Rosemary Kirstein

During all last week, that is. It was the first week back on the DayJob after surgery, and so I had to start digging in to the backlog of work undone while I was gone, which is to say, most of it, whilst simultaneously accomplishing my usual weekly cycle of tasks. Whilst also simultaneously trying not to overwork the hand.

Sigh. My plans for brilliant blog posts have been pushed forward, of necessity.

Plus: Visiting Laurie & Deb this weekend, so also no blogging. But I might find time to actually, say, work on writing. Seeing as Laurie (Laurie J. Marks) is also a writer, and not averse to a suggestion of, “Hey, let’s go to a coffeeshop with our laptop and pad and not speak a word for, like, two hours. It’ll be cool!”

In other news: Fingers still a bit tingly, but it’s less every day. So I’m definitely on the mend. I can do everything except hang on to really heavy objects, grip things that I also have to yank really hard, or grab things and then press down on them (like scrub sponges).

More later, promise.

… and probably won’t post.

Thanks to everyone for all your caring comments.

Cute Overload directed me to this, and I could not resist passing it on to you…

We used to have to regularly clear out the Amazon shipping boxes that Georgia would take a shine to. Any box, no matter how small!

Kitty Georgia O’Keefe is gone. I’m too sad to say much. Later, maybe later.

Until then, I suggest that you go here and read this. I always think of it when I remember my own Cats Gone Before.

Goodbye, little warrior…

just a bandaid

My fingers are still numb, which the Doc says will improve in the next few days. But I’ve reached the point where I can type fairly well, if not quickly, so — I’m back.

I’m off the DayJob for a bit, as that largely consists of massive amounts of rapid right-handed data entry.

I’ve spent the last 4 days all weak and wembly, but with not much pain, possibly because my entire right hand felt like one great block of balsa wood. (Yes, balsa. Not oak, not pine, balsa wood.) Plus, I took vicodin just in case it started hurting. I slept a lot. Also: watched a lot of DVDs

Because….

As a consolation present, I bought myself the entire 3 seasons of Avatar: The Last Airbender (the animated series! NOT the movie)!

the genuine article

Ha. Managed to get Sabine hooked on ’em. (Seriously, if you’ve never seen these, and you ever get a chance, watch them — preferably from the beginning. They are so wonderful.) We went straight through Book One: Water in about 3 days. Sabine declared herself overloaded, so I’m going on to Book Two:Earth by myself.

So, just continuing to convalesce, while trying to get some writing done. Thinking more than typing — but thinking’s what’s needed at this point.

yep.

Ow.

So….

Last week, just minding my own business, hanging out and doing some brainstorming and note-taking in my little woody nook in the back yard. Sun going down, how lovely as the dark begins to gather , juuust enough light left for me to write one more line or two in my journal…

Hm, says I, half-distracted, kinda nasty smell there…

…look past out toward the bird feeder. And.

Yep.

Neighborhood skunk.

Now, he must not be aware of me, or he would not have approached at all. Yet there he is, a mere four feet away, happily munching the fall-out of sunflower seeds from the bird-feeder.

Munching, in fact, directly in my path out of there.

He already smells, meaning he’s fired his guns at least once today. So the question becomes:Does he still have ammunition left?

And do I feel like playing a game of So, punk, do you feel lucky? Do you? with a skunk?

I do not feel lucky.

I slink back and do a slow-motion scratch and scramble and get out by way of the neighbor’s flower garden.

But now, in order to get back into the house, I must go past Monsieur le Pew. Because I came out the back porch door, and the front door is locked.

Can I climb the porch railings? Or nonchalantly stroll past our guest, with perhaps a civilized nod of acknowledgment as I go by?

Still not feeling lucky….

At which point I recall something my sister discovered….

Standing out of range, I say: “Woof.”

The diner pauses…

“Woof-woof! Arf, arf, arf!! Woof-woof, arf arf arf-arf-arf.”

By golly, it works.

Off he ambles, not exactly frightened, I’d say, but playing it safe. And at a good speed.

So I offer this bit of skunk-lore to you, from my wood-wise sister. To safely encourage skunks to depart, abandon your humanity, embrace your Inner Dog.

Monsieur le Pew

(Last week was crazy busy; a much more sensible post is promised, soon.)