Dispatches from the Goblin City

Yep, you read that correctly: we are done with pears for the year.  Huzzah and all that jazz.  And now we return to our regularly scheduled blog.... ha ha ha ha.  Nothing about this blog is scheduled! I'm trying to change that, really, I am.  But change comes slowly, unless someone is threatening to toss you off of a cliff, then change comes pretty damn fast.  And no, I'm not looking for volunteers to chuck me over a cliff! My mother has been in a wickedly bad mood for the past few days.  Oh fun.  She inherited that hot Irish temper from her father and I also have it.  Saturday she was itching for a fight and I ignored her...for awhile, then I obliged her with an argument.  I'm quite proud of my self-control.  I didn't lose it! My mother is a very turbulent creature, more so than me maybe, and for every angry day she has a morose day.  Boug and I couldn't say anything to her (we have to yell because her hearing aid isn't worki...

I originally started this blog to keep myself accountable to my writing on a daily basis.  So far, as far as I can tell, I have not managed that yet. Just as I get better with more updates and longer blog entries I fall off of the Writing Wagon because life happens. Everything that has happened since my last update I have blogged about in my head, and as soon as we can download stuff from our brains directly to our computers, I'll let you know all about it.  But for now, I can't really remember what I was going to tell you, dear Internet. I guess you'll just have to trust me when I say stuff happened.  Lots of interesting, fascinating, mildly exciting stuff.  But it has all left me because I didn't commit it to this blog in time.  I'm the self-appointed Queen of I'll Blog About That After My Nap!  Not even joking. Fear not, darling reader, for I do have a tale to share with you; a tale of appreciation.  It begins with me waiting for paperwork to ...

The trick with canning pears, or anything in general, is to start early in the morning.  I think we were supposed to begin processing our boatload of pears around 9 a.m. or so; we started closer to 2 p.m. We also lacked organization in all honesty.  Poor Mrs. Kyllingmark tried valiantly to keep four giggling girls in line and on task.  No small feat and I feel she deserves a trophy or Congressional Medal of some kind. So Mare and I (and Mrs. Kyllingmark) were on pear-prep: peeling, slicking, coring. Annetta and her niece, Robin, were on production: packing and canning.  Our operation was becoming pretty streamlined until Netta assembled the canner with the top dome as the base. "Make sure you put the dome lid on, Netta," said Mrs. Kyllingmark. "What dome?" queried Netta. At this point Mrs. Kyllingmark ventured into the kitchen proper to check on Annetta and the troubled canner, possibly thinking the lid had been left behind at her house. "Netta, you...

I was supposed to meet Marilyn at her house around 8:15am, but I arrived after 8:45 (!!).  Punctuality is the bane of my existence, but I am getting better at being closer to my target time.   Of course, as soon as I walk through the door my godson, Rowan, globs onto me.  His RC car is recharging so he explained how the remote works (hence the pic below.)  Yep, he's a cutie.  But now I need to get back to my coffee because I think today is going to be a busy, pear-canning day. Ta!

I was asked by a dear friend a couple of weeks ago to help him register his car here in Oregon (he's stationed in Florida), so being the awesome friend that I am I agreed. Today I finally got the license plates shipped and he should have them by Monday.  Yay, accomplishment! In other news, I interviewed for a nanny position with a great family, but I live roughly 30 miles outside their city, so naturally they are leaning more toward someone local.  I completely understand their logic, really, I do.  But I really want the job.  I guess I'm not totally out of the running...yet.  Who knows? I might still get it. This weekend will hopefully consist of pear-canning (which I've never done) and shopping around in thrift stores looking for some cosplay clothes.  I'm going to watch the Doctor Who Series 8 premier in a theatre with some lovely cousins and cosplay is required (which is something else I've never done). I'm going as the 11th Doctor's companion, ...

So I awoke to find the Black Dog still curled up snugly in my brain, just like my mom's dog, Jax, was curled around me in real life. ::sighs::  I wanted, no, I needed, today to be different from yesterday, so I took the initiative and emailed a potential employer about a nanny gig. I can honestly say I never thought of myself as a nanny, but these past years have shown me that I have a natural knack when it comes to taking care of people, no matter their age.  I've been exchanging some emails and am trying to not get my hopes up, but they're rising all on their own. Anywho, back to the creative front:  The Black Dog dragged me into a quagmire in my mind and I have yet to get out.  A large chunk of my story revolves around and takes place on an alien desert planet.  Feels like I'm stuck in quicksand as I try to stay away from sci-fi industry standards like: Frank Herbert's "Dune" or Roddenberry's "Vulcan". Good luck to me with that. Pe...

The big, black dog of depression and self-doubt tackled me today, hard.  So I've been investing my energy to beating it away with a Stick of Awesomeness, but it hasn't worked as well as I wanted it to. I guess this is just the price I must pay for my creativity.  Every artist has their demons, right?  Man, that sounds so arrogant when I see it typed out in front of my face. But that doesn't make it any less true. The Black Dog got me down today, but tomorrow WILL be a different story.  Yes, tomorrow will be better!