreams....
With dreams the Nightmare comes each night
Kicking her heels, biting her bite
Setting the fear, to drive away
The hopes and dreams born each day
The creator of zombies; she eats their brain
And sends them out to spread the pain
Soldiers recruited while warm in bed
Victims numbering millions dead
At night, in dreams, what do you see?
Were you conscripted to her cavalry?

Pictures!

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 11:33:00 +0000

The other night when Husband and I had a date night so we left the house after dark (that doesn't happen too often as old and settled as we are) and I saw the most amazing light post.

Here is just the light -- in digital zoom. I suspect that things like this do better with one of those old cameras with zoom lenses, but my little silver box with five buttons is complicated enough for me. (I did turn off the flash though! Not leaving everything on Auto is a big step for me.)

And where I must have wiggled the camera as the shutter clicked to make a really neat blur. Or it's haunted and two pictures were okay, but three angered the light post demons and freed them in a million dots of light that streaked across the atmosphere. (I don't care if your haunting started last Friday. I'm not paying for the exorcism.)

Another nature shot, a tree we saw on one of our recent walks -- done largely to advance our potty training efforts -- but... Pretty.

And the dog for whom we have begun those potty training efforts because I have a dozen photos of an ear, or a nose or the white spot on his chin -- all because I wanted a close up of his gargoyle face and those expressive ears -- and this was the best one he'd let me get. Taa daa. Great close up, isn't it?

And to end with a confusing mix of sad and cute...

Little Boy drew this and attached it to my door to remind himself not to disturb me. It's a picture of him crossed out. His very own No Entry sign. Makes me feel like a troll mommy. Especially since it's not even on my sewing room/office where I keep telling them I need time without interruption. It's on the bedroom door so he'll remember to let me sleep in. (I did have a particularly bad headache the day he drew it.)

Seee, excuse.

I'm not evil.

And your hauntings are not my fault.

The Return of The Great Hatsby

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 16:32:00 +0000

So, on Etsy, I was asked to list another Great Hatsby since the first one sold. It was a good request to get since I'd stagnated a bit on purse-making and hadn't realized everything had expired. Apparently Etsy doesn't have half the reminders I get from even places who only want me to fill out a survey.

But this meant I got to figure out re-creating something is much harder than creating. My method has always been: get an idea, get the scissors, cut out shapes, sew it together. If necessary, make adjustments and do it again.

Re-creating The Great Hatsby has been all that and more. I actually tossed two attempts this weekend -- and I don't toss them unless they're really, really bad. The third attempt wasn't great -- the face part is all twisty -- but he's not quite throw-away bad. (The new flesh-tone leather I found stretches quite a bit more than I'm used to.)

I may use him as a giveaway on Fansci if I think anyone would want him.

Then I think I finally figured it out, at least a little, with Hatsby the Blue.

But the person I'm making him for said something about iPhone fitting and he turned out a little on the small size. Well, he's 6 inches by 3, but I have a myTouch and it barely fits. (I got the silicone case too, because my children drop things regularly (Hah, like how I blamed the children there?) but I keep thinking my friend's iPhone is wider than my phone. Flatter, but wider. Larger screen, Apple might say. And I think Apple handed out cases for theirs because of an antenna issue, so the width was worrysome.

So I tried one more time, with the new pattern, (right, I should make a pattern this time -- out of paper and write instructions on it) and got Hatsby the Green, still 6 inches tall, but just under 4 inches wide.

He holds the myTouch with room to spare.

So I've got some of these made and I have renewed all my expired listings and I'll put this up as soon as the person who made the request tells me which she prefers. (Beyond the size difference, I was running out of little gears so Hatsby the Blue has a skull/button combo -- though I think it turned out really well.). They both have a beak/nose thing That was accidental on the first, but I decided I liked it and kept it for the second. It can easily be changed to the more traditional goggle shape with a pair of scissors -- leather doesn't fray.

But that was my weekend. Hoping yours was good too.

Exactly

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 11:57:00 +0000

http://www.mediabistro.com/galleycat/3-reasons-why-novelists-shouldnt-blog_b35473
"1. Blogging is better for nonfiction writers because they share their expertise for a specific audience; connecting with that audience could potentially help sales.

2. “Time spent on the blog is time spent away from something else: writing another book, contacting book clubs, taking a part-time job and investing that money in advertising or a publicist.”

3. Blogging novelist often focus on the art of writing instead of their own readers, creating “a never-ending writing conference.” While that helps in “forming friendships, professional development, and learning your craft,” it doesn’t necessarily boost book sales."

And that's it.

I don't want to blog about writing. I might blog about my writing and how I'm sucking at it, but I don't want to tell anyone else how to do it. I never have. So when I take a class on blogging trying to be sure I'm doing the best I can and they tell me I should focus on writing because that's my goal, I balk. How can I talk regularly about writing when I'm not even sure I'm doing it right. And however I do it now, I'm sure it will be completely different next year.

It's also why I made Fansci.org. With friends to help, we can blog on the genres we love, but it's about Fantasy and Science Fiction, not writing. Occasionally we forget and blog about and for writers, but that's where we live, so it's hard to stay away permanently -- particularly when we hit the point where we see all things through the editor glasses. But it gives us a reason to think about the genre outside of our little sphere of influence (the paper or paper-simile on the computer in front of us) and that broadens our world and possibly says something of interest to both readers and writers.

But coming back to this blog -- as the article says, I have made friends here, which leads me to other blogs, which lets me learn more about the profession I'm trying to get in to. A profession where all the pointed education in the world cannot help. (I could have a doctorate in Fine Arts and not get published any faster than I could now or could have last year -- unless I actually finished a novel as the thesis project.) But the point is, blogging about writing is only interesting to other writers and no matter what the blogging classes say, that's not the goal.

Or not my goal. Not the being-published goal. I'm not going to write a book on writing -- or if I do it will be years after I've spent a significant time on the best-seller lists and I know something more than I know now. It's not something I have to worry about right now. That's like planning my Oscar acceptance speech before I've gotten my first acting gig. Oscars are for actors right? I should probably look that up -- later.

So why do I blog?

In the beginning it was that advice. To be published one must blog. Wait, no. In the beginning it was because I was creating web sites for people and I wanted to learn what this blogging thing they asked for was about. I'm firmly of the opinion that to learn one must do -- so I did. Then it was the published thing.

Now it's for the friends I make online.

This is the me-site where I discuss any random thing that has caught my attention this week and you guys chime in -- or don't. Hopefully, I won't drive you all away with my unfocused randomness since everyone seems to want a blog to have a purpose. I freely admit that I'm not as purpose-driven as I should be and, honestly, I never have been. That's one of the things I'm working on. Like plotting. (I'd never work as an evil mastermind.)

Do you (or your blog) have purpose?

Unfinished

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 11:36:00 +0000

Guess who discovered the Iron Craft Challenge this weekend?

Right. Yeah, I guess that's not much of a question, is it?

I couldn't find the rules on that site, so I had to go looking and I found that they moved less than two weeks ago. Their FAQ is still back at their old site. Pretty much what it says is: yes, you can join; challenges are posted every Thursday; crafts are shown off (on their Flickr group) every Wednesday; they'd prefer regular submissions rather than come and go, but understand when life gets in the way; and, HAVE FUN!

This week is sculpture. Fimo, here we go. Or, rather, went. We did it Sunday afternoon. Mine is called Unfinished Novel.

And I made another set of horns. They're all coppery. (If you want to make the hat horns the trick is Chicago Screws. I put the post in the horn and keep the screw out. Then the screw goes through the space between the knit stitches and the horn is screwed on.)

Taaa Daaaa. Sculpture.

I also call her Jilly

I like "Unfinished Novel" the sculpture more than the actual unfinished novel, but then she's one of the few I've been happy with. (How could I not be happy with that face?) But I don't sculpt as well as I'd like so it's nice to have created one I like.

Let's Talk DragonCon

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 12:38:00 +0000

This one bugs me. I think mostly because we started off at a very well organized con and THEN went to DragonCon. Now it is frustratingly inefficient. But so very much along the lines of my geekly specialty it makes me want to scream.

GenCon has schedules well in advance. You can go online and learn who will be there, which classes (workshops, whatever) they will teach, what times they'll be, how much they'll cost, and you can pay for them all up front when you work with the Husband or friend -- or whoever else is going with you -- to figure out which ones you'll actually be able to do. (Unless, like we tend to do, you come down with the newest bug and decide that Pole Dancing class will simply not do after projectile vomiting for most of an afternoon. Somehow, I still think that was a good decision.) Before you get to the con, you've already decided what you'll do. That is a HUGE advantage when you have to schedule who gets the children when and where the pass-off is going to happen.

Anyway, my sister and I keep talking about doing something writing-related and since I can't afford even the airline ticket to Renovation after Ireland, this con only 5 hours away (driving) seemed a lot more reasonable -- well until I look at the ticket prices ($120) and realize though they have a giant list of guests, less than half the panels have actual schedules up. So I know Tracy Hickman, Terry Brooks, Janny Wurtz, A.C. Crispin, Mike Resnick... (Adam Baldwin, James Marsters, Nicholas Brendon, Felicia Day, and Ernest Borgnine, for non-writers -- and Elvira!) And Faith Hunter. I have one of her books, but haven't gotten around to reading it yet.

But my point is that they are trying to to draw me in with names, and the names they offer are tempting, but it feels like there is a distinct lack of substance. I want to know what I'll be able to do there. $120 is a lot to pay for only the promise of walking down the same halls with people I ... love from a distance? squee over?

Yes, I like people on that list, but no matter how nice Clare Kramer was when we talked to her at MegaCon I am so little a people person that I am not going to be star-hunting.

Even if Kim Harrison, Patricia Briggs, MaryJanice Davidson or Jim Butcher were to show up.

I'll pay for a class, put it on my schedule, and listen nicely at their feet. If I know which class to go to -- and when. If I know it won't conflict with whichever other thing is my big goal for the long weekend. (The Costuming Track has a schedule. Many drool-worthy classes there! And Dark Fantasy. Most of the other interesting tracks do not. SciFi and Fantasy Literature. Paranormal. X-Tracks. Whedonverse....)

But I hate not planning until the last minute. How do I know it's even worth going to if I don't know what will be offered?

For me, it's a big effort to be able to go.

Finding childcare, leaving the children and Husband home, or determining when to pass them between the two adults. Driving. Staying in Atlanta. (I don't like Atlanta very much. Sorry Atlanta, but you have six lane roads (each way) with no lane demarcation -- at least I assume it's six lane because that's the number of cars I counted driving side by side. For all I know it could have been a four lane road with exceptionally brave drivers.)

I know DragonCon is loved nearly as much as ComicCon by some people, but ...

Frustrating.

Do you Con?

We Got a New Dog

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 17:59:00 +0000

He's a French Bulldog, a breed I've always loved and thought was adorable, but this is the first one I've ever had extended contact with. He's been a little troublesome -- I wanted a not-puppy because I didn't want to do all the potty training stuff, but because Grimm lived mostly in a crate before he came to us I get to do it anyway -- but he's adorable. I'm not sure what I think about him taking over my space behind the computer every time I get up, but I suppose it's better than him following me to the bathroom and trying to mark the ...everything... along the way.

So, cute things he's done so far...

The first day or two I wanted to keep him close (I probably still should for potty training, but having a dog tied to your waist gets bothersome and occasionally dangerous) so he was on his leash. I wasn't moving like he wanted so he grabbed the leash in his teeth, braced and we did a quick tug of war until he realized I outweigh him by nearly a factor of ten. (He weighs 18 pounds and I'm avoiding the scale so it can't tell me it is actually a factor of ten rather than nearly.)

When you pet his head he lowers his head and chest to the ground while keeping his hind legs straight. It looks like an exaggerated bow. I need to figure out how to put a command word to that one and keep it even after the retraining.

When he wants something I am holding he can jump at least waist high. That's straight up jumping, not leaping from one thing to another but standing next to me and jumping to reach my hand. He doesn't balance as well on his hind legs as the pekingese does, but he can certainly jump. (She's old enough she doesn't even sleep on the sofa any more, so she won't be competing in that trick category.)

And look at that face.

Have you ever seen a cuter dog? (The correct answer is no, but feel free to send me to 'Awwww' over your pets.) Yes, he does look like a gargoyle, but who doesn't love gargoyles?

Reading Sadness

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 13:42:00 +0000

Plotting and Writing Suspense Fiction by Patricia Highsmith
(St. Martin's Griffin, New York, 1990, page 88)

"Perhaps because it is all round easier for me, I prefer the point of view of the main character, written in the third-person singular, and I might add masculine as I have a feeling which I suppose is quite unfounded that women are not so active as me, and not so daring. I realize that their activities need not be physical ones and that as motivating forces they may well be ahead of the men, but I tend to think of women as being pushed by people and circumstances instead of pushing and more apt to say, "I can't" than "I will" or I'm going to."

I think this is the saddest thing I've read in quite some time -- especially since it was written by a woman who lived her dream (to make her living as a writer, just because I haven't read her stuff doesn't mean I haven't heard the titles, Strangers on a Train being the biggie for me, though The Talented Mr. Ripley is also vaguely familiar). She also seemed well-traveled. I think I remember reading something like 'I'd just gotten back from Italy' in there somewhere -- and still women are passive creatures waiting to have done for them.

I suppose she was born in 1921 -- and in the States (We were no where near the first to give women rights, nor the first to admit women were actually people).

Still, she had done things.

Right.

I need to go finish reading this book so I can then run to T-Mobile and figure out if I killed my SIM card (and how) or if the issue is with the phone itself, and to Home Depot to ask about renting a jackhammer. I really can't get my bathroom back together until we've taken care of the drain issue, so we've hit the pay-a-plumber-to-destroy-the-floor-or-destroy-it-ourselves stage of things.