Category Archives: Life

So. Many. Words.

By Life, Writing, , ,

If you had told me, back when I was a child, that I would one day have too much to read, I wouldn’t have laughed at you, both because I was shy and because I wouldn’t have been able to comprehend your words. (“Roboto, your words have no meaning. You are in error.”) I might have stared at you as if you’d grown a second head, though.

When I was a kid, there were never enough books. We didn’t live close enough to either town to go to the library frequently. During school, I was allowed to check out more than the maximum number of books, because the librarian knew I’d bring them all back, all read at least once. And my family wasn’t the book-buying kind, so my library fit on two small shelves. I reread books a lot. I got to the point where I could read my favorite Nancy Drew, The Clue in the Crossword Cipher, in 20 minutes. As in, while eating a snack. (Liverwurst and Muenster on Ritz crackers, mostly likely.)

In high school, I bought whatever books I could with my limited funds, and then my best friend—who lived in Virginia—and I would mail books to each other. The cost of a shoebox of paperbacks sent Media Rate was equivalent to what? the cost of one paperback?

Now, let’s face it, with the plethora of ebooks available, not to mention the library, and Powells, and freebies from conferences, and so forth, I have scads of things to read. (I keep going to the library instead of reading the piles of books all over the apartment. Sheez.)

But the problem is, right now, I have things to read that have deadlines.

  1. I have stories to read for the upcoming Anthology Workshop. I’m halfway through (I’ve read three of six anthology submissions’ worth of stories). That still leaves about 125 stories. I don’t have to read each one all the way through: we’re supposed to read like an editor would, so if I fade out, I just note where I faded out and move on to the next. Unfortunately (fortunately?), given the level of professionalism, most stories don’t let me out. (Which makes choosing 55,000 words for each anthology as I would put it together a real PITA.) Really good stories. Really hard choices. Deadline: Feb 26. I could read the final anthologies’ stories while I’m at the workshop, but let’s face it, I’ll be too busy hanging with a slew of amazing writer-friends and also trying to get a a few words in on my own projects each day.
  2. I have novels to read for the upcoming Romance Workshop. I can’t go into detail, but the first novel on the list is one I do not like. Even if we’ve read things on the list before, we’re supposed to read them again. I do not want to read it again. I realized last night that I was delaying going to bed because I did not want to read the novel. Aaaargh. Also, one of the later novels is really, really long, so I can’t dawdle on this. Deadline: April 15.
  3. I’m going through Love, in Stitches, Teresa’s and my latest coauthored effort, in creative mode, fixing notes we’ve left for ourselves, writing new scenes, etc. It’s mostly reading. Deadline: I’d like to have it finished this week, although I’m not as far along as I’d like. IN part because of these other things I have to read.
  4. I’m doing a developmental edit for a Lucky Bat Books client. This is, you guessed it, 99% reading (and 1% taking notes/leaving comments). Deadline: not fixed, but soon-ish. As in, I should be working on this every day.

Am I complaining? Not…not really. Not about the reading. Other than the novel I do not like one iota, dammit, it’s all really good stuff. As long as I remember why I’m reading what I’m reading (am I reading in creative mode? as a developmental editor? as an anthology editor? as a copyeditor? Who am I right now? ::cue existential angst::), I’m golden.

I think it’s just the deadlines I hate…they’re stressing me out, man.

A Very Overdue Post About the Holidays

By Life, ,

We weren’t able to visit family for the holidays thanks to work schedules, so we decided to hunker down and enjoy some quality time with each other.

This post covers the day before Christmas through the day after, IIRC. I wrote it but never got around to cleaning it up and posting it! It’s now rather poignant given the Alan Rickman videos we watched…

We tagged Christmas Eve Day as our junk food and movie-watching day:

Movies (and other TV ephemera)

  • Trading Places
  • The Nightmare Before Christmas (paused halfway through for nap reasons)
  • Moon (not a Christmas movie; just something we’d been saying we wanted to watch for ages)
  • a few episodes of The IT Crowd
  • The Great Santa Claus Switch (a 1970 musical Christmas special featuring The Muppets. With Art Carney, who I suspect was drunk during filming, as both Santa and the bad guy, Cosmo Scam. Also the first appearance of a Muppet who would later be named Gonzo [in the special, he was called Snarl and wasn’t an alien].)
  • a TED talk about happiness
  • various videos on YouTube, including Marillion’s “Carol of the Bells” and Texas’s “In Demand” (possibly the sexiest video ever because Alan Rickman is in it) and Alan Rickman making tea

Junk Food

  • hot dogs for lunch (organic grass-fed beef hot dogs on whole-wheat buns, broiled and topped with melted Havarti, sauerkraut [for me] and organic ketchup, because we are not heathens) (okay, yes we are. But still.)
  • crab dip (cream cheese and crab meat mixed and topped with a sauce of ketchup, horseradish, garlic powder, and lemon juice) on Triscuits*
  • party rye bread (party/appetizer rye bread squares topped with a mix of mayo, parmesan, and onions, broiled)*
  • homemade baked mozzarella sticks (I used this recipe, http://www.thegunnysack.com/baked-mozzarella-cheese-sticks-recipe/, except we were out of panko crumbs so we just used regular breadcrumbs, and I added some dried parsley. It was waaay too much flour and breadcrumbs, so we’ll probably halve those amounts next time.). Dudes, these were sooooo good—so much better than store-bought/frozen, and not all that hard to make. A keeper recipe. Noms.
  • jalapeño poppers (store bought, and a letdown compared to the other food).
  • subs for supper (except on cheesy rolls rather than hoagie rolls, at Ken’s request. However, I was too full and did not make one for myself. By that point, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to poop for days.)
  • ice cream (we are hooked on Talenti brand ice cream and I can’t conceive of even looking at another brand, it’s so good)
    *party food my mother made during my childhood.

Funny story aside #1. In high school, one New Year’s Eve my friends and I spent the night at Laura’s house; her parents went out to a party. (Attendees were Teri, Laura, and I; I’m not sure if this was the year Bridget was there, the year Patty was there, or if they were both there the same year. I’m not even sure how many years we did this. Honestly, I remember several New Year’s Eves in high school/college that I spent alone at home. I’d watch a cheesy 80s fantasy flick on video, watch the ball drop, then write my novel on our Apple IIe while listening to Styx on my boom box. Because babees, I knew how to party.)

Anyway. Laura’s house. Teenage girls. Parents gone. Liquor cabinet not locked. Crème de menthe is really good in hot chocolate is all I’m sayin’.

The next morning, the cat walked on the piano and everyone but me was hung over and groaned in agony. Me, I was hungry. So we crawled out of our sleeping bags and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Everyone else ate cereal and complained that their Rice Cripsies were too loud. Me, not being fond of sweet things for breakfast (plus who was the evil bastard who created a ticking time bomb of food as a breakfast option?), well, I pulled out the leftover crab dip I’d brought for the previous night’s shenanigans. Because I was a lazy teenager, I’d just mixed all the ingredients together, which had created a pinkish-red blob of cream cheese with lumps in it.

Nobody else at the table thought this was a good idea. Shades of green appeared. I muahaha’d and hunched over my delicacy like Snoopy pretending to be a vulture. Mine, all mine!

Funny story aside #1a. Every single time I try to type “crab dip,” I type “crap dip.” This is not a commentary on the appetizer itself.

Funny story aside #1b. When I was little, I knew the word appetizer, and I knew the word my mother sometimes used for “appetizer,” which was pronounced “whore derves.” I also knew, from books I read, that there was a weirdly spelled word that meant appetizers, which in my mind was pronounced “horse d’overs.” I remember the day I figured out they were the same word, and it was magical. Choirs of angels, &tc.

Right. Where was I? Oh yes, holiday fun. Let’s move on to Christmas morning.

I ate crab dip for breakfast (see Funny story aside #1) and it was gooood, man. No regrets.

The theme for Christmas, at least for me, was booooooks! Bookity bookity books. My preciouses, let me hug them to my ample bosom and sing to thee. Ken looked at my wish list (the WishCentral.com version, not knowing that I’d recently moved much of it to Amazon, but thankfully the books were in both places) and then went to Powells. And somewhat to his chagrin, Powells had more of the books than expected. Although he says because most of them were used books and thus cheaper, he spent less than expected. So that’s good, right?

Funny story aside #2. Christmas tradition in our family was that on Christmas Day, we turned the TV to the Yule Log Channel and everyone was required to stay in the family room all day with the tree and the presents (except for my mom, who got to escape in order to cook supper). There was no retreating to one’s cozy bedroom to read one’s books in solitude, oh no.

This would have been acceptable if I got books for Christmas, but I almost never did. My mom likes to read a bit, but other than that, I was the weird outlier of a voracious reader. Once I started to transition out of childhood “gets toys for Christmas,” I was fucked. I was bored, and not interested in adult conversation (my sisters are seven and nine years older than me, so by this time, they were adults), and not able to get to my (small) stash of books in my room.

One year, I received, among other things, a couple of horse statues (I was horse mad as a child), a nonfiction book called Famous Horses and Their People (see, e.g., being horse mad), and a bell for my bike.

Once present-opening was done and the long dark teatime (without tea, even worse) of the soul of an afternoon commenced, I read my book.

As in, the whole book.

I possibly read it a second time. I sort of played with the horse statuettes, but they were two different kinds (one was sort of bronzeish and the other was plastic), and I knew they were really for display, and I had no other dolls or similar implements available to turn this into a full script.

So I proceeded to morosely ring my bike bell until my father roused from his nap in his recliner and took me out to the garage where he deftly affixed the bell to my bike.

We lived in upstate New York. It was below freezing in the garage. Even if I had the desire to shiver, teeth clattering, in the garage to continue ringing the bell and dreaming of summer, nobody else would have to put up with that incessant noise.

Smart man, my father.

I think the fact that I relayed this story more than once this December has something to do with the piles of books I received.

I should also note that I did not receive a bell for my bike. (For the bike I have yet to buy. Goals.)

Funny story aside #2a. Ken did, however, buy me this Minion on a stick that, when you press the button, sings in Minion language. It’s Stuart, by the way, holding his ukulele. Unlike my father would, Ken finds it utterly adorable when I press the button and giggle hysterically at the song.

Right. Back to the present.

Ken also found a used CD store nearby. Halloo, British version of the Chess soundtrack (among others…).

Plus tickets for indoor skydiving in a wind tunnel I’m so excited I can’t even! Eeeee! https://www.iflyworld.com/portland/

I got Ken, among other things, a contraption that stirs natural peanut butter, because the only reason he won’t eat natural peanut butter is because dealing with the oil separation is too much of a hassle for him.

Because I know how party, people.

Meanwhile, there were phone calls with various members of family, including my eldest niece who got to give everyone in the family the gift of the announcement that she’s pregnant with her second child.

Strangely, I am now a fan of the Yule Log Channel, or in this case, a free app on the Apple TV (there are paid versions, but I’m not sure how they can be better, except maybe they have music, which the 1970s/1980s Yule Log Channel played). It makes crackling fire noises, and that’s enough for me. And my idea of Christmas afternoon at home is curling up in front of whatever fire is available, even if it’s on a TV screen, and reading. Which we did.

Until it was time to shower and dress and go out to dinner with friends (Gayle, Trent, and Jeanne) at the Zeus Café, which is in the Crystal Hotel, a McMenamins property dating to 1911.

We had the best waiter ever. I finally figured out he reminded me of Peter Capaldi as Danny in Local Hero, one of my favorite movies and which solidified my love of Peter Capaldi back in 1986. Except he didn’t have the Scottish accent. Our waiter, I mean. He was efficient and smart and attentive and patient and funny. We tipped him well.

They were out of the goose (sadness!) so Ken had the salmon, which I’d considered, but instead I ordered off the bar menu and had a falafel burger, which was topped with feta tzatziki and a dash of Aardvark Hot Sauce, and it was stupendous, even if it wasn’t proper Christmas supper food.

The best part was hanging out with friends, and I’d insert a funny story here about Gayle wanting one of the enormous chandeliers and the long conversation we all had about how to obtain it (culminating in asking our wonderful waiter for it, but he explained that he’d already called dibs on it), but you kinda had to be there.

Also, the first cocktail on the bar menu really sneaks up on you. And apparently wipes your memory of what was in it (it was really good, though).

Eventually we came home (after dropping off one friend and hanging out for awhile) and determined that it was too late to watch White Christmas, so we watched the Doctor Who Christmas episode and then Ken fell over and I watched a Florence + the Machine concert that just happened to be on TV right then, and then I came into my office and wrote this before I forgot any of it.

I’ve still probably forgotten some of it.

But it was awesome.

Except for the part about not seeing family, or friends other than the friends we did see.

Ken’s off work for the week, but I have work I need to do tomorrow, and we have a few errands to run. But it’ll still be a quiet day, hopefully also with a minimum of Internet and a maximum of time together.

And reading. Because boy howdy, do I have a pile. (And Ken has a few, too.)

Want to chat about this post? Join me on Facebook or Twitter.

Thoughts on competition and biology

By Fitness, Life

Ken and I have Apple Watches now. I really only wanted a Fitbit, but thanks to Ken’s amazing company and their amazing holiday white elephant gift exchange, he snagged me a watch for Christmas. It does more than I need it to, but as I explore its functions I’m finding more and more groovy useful tools.

The watch’s fitness tracker shows you your progress in three areas: how many minutes of exercise you got (out of 30), how many calories you burned (you set the minimum), and how many times you stood and moved in twelve hours. At 10 minutes to the hour, if you’ve been sitting, it beeps and reminds you to stand up and move around.

It’s funny when Ken and I are watching TV or a movie, and my watch will buzz a second before his does, and then we’ll both stand up and shuffle around.

This works well for me because of my stubborn, competitive streak—there’s no way I’m going to let Ken beat me!

All of which means I’ve never been so jealous that men can pee standing up.

(Excuse me, gotta go…my watch just beeped…)

Want to chat about this post? Join me on Facebook or Twitter.

What’s on your holiday playlist?

By Life, , ,

Even though I sing “It’s the most wonderful time of the year” at Halloween, I love me the heck out of the Christmas holiday season—and you know me, I love heck out of music. Here are some of my favorite holiday songs…what are yours?

  1. “All I Want,” Styx
  2. “All I Want For Christmas,” uh, the kid from Love Actually (I really need that soundtrack!)
  3. “The Chipmunks’ Christmas Song,” The Chipmunks (stuck in your head yet? hate me yet?)
  4. “December Will Be Magic Again,” Kate Bush
  5. “Dickens’ Dublin,” Loreena McKennitt
  6. “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” Band Aid
  7. “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” Loreena McKennitt
  8. “I Believe in Father Christmas,” Greg Lake
  9. “Mid Winter’s Night,” Blackmore’s Night
  10. “Ring Out, Solstice Bells,” Jethro Tull
  11. “Ring the Bells,” Styx
  12. “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” Bob & Doug McKenzie (and a beer…in a tree!)
  13. “Wizards in Winter,” Trans-Siberian Orchestra (it inspired my story “The Queen of Christmas”!)

(Yes, this is a repost from a few years ago. I still love the heck out of holiday music, dammit!)

Want to chat about this post? Join me on Facebook or Twitter.

I trust…

By Life, , , , ,

For a number of years now, I’ve been choosing a word (or a word chooses me…) for the coming year. I first heard about this from the glorious Shanna Germain, and it seems like the practice has spread among creative types. Past words of mine have included Create, Joy, Focus, and Present.

We’ve just begun the Celtic New Year, and I started pondering this year’s word a bit before our Samhain ritual. Immediately several things clicked into place: a realization I’d had after doing some meditation on why I was blocked a couple of months ago; some things that came up during recent business of writing workshop I took.

But it still took me a while to find the right word. I started by trying to figure out what the opposite of fear was. Of not being afraid of things, of not letting myself put up walls and say “That’s too hard” or “I don’t know how” and use those as excuses. I proved myself wrong several times at the workshop—those things weren’t so hard after all. The opposite of fear, but not bravery, or fearlessness, or even confidence, although the latter was close.

It wasn’t until got home from the ritual and, yes, looked at thesaurus.com that the word on the tip of my tongue was so very obvious:

Trust.

It’s kind of a loaded word. There are so many caveats “Yes, but…” Yes, but don’t be stupid. Yes, but keep a clear mind.

Yes, but…yes. Trust.

For me it’s about trusting my abilities. I’m in the middle of change—leveling up, if you will. I love learning new things, but I’ve always hated the middle bit, the flailing around and feeling stupid and awkward and uncoordinated. Problem is, lately, it’s made me feel like I don’t know anything, which is flat-out wrong. I haven’t backslid; I’m just in a period of growth. I have to trust the abilities I already have, and trust the process.

Usually during our Samhain ritual, we draw a Tarot card to help clarify the coming year. This year, because I was working with different friends (and it was wonderful!), I went for a three-card spread. I won’t go into details here, except to say that it was for Past, Present, and Future, and the future card stole my breath away.

It was the Chariot. The deck we were using was Halloween-themed, and depicted, of all things, a hearse. It had navigated down a twisty road but the journey was just beginning, and it was clear it was going to be a doozy. But the hearse had wings above the windshield, and instead of a rear-view mirror, there was an eye, looking forward—not behind.

Whether I like it or not, I’m behind the wheel. The road ahead is twisty and turny and scary, but I still have some level of control. It’s my choice whether to trust my abilities or to take my hands off the wheel and cover my eyes and scream. Either way, I’m going to be hurtling down that road. Better that I keep my eyes open and steer. Because I have the skill to steer around those blind curves.

It’s going to be a roller coaster, but damn, I love me some roller coasters. Controlled terror. They say that the Chinese characters for fear and excitement are the same, and whether or not that’s true, the physical reaction to both is pretty similar. I’d rather call it excitement than fear. Wouldn’t you?

Trust. It’s not about leaving things to chance, or blindly trusting. It’s about doing what I am capable of doing, of setting things in motion. It’s trusting my experience to help me make the right decisions. Of trusting others’ judgment and counsel when I need advice. Trusting my gut, when need be.

I trust me, and my abilities.

I trust the process.

I trust that if I ask for help, I’ll receive it. I trust our connection.

I trust that if I step off that cliff, I’ll have the wings to fly.

I trust that if I fall backwards into your arms, you’ll catch me.

I trust…

Brain…full…

By Life, Publishing, ,

Last week I was at a week-long business of writing workshop, during which I was too busy to blog or write (except a couple of times) or do much of anything else besides hang out with writer-friends and try to get a decent amount of sleep. I took 60+ pages of notes—hard to say how many, exactly, because at some point I started breaking out notes into different files on different topics. My main file is 60+ pages.

My to do list is 4 pages long. Although I managed to do a few of the things on it at the workshop, like set up a proper contact page on my website and finally after two years figure out how to set up my professional email address (dayle@dayledermatis.com).

We covered everything from accounting and taxes to websites and cover design to distribution and marketing to corporations and copyright. My brain is full.

Business stuff for the most part isn’t fun for me, nor does it come easy. I don’t like negotiation, for example, or things involving numbers (like, say, taxes). But in the weeks before the workshop, I successfully negotiated two contracts (thank you, previous workshops), and the bottom line is, even though writing is an art, if I want to be a working artist, I need to put on a business hat a fair amount of the time.

That said, my hat is off to all the instructors, and I hope I don’t forget any of them… Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, ML Buchman, Lee Allred, Allyson Longueira, J. Daniel Sawyer, Christina York, Scott William Carter, Kim Mainord, Billy Reese, and Sheldon MacArthur.

Here’s a perspective from the other side of the workshop, with bonus! pictures of the classroom. No people are in it, though, and my table is boring so why would I point it out?

I thought I had more to say about this, but apparently not. See, e.g., my brain being full. Besides, I need to do some website design and cover rebranding…after my writing is done for the day, that is!

Want to chat about this post? Join me on Facebook or Twitter.

Some thoughts on giving up

By Life, Writing

A writer friend of mine recently posed the following question on Facebook (which I’m paraphrasing here): What helps see you through the dark moments, when you’re thinking it’s too hard and you should just abandon your writing (or whatever art form)?

I started to answer but realized I had way more to say than would fit in a Facebook comment. So, here’s my response:

  1. I think about what I would do instead. Gotta make money somehow…. The easiest answer is to continue what I’m already doing, which is copyediting, designing, and publishing for other authors, which I do enjoy well enough. But I quickly realize that I’d just get depressed working on other people’s books, knowing I gave up my own dream. So, what else? I don’t believe it’s ever too late to start a new career…but I have no idea what I’d even want to do. Nothing else fires up my passion.
  2. I realize that if I give up, I’ll disappoint people—like my writing mentors, Kris & Dean, who’ve been pounding their knowledge into me for the past thirteen years. Or Ken, who’s supported me for longer than that and been my biggest cheerleader. I’ll disappoint the writers who look up to me, who tell me they admire my work ethic or my prose or whatever. Hell, I’ll disappoint the twelve-year-old me who write a hundred handwritten pages on a novel, and the seventeen-year-old me who completed and submitted her first novel, which got positive rejections.
  3. I look at the list I keep of positive reviews and the Kudos folder in my email (where I save any email where someone has said something nice about my writing). I remember that I’ve had two call-outs in Publisher’s Weekly. Clearly I occasionally do something right when it comes to writing. Just because it’s a struggle right now doesn’t mean good writing doesn’t come out of it, and stories and novels people want to read.
  4. I re-watch the videos from an online Productivity Workshop (http://www.deanwesleysmith.com/online-workshops/). I remind myself to Go Play, that this is supposed to be fun.
  5. If all else fails, I just wait it out. After a few days, I’ll be so cranky because I’m not writing that I’ll just cave and start again.

What’s your answer?

Want to chat about this post? Join me on Facebook or Twitter.

Spicy garlic HELP!

By Life,

Help me, my foodie friends, you’re my only hope!

When we were in Seattle a couple of weekends ago, I had the most amazing dish at a noodle shop, and I desperately want to re-create it. They billed it as spicy garlic rice, and you can see it on this menu page in the bottom left.

As near as I can tell, the “sauce” was thinly sliced/chopped garlic, oil, and red pepper flakes (I think). It was thick, and I had to work it into the rice (it sat on top otherwise; you can see that in the picture). It was spicy, but not painfully so. It was sooooooo goooooood.

I asked the waiter what was in it, and he said they make their own sauce. Something about marinating (that wasn’t the word he used, though, argh) the garlic in the pepper sauce? He probably used cooking terms I don’t know, and it was also almost two weeks ago, and I knew I should’ve written it down right away, but no.

So, anybody want to take a stab at how to make this? Is it possible to buy garlic soaked in pepper oil, and if so, where? Or is it easy enough to make it? And then how would I cook it?

Please use small words and give very basic instructions, because although I’m perfectly capable of following a recipe (and even modifying it once I understand it), I’m not a hardcore or experienced cook, nor have I branched out into anything complex.

I have searched online but nothing has come up that sounds remotely similar. I could be using the wrong search terms, though. (Spicy + garlic + rice doesn’t work, anyway, probably because the rice was topped by the sauce, not cooked with it.)

Thank you! xo

Want to chat about this post? Join me on Facebook or Twitter.

Weekend vacay

By Life, , ,

It’s been a long time since Ken and I have been able to justify funds towards anything resembling a vacation. But the wedding of two friends proved to be enough of an excuse for us to run away for the weekend.

I’ve been to Seattle only once before, when we visited a friend who was visiting a friend there. Then, we went to Pike Place Market and some lovely restaurants, but otherwise didn’t do Seattle. And our idea of sightseeing in a new place is different than most people’s…we’re not foodies, for example. We like history. And weird shit.

We drove up Friday evening after our workout (and showering, and dinner, and packing). We’d planned all along to take the motorcycle, but a couple of days beforehand, I was inspired to look at the weather report, and it was going to be much hotter than we’d initially thought. We still packed light—I didn’t even take the laptop, figuring the iPad and keyboard would be enough. We stayed in a reasonable hotel in Auburn, WA, partway between Seattle and the small town where the wedding would be.

Unfortunately, the promised WiFi didn’t work. Not even in the breakfast room the next day. Our phones have 3G, and the iPad is supposed to, but I haven’t been able to get it to work recently (it wouldn’t work in Atlanta, either). So that was a bit annoying, because I had some work email to deal with that I’d intended to handle Friday night at the hotel.

Saturday we went down to the breakfast room, where they had a reasonable array of stuff, and ended up eating with a woman and her son…from Oxnard. She was wearing a Camarillo sweatshirt, which sparked the initial conversation. Small world! Then we were off to Seattle.

First goal: the Seattle underground tour. I’ve been wanting to do this for aaaaaages. The first thing that happened was the good camera died, but not before I got a picture of the nifty old floor tiles in the building where the tour starts.

DSC00560

Our tour guide described herself as short and scrappy, and she was both, as well as hilarious, plus she had peacock-dyed braids that I coveted. She did a great job, as did the guide who did the initial presentation before we started off. I hadn’t realized until the tour that the underground isn’t all connected—the builders basically walled off each block as additional insurance against flooding. The tour felt a little rushed at times—at least, I wanted to linger over things we were hustled past—but I loved it. Especially the part about the city census and the surprisingly large number of “independent seamstresses.” I want to take the more “adult” tour now, as well as the ghost hunting tour (they load you up with ghost hunting equipment!). After the tour, we bought a couple of books (big surprise), and continued on.

We checked out a couple of places we’d spotted during the tour that we wanted to eyeball:

IMG_1113 IMG_1114

And took some random pictures:

DSC00558 IMG_1112

Next stop was the annual Time Travelers’ Rummage Sale, which was kind enough to schedule itself on the same day as our friends’ wedding (or perhaps the other way around). It was smaller than I expected, but I did find one thing I was looking for: some sort of moderately sized headpiece of some sort to wear to the wedding. I picked up a fascinator in greens (to go with top I’d be wearing) and blues and purples, which are also the colors of my faerie outfits and steampunk outfits (well, the steampunk has more highlights in those colors). I also snapped up a pair of vintage shoes for $3.

DSC00581

Aaaand lunchtime. Ken wanted to try a nearby Japanese noodle place. I wasn’t up for a hot bowl of noodles and broth on a hot day, so I went with a gyoza appetizer and some spicy garlic rice. Oh my freaking gods that rice was good. I must figure out a way to recreate it. I’m still craving it. I suspect I could eat it every day. Toss in some grilled chicken and veggies, and it’s a meal.

Then we toddled off to find the Bridge Troll, which we did. I wanted to try to poke his eye out (what you’re allegedly supposed to try to do), but he was bigger than I’d expected, and I hadn’t brought my rock-climbing gear. (First problem: I don’t own rock-climbing gear.)

IMG_1116 IMG_1117

I was fading fast at this point, so we headed back to our hotel, which was about 40 minutes away. I grabbed a lemonade/tea drink at a Starbucks, but it wasn’t enough caffeine for me, because I promptly fell over onto the bed and dozed. I’d been feeling off all week, possibly due to the tetanus booster I’d gotten on Tuesday. This was Saturday, and my arm still hurt so much I couldn’t sleep on my left side, and was red from my shoulder to almost my elbow, plus I’d had low energy all week.

Then, wedding! I love weddings. I’m a complete and utter sap about proposals and weddings, and I don’t know why, except that I’m a hopeless romantic and people pledging their love for one another makes me weep with joy. Leah and Blaze had probably the best vows I’ve ever heard…but that’s their story to tell. Here I’ll just note how happy they are.

DSC00565

She made her dress and his shirt and vest; he made mead and wine for the wedding, and jam for us to take home. We got to hang out with other writer-friends (that’s how I know Leah and Blaze), and it was a perfectly lovely evening.

Oh, and here’s that flowered fascinator I picked up at the Time Travelers’ Rummage Sale:

DSC00570

Then we went back to the hotel, read for a bit, and fell asleep early, because we were knackered.

Initially we’d planned to spend Sunday in Seattle, but see above re: me being exhausted all week. I’d realized a few days before we left that I was going to need at least part of Sunday to work. But, we had one stop to make on the way home.

See, on the way up, while Ken was driving, something interesting caught my eye on a billboard, but it was one of those electronic ones, so it blinked away before I could read it all. So I squinched around in my seat to read the other side of the billboard as we passed, and whatever had been on the front side fled my mind, because what I saw was baby clouded leopards.

Did you hear that glass-shattering shriek of delight? BABY CLOUDED LEOPARDS, people.

I turned back to Ken and told him in no uncertain terms we had to find the baby clouded leopards.

He pointed out it was 10 o’clock at night, and we probably couldn’t see them right that moment. But some research and planning led us to the Point Defiance Zoo on Sunday.

DSC00575

Right there. Pink jellybean toes of doom on a baby clouded leopard. I could not contain my squees. I could not even try.

It was a nice, small-ish zoo, and we saw tigers (including this one, who posed when I said hello, beautiful) and otters (Asian river otters and sea otters), puffins, artic foxes (more squeeage), enormous polar bears, and did I mention clouded leopard cubs??!

DSC00577 DSC00580

By then it was very hot, so we gassed up the car at a nearby Costco (grabbing a hot dog for Ken and a pizza slice for me) and got back on the road to head home.

There’s more we want to do in Seattle—the science fiction museum, the bookstore with the cats everywhere, more tours, wandering around the Victorian house districts—so we’ll be back. We crammed the perfect amount of stuff into this visit. It’s not quite four hours away, so it’s perfect for a weekend getaway….

Want to chat about this post? Join me on Facebook or Twitter.

Oh yeah…I had a birthday

By Life

A couple of days after we picked up and moved to another state, I turned 49. I think this is utterly fabulous, because 4 is my favorite number, so 7 times that must be auspicious, right??

I had a perfectly lovely birthday. I took Ken to work, then came home and did about an hour’s worth of freelance work (finished a design job). I briefly talked to my mom, but had to dash out to meet my glorious friend Val for a ramble through the Tualatin River National Wildlife Refuge. We talked about everything from bad book design to Sasquatch scat. We also played Poohsticks and saw a big ol’ slug (nibbling on a flowery twig) and wee little snake. A volunteer with a really, really good telescope let us look through at a bald eagle. (I love the fact that every time I look at a live bald eagle, I totally see Sam the Eagle from the Muppets. He’s like the best designed Muppet ever.) The best part was that when we hugged goodbye, it wasn’t for six months or a year—I can see her again soon! (And, indeed, there are other nature preserves we are planning rambles and hikes through.)

I was starving by that point, so I came home long enough to grab my laptop and pet Grimoire, then headed off to Panera. Once their steak and blue cheese salad had assuaged my hunger, I did about an hour’s worth of freelance work (copyediting), then headed back home. I grabbed a shower and made a cup of tea, but then Ken called for his ride home, and we ended up going from there out for our evening festivities.

There’s a second-run theatre nearby, the Joy Cinema and Pub, that has just one screen, but on Mondays it’s $2 per showing, plus they have hard cider on tap (as well as beer and wine). So we got ciders and popcorn and settled in to see Big Hero 6, which was a lot of fun. Jupiter Ascending and Birdman are both playing there as well, so we may hit them up again this week.

We picked up a gyro and a falafel to share at the next-door falafel place (where we’d eaten before, a few years ago, maybe?), along with a dessert I can’t pronounce, and came home. After we ate, Ken spent time on the phone trying to set up Internet/cable (I’d say he’s spent more than an hour on this already, because aaargh) and with our Realtor who’s selling our house in CA, we rearranged the living room furniture a bit, and watched the Arthur episode “Falafalososphy” with Neil Gaiman, because I was sad that it was my birthday and he still didn’t show up in my falafel.

Ken said my present was either any book I wanted from Powell’s (but I have a gazillion books to give them for credit, although I really do want Neil’s latest collection, Trigger Warning, even though he still did not show up in my goddamn birthday falafel) (not that I’m bitter or anything) (hint: yes I am), or a massage (but my massage therapist is still in Oxnard…) so we shall see. Honestly, we just moved to a place with seasons and greenery; I’m counting that as a win.  🙂

I find myself wondering: why do we celebrate our own births, when we really had little to do with them? Why are we not showering gifts and praise on the mothers who squeezed us out through their hoo-hoos?