We had a UPO experience this evening.
DH let our basset hound in and put her in her crate to allow her muddy feet to dry. No sooner did he close the crate door than he began searching for a mournful mewing sound that seemed to come from somewhere in that corner of the kitchen. Hannah sat facing the crate door observing us with baleful eyes--her usual posture. DH enlisted my help at that point. I bent down and looked into the darkest corner of the crate, behind Hannah's whipping tail, and saw two green glaring eyes staring back at me.
"Ebony is in her crate."
Strangely, at that very moment it seemed that Hannah discovered Ebony and managed to rotate her head to her tail position. That was stupid. A spat, a claw and Hannah nearly hit the top of the crate. DH opened the door and rescued her then had to crawl in on his belly to rescue the black cat from the black corner.
That wasn't the end of the mystery.
We put the dog back into her crate. A few minutes later she began scuffling around, searching excitedly for something that we couldn't see, but seemed to jump from one side of the crate to the other. Hannah was loving the hunt until the UPO (Unidentified Pesky Object) appeared to have managed to escape through the wire. We let Hannah out. Her excitement continued for a few minutes and then died off as though the UPO turned out to be a dustbunny hiding in a corner.
Shortly after dinner while watching TV, my own composure was rattled when Squeaky clawed her way up the back of the couch and caught my head. I lept up and peaked over the couch to see what the commotion was all about. Squeaky was pacing and sniffing, looking all around the back of the couch as though she'd caught sight of a UPO and then lost it. DH and I looked at each other and shrugged. We hadn't seen anything!
Squeaky's search continued, so we flipped the couch over. Nothing. She explored the entire couch and then drifted off to the corner of the dining room to explore under the buffet. We flipped the couch back and I sat down. No sooner had I managed to relax, than Ms Squeaky was clawing at the couch behind my back.
"Oh, for crying out loud! What IS it?" I said, jumping up and stepping away from the couch. Squeaky circled the couch at light speed in such a convincing way that I really did believe that there must be a UPO. She vanished behind the couch again. Just as I gingerly approached the couch to peak over the back again, my eye finally caught sight of the UPO. A fist sized fat object glided past my feet and seemed to vanish in the folds of my throw that had partially fallen to the floor. I squealled and jumped back, staring at the fringed edge of the throw.
"There," I pointed toward the throw and glared at DH who was still sitting calmly in his chair as though nothing whatsoever had happened. "It's there!"
"What is it?"
I made note of the fact that he was still sitting in his chair. "There really is a varmint! And it ran up under there."
He leaned forward slightly and looked in the general direction in which I was pointing. I gave up hope and began to examine the edge of the throw for the best possible hand hold so I could pick it up without coming close to the hiding varmint. Squeaky was still on the wrong side of the couch. I picked it up and--nothing.
A moment later and Squeaky came careening around the corner of the couch again, this time she was actually chasing a gray ball aimed directly at my feet. I lept back, squeeling. I'm so embarrassed! The leap changed the varmint's direction and he seemed to roll under the couch and vanish. In the meantime, I had gained the doorway.
DH remained seated as though he was merely a spectator at a sporting event. This time I pointed in his direction, "Get up and guard that side of the living room--don't let that thing get out!" I shrieked. I do not take UPOs lightly! I nearly had a panick attack when I thought of that varmint getting down the hall and into Ike's messy bedroom.
Two times Squeaky could have had him cornered and she let him escape. I was beside myself. That was when I bellowed my third command, "Get Hannah!"
DH dutifully released Hannah who went after the UPO with a vengence. She circled the couch several times, snuffling dust bunnies, and then followed the trail back to the buffet where Squeaky was in stalking position. Just as I thought all was lost, Hannah, hot on the trail of the now invisible UPO chased it right back to the place where it all began--her crate. DH strolled over to observe the commotion more closely, pulled the crate from the wall and watched Hannah dive behind it. She came back up with something hanging from her mouth. DH stood there in spectator mode until I bellowed one more time, "She's got it! Let her out!"
DH opened the door and out went Hannah. He closed the door and stood and watched her through the window, reporting on the sporting event that continued--thankfully--out of doors.
As he sauntered back to his chair, he muttered, "Ebony brought it in."
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Charm, increment 1
I suggested that I would work on posting my two NaNoWriMo novels--reviewing and revising (at least slightly) in increments. I'll post in approximately 1,000 word increments as near as a good stopping point will allow. This effort may bog down from time to time if some other writing project interrupts it, such as an upcoming challenge on Skateboard.
Charm: Chapter 1
“Light!”
Becca crumpled the want ads against the console as the light changed to green, “Okay, where is Ridge Road?”
Claire, gripped the side of the seat as Becca stomped on the gas, and muttered through clenched teeth, “Ridge Road?”
“Yep. 1100 Ridge Road. It is the last house on the list.”
“I don’t think you want that house. Not if it is the one I think it is.”
Becca cast a sideways glance in her direction. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“People say it’s haunted.”
“Oh, don’t give me that! I don’t believe in that stuff. Just stories people tell their children to make them terrified to leave their beds. Now, tell me where Ridge Road is. I’ve forgotten.”
“I’ll bet it’s a mess. I don’t think that it has been lived in for years.”
“Every house we’ve seen is either a mess or they are asking too much for it.”
Claire sighed. “Head out on Carlton Road toward the golf course.”
“Okay.” Becca took a swift turn from Main street without taking her foot off the gas peddle, heading for Carlton Road. The neighborhood changed from turn-of-the-century store fronts to 20th Century strip malls and stores and acres of near empty parking lots. “What do you know about the house other than that it is haunted?”
“Not much. I think an old man lived there alone for years. It could be worse than a mess.”
Becca gave Claire a frown and a shrug as if to say it made no difference to her, “It is a Victorian. That’s what I’m looking for. And the more original the better, as far as I am concerned. I always dreamt of restoring an old house, but it wasn’t possible in Dallas.” Becca gave a hard turn of the wheel and the VW bug zipped around another corner and they were on the homestretch toward Ridge Road.
“Sounds like a lot of work, to me. I’d rather buy a nice clean house with all the modern conveniences, ready to move into. At least if I were in the market, I would” Housing developments slipped past them giving way to vast open fields. “When you pass the convenience store, take the first right.” Preparing for another sharp corner, Claire grasped hold of the armrest for support.
Becca pulled one of her fast turns. She stepped too hard on the gas, causing the wheels to spin on the gravel road. Claire’s hand clamped on the side of the seat again. Soon, the little car was flying along the narrow country road, more in the middle than on the right. One thing Becca hadn’t forgotten while living in the big city was how to drive on a country road, Claire thought. She grit her teeth as they hit a sharp curve going too fast. The back end of the car fishtailed momentarily. Other than a trailer or a modular house here or there, the fields along the road were open country and planted mostly in wheat, a light green haze over the fresh dark dirt. The sky was bright, clear blue and the trees they passed sported leaves turning from the dull olive drab of late summer to the high color of autumn. It would be a nice day for a ride if Becca wasn’t driving. Glancing in the rear view mirror, all Claire could see was the dust screen raised by the car as it tore down the road.
“How far is it?” Becca asked as the VW bug began a steep ascent up toward the top of a ridge, dust billowing out behind it.
“Not far, now. Once we get to the top here, you should be able to see it.”
“This is one rustic road.”
“Yeah, we have a lot of ‘em around here.” Claire caught her old friend’s glance and slight smile.
They crested the top of the ridge and Claire caught site of the old house. But before she had a chance to say anything, Becca said, “So that’s it, huh?”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s just what I’ve been looking for.”
“You haven’t seen it, yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. It has potential.”
Claire laughed. “Yeah. I’d look inside first, if I were you.”
Coming abreast of it, Becca finally slowed, turning into the graveled drive. She came to a stop right where the passenger side door was even with the narrow cement walk that lead to the front door, she turned off the ignition and pulled hard on the emergency brake. Leaning forward to look up at the house through the windshield, she declared, “It’s awesome!”
“Tiny tumbleweeds! Take a look at it first, would’ja?” Claire said, and they both laughed. “It could have years of filth in it. And, as long as its been vacant, who knows who’s been here ... vagrants, teens ... It could be really nasty.”
“Spit and polish. Just like Gran used to say. That’s all that would take.”
“Makes my mouth feel dry just thinking about it.”
Becca chuckled and popped the door open. “I think it looks as though it has been cared for.” Before Claire could get her own door open, Becca was already out, slamming the car door behind her.
Once she’d gained the sidewalk, she stopped to study the front of the house in more detail. She ran her fingers through her short cropped auburn hair as though to brush her bangs out of her eyes, but they had fallen back into place before she said, “At least they haven’t neglected to maintain it. The paint isn’t cracked or flaking off and the roof looks nearly new.”
The house was a typical Queen Anne, painted a soft gray green with dark green trim. A cupola dominated the view on the driveway side. The front door was painted the same dark green as the rest of the trim, and a delicate spindle-work surrounded the porch that continued across the front and around the tower. The windows were typical of the period and were tall and narrow, both upstairs and down. The dark green gingerbread was continued at each gable on the second story. The third story, barely apparent, was represented by a Queen Anne style gable in the front and a half moon window.
Charm: Chapter 1
“Light!”
Becca crumpled the want ads against the console as the light changed to green, “Okay, where is Ridge Road?”
Claire, gripped the side of the seat as Becca stomped on the gas, and muttered through clenched teeth, “Ridge Road?”
“Yep. 1100 Ridge Road. It is the last house on the list.”
“I don’t think you want that house. Not if it is the one I think it is.”
Becca cast a sideways glance in her direction. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“People say it’s haunted.”
“Oh, don’t give me that! I don’t believe in that stuff. Just stories people tell their children to make them terrified to leave their beds. Now, tell me where Ridge Road is. I’ve forgotten.”
“I’ll bet it’s a mess. I don’t think that it has been lived in for years.”
“Every house we’ve seen is either a mess or they are asking too much for it.”
Claire sighed. “Head out on Carlton Road toward the golf course.”
“Okay.” Becca took a swift turn from Main street without taking her foot off the gas peddle, heading for Carlton Road. The neighborhood changed from turn-of-the-century store fronts to 20th Century strip malls and stores and acres of near empty parking lots. “What do you know about the house other than that it is haunted?”
“Not much. I think an old man lived there alone for years. It could be worse than a mess.”
Becca gave Claire a frown and a shrug as if to say it made no difference to her, “It is a Victorian. That’s what I’m looking for. And the more original the better, as far as I am concerned. I always dreamt of restoring an old house, but it wasn’t possible in Dallas.” Becca gave a hard turn of the wheel and the VW bug zipped around another corner and they were on the homestretch toward Ridge Road.
“Sounds like a lot of work, to me. I’d rather buy a nice clean house with all the modern conveniences, ready to move into. At least if I were in the market, I would” Housing developments slipped past them giving way to vast open fields. “When you pass the convenience store, take the first right.” Preparing for another sharp corner, Claire grasped hold of the armrest for support.
Becca pulled one of her fast turns. She stepped too hard on the gas, causing the wheels to spin on the gravel road. Claire’s hand clamped on the side of the seat again. Soon, the little car was flying along the narrow country road, more in the middle than on the right. One thing Becca hadn’t forgotten while living in the big city was how to drive on a country road, Claire thought. She grit her teeth as they hit a sharp curve going too fast. The back end of the car fishtailed momentarily. Other than a trailer or a modular house here or there, the fields along the road were open country and planted mostly in wheat, a light green haze over the fresh dark dirt. The sky was bright, clear blue and the trees they passed sported leaves turning from the dull olive drab of late summer to the high color of autumn. It would be a nice day for a ride if Becca wasn’t driving. Glancing in the rear view mirror, all Claire could see was the dust screen raised by the car as it tore down the road.
“How far is it?” Becca asked as the VW bug began a steep ascent up toward the top of a ridge, dust billowing out behind it.
“Not far, now. Once we get to the top here, you should be able to see it.”
“This is one rustic road.”
“Yeah, we have a lot of ‘em around here.” Claire caught her old friend’s glance and slight smile.
They crested the top of the ridge and Claire caught site of the old house. But before she had a chance to say anything, Becca said, “So that’s it, huh?”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s just what I’ve been looking for.”
“You haven’t seen it, yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. It has potential.”
Claire laughed. “Yeah. I’d look inside first, if I were you.”
Coming abreast of it, Becca finally slowed, turning into the graveled drive. She came to a stop right where the passenger side door was even with the narrow cement walk that lead to the front door, she turned off the ignition and pulled hard on the emergency brake. Leaning forward to look up at the house through the windshield, she declared, “It’s awesome!”
“Tiny tumbleweeds! Take a look at it first, would’ja?” Claire said, and they both laughed. “It could have years of filth in it. And, as long as its been vacant, who knows who’s been here ... vagrants, teens ... It could be really nasty.”
“Spit and polish. Just like Gran used to say. That’s all that would take.”
“Makes my mouth feel dry just thinking about it.”
Becca chuckled and popped the door open. “I think it looks as though it has been cared for.” Before Claire could get her own door open, Becca was already out, slamming the car door behind her.
Once she’d gained the sidewalk, she stopped to study the front of the house in more detail. She ran her fingers through her short cropped auburn hair as though to brush her bangs out of her eyes, but they had fallen back into place before she said, “At least they haven’t neglected to maintain it. The paint isn’t cracked or flaking off and the roof looks nearly new.”
The house was a typical Queen Anne, painted a soft gray green with dark green trim. A cupola dominated the view on the driveway side. The front door was painted the same dark green as the rest of the trim, and a delicate spindle-work surrounded the porch that continued across the front and around the tower. The windows were typical of the period and were tall and narrow, both upstairs and down. The dark green gingerbread was continued at each gable on the second story. The third story, barely apparent, was represented by a Queen Anne style gable in the front and a half moon window.
Monday, January 29, 2007
The concerns of the day:
There are always a great many concerns, of course.
I'm currently working hard to close out of all my old ISP business. Along with changing email addresses and setting up a new blog, there is the difficulty of what to do about all the archives from the old blog. I decided to print them out and take them down to my local copy center and have them bound into volumes. Who reads old archives, anyway?
And so, as a writer, I have just discovered a whole new difficulty with printing. Shortly before Christmas my old printer died and I bought a new one. The cartridges are so small that to print any large amount of work means buying several. I thought the old ink cartridges were expensive, but they could print several reams of paper. The total cost on this current printing project is going to go through the roof. Not to mention the necessity of this interruption in the printing process in order to go buy more. I'll have to find a solution or my old habit of printing out my current WIP every six months or so for review will be prohibitive.
Otherwise, it will be interesting to go back and read all that stuff. Again, it points to the fact that a little bit of writing adds up to a huge volume over time.
I'm currently working hard to close out of all my old ISP business. Along with changing email addresses and setting up a new blog, there is the difficulty of what to do about all the archives from the old blog. I decided to print them out and take them down to my local copy center and have them bound into volumes. Who reads old archives, anyway?
And so, as a writer, I have just discovered a whole new difficulty with printing. Shortly before Christmas my old printer died and I bought a new one. The cartridges are so small that to print any large amount of work means buying several. I thought the old ink cartridges were expensive, but they could print several reams of paper. The total cost on this current printing project is going to go through the roof. Not to mention the necessity of this interruption in the printing process in order to go buy more. I'll have to find a solution or my old habit of printing out my current WIP every six months or so for review will be prohibitive.
Otherwise, it will be interesting to go back and read all that stuff. Again, it points to the fact that a little bit of writing adds up to a huge volume over time.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Summation and conclusion of Thursday's dream:
Warning: Spiritual slant! ;)
Posted on a discussion board:
Night before last I was soaking in the tub and thinking about this very thread, when I must have fallen into a light sleep. I had this really weird dream where I became Frodo Baggins in Shelob's lair. Shelob was chasing after me and I was running through the dark tunnels thinking that I was pretty much spider meat, when I saw a faint arc of light, like light sneaking in through a crack over curved door. All my being focused on that light, that freedom promised by the light. The hope that I felt was all that was left when I woke up. Later, after I was slightly astounded that I can sleep and keep my head above water, I realized that this dream was spawned by my musings on baptism. Given a glimpse of that light of God we are all given hope--none of us would prefer to become spider meat in a dark and dangerous evil lair! None of us would resist that hope and allow ourselves to be eaten by that spider and choose death over life.
Posted on a discussion board:
Night before last I was soaking in the tub and thinking about this very thread, when I must have fallen into a light sleep. I had this really weird dream where I became Frodo Baggins in Shelob's lair. Shelob was chasing after me and I was running through the dark tunnels thinking that I was pretty much spider meat, when I saw a faint arc of light, like light sneaking in through a crack over curved door. All my being focused on that light, that freedom promised by the light. The hope that I felt was all that was left when I woke up. Later, after I was slightly astounded that I can sleep and keep my head above water, I realized that this dream was spawned by my musings on baptism. Given a glimpse of that light of God we are all given hope--none of us would prefer to become spider meat in a dark and dangerous evil lair! None of us would resist that hope and allow ourselves to be eaten by that spider and choose death over life.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The depths of the mind:
Last night I was relaxing in a hot tub of water, letting my mind meander. I'd been thinking of baptism, really. I must have fallen into a light sleep, however, because baptism turned into Shelob's lair and myself into Frodo. Shelob was close on my heels and I was running in the dark. Just when I was about to despair, I saw a small arc of light ahead. Just as my mind was balancing what it might take to tear out into the light and whether Shelob would catch me before I could, I woke up.
I didn't recall a scene like that in the movie. And trying to remember the book didn't help me either. How I managed to be Frodo in my dream simply astounded me. If my imagination is that good, where did my writing go?
Besides that I wonder how I manage to keep my head above water while I sleep in the tub.
I said again that I wish that the NaNoWriMo would happen any other month than November. December always derails my renewed writing vigor. I haven't recovered it yet. So, now that January is nearly over, shall I reconsider my committment to write 500 words a day? Gosh, isn't that a stupid question?
At any rate, I am rethinking the possibility of posting my two NaNo novels in segments, revising as I post. Perhaps I could post blocks of a thousand words per day until I get them posted. I seriously doubt that I'll ever try to publish either one.
I didn't recall a scene like that in the movie. And trying to remember the book didn't help me either. How I managed to be Frodo in my dream simply astounded me. If my imagination is that good, where did my writing go?
Besides that I wonder how I manage to keep my head above water while I sleep in the tub.
I said again that I wish that the NaNoWriMo would happen any other month than November. December always derails my renewed writing vigor. I haven't recovered it yet. So, now that January is nearly over, shall I reconsider my committment to write 500 words a day? Gosh, isn't that a stupid question?
At any rate, I am rethinking the possibility of posting my two NaNo novels in segments, revising as I post. Perhaps I could post blocks of a thousand words per day until I get them posted. I seriously doubt that I'll ever try to publish either one.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
"I hate this place!"
Finding the front door standing wide open, she stepped in onto the dirty bare wood floor, paused and glanced toward the two doors that lead into the recesses of the house. "Hello?" She heard a rattle and followed the sound through the door that lead into the kitchen. The first person she saw was the heater repairman sitting on the hallway floor and then her husband's head behind the stove. It was surreal that they seemed not to acknowledge her entrance, that the silence seemed to be able to mute the clank of a wrench as it thumped to the floor.
The cold came through her jacket and she noted that the back door stood wide open, too. Even with both doors wide open, the stale odor of urine mingled with the odor of latex paint and the thick atmosphere felt difficult to breath in.
Breaking the silence again, she said, "I hate this place!" The heater repairman glanced up at her briefly, then returned to his work. Her husband's head bobbed behind the stove.
Most of the time we live thinking that there is order to our lives. We build our plan for our tomorrows on the basis of that order. We think we know where we will be tomorrow and who we will be with and where we will live. But sometimes the unexpected, even the unbelievable can happen and it can change everything in a blink of realization. The continuing thread of our lives is snapped in two--the plan we had for tomorrow becomes ridiculous and what we did yesterday, in light of our discovery, becomes stupid. Denial is usually the first response. Then slowly truth wars with denial and we take a step back, examine the evidence, frown, face it and fear it. But the change, undesired and unexpected, makes the denial impossible. Suddenly the future is rife with questions. The unknown can be frightening, a place where our worst fears may be realized. Then all we can do is devise a new plan and hope that lady luck will smile on our future and make it secure.
"I choose life," she said. She said it boldly and then repeated it to herself more quietly. That was the absolute choice, the writing on the wall. It was a choice between death and life. Choosing to live should be simple enough, but it didn't seem that way. The echo of that statement colored the days that seemed to net altogether too little progress in the right direction. She was ready to move, to solve the dilemma, but barriers stood in her way. With every step since the day the truth began to dawn on her those words seemed to vibrate through her limbs. Fear and fury! It took fear to move her and fury to energize her.
Remembering now the many events that accumulated over the years, this day of change shouldn't have been unexpected. When had it begun? Was it in the fall of 2000 that she experienced the first symptoms of the disease? Six years! That's a lot of denial. But of all the possible causes this one--this one--was the most difficult to accept or believe.
The cold came through her jacket and she noted that the back door stood wide open, too. Even with both doors wide open, the stale odor of urine mingled with the odor of latex paint and the thick atmosphere felt difficult to breath in.
Breaking the silence again, she said, "I hate this place!" The heater repairman glanced up at her briefly, then returned to his work. Her husband's head bobbed behind the stove.
Most of the time we live thinking that there is order to our lives. We build our plan for our tomorrows on the basis of that order. We think we know where we will be tomorrow and who we will be with and where we will live. But sometimes the unexpected, even the unbelievable can happen and it can change everything in a blink of realization. The continuing thread of our lives is snapped in two--the plan we had for tomorrow becomes ridiculous and what we did yesterday, in light of our discovery, becomes stupid. Denial is usually the first response. Then slowly truth wars with denial and we take a step back, examine the evidence, frown, face it and fear it. But the change, undesired and unexpected, makes the denial impossible. Suddenly the future is rife with questions. The unknown can be frightening, a place where our worst fears may be realized. Then all we can do is devise a new plan and hope that lady luck will smile on our future and make it secure.
"I choose life," she said. She said it boldly and then repeated it to herself more quietly. That was the absolute choice, the writing on the wall. It was a choice between death and life. Choosing to live should be simple enough, but it didn't seem that way. The echo of that statement colored the days that seemed to net altogether too little progress in the right direction. She was ready to move, to solve the dilemma, but barriers stood in her way. With every step since the day the truth began to dawn on her those words seemed to vibrate through her limbs. Fear and fury! It took fear to move her and fury to energize her.
Remembering now the many events that accumulated over the years, this day of change shouldn't have been unexpected. When had it begun? Was it in the fall of 2000 that she experienced the first symptoms of the disease? Six years! That's a lot of denial. But of all the possible causes this one--this one--was the most difficult to accept or believe.
