Perspectives

I've seen this in email a couple times, but couldn't find the text with a quick Google. This is how I remember it:

A rich man wanted his son to understand and appreciate the wealth he had, so he sent his son to spend the summer with his poor relatives in the country. His son returned at summer’s end, looking tan and fit.

“So,” said his father, “do you now understand how it is to be poor?”

“Yes father,” said the boy. “I only see you a few times a month; my cousins see their father every day. I looked out their back door and saw gardens, woods, a lake, and mountains in the distance, instead of our walls and fences so close by. At night, we gathered around a bonfire and watched a sky full of stars, not hidden by the security lights I see here. We swam in a lake that is bigger than these grounds, let alone our pool. We played in woods that went on without end. We ate food we grew ourselves, instead of telling the help to go buy it for us.

“Thank you, father, for showing me how poor we really are.”

It might be that those who passed it on were looking at what I call the “cultural superiority” aspect of the story — there’s quite a bit of that in country music these days — but to me, it speaks of how adults and children have different perspectives. An adult might crave wealth, then hide behind walls to keep it in and spend all his time gaining more wealth. But to a child, such a life is little more than a clean “nice” prison. Kids like to be outside, girls as well as boys. I remember The Boy as a toddler, having the time of his life rolling in the mud with an overgrown Springer Spaniel who adored him. And then there’s the whole hands-on perspective — like when I try to help Mason with something and he says, “I do it, I do it!”

When is it that getting dirty, doing stuff with our own hands, and spending hours on end outside becomes abhorrent? I know that, for some, that day never comes. Are they really worse off?

Long November, Sick Grandkid

This “winter” has been one long November on Planet Georgia. The mini-winters that make up the season have been few and far between so far. I’ve actually had to stretch the definition to designate the last couple of days Winter #2 — it didn’t stay below freezing through the day, and the forecast sleet and “wintry mix” never materialized. I guess the Mountain West and Europe have been getting all their winter and ours to boot. It’ll be March in a couple weeks, so time is running out.

Meanwhile, the weather got to Mason: he’s had a cold for the last week and a half. He was pretty good about it at first, but in the last few days he’s run out of patience. He’s cranky, doesn’t want to eat much, and his sleep cycles are all out of whack. He really needs to eat; it would probably make him (and us) feel better. I really don’t know how he manages to get by on a handful of fruit and liquids (juice and a little milk), but he doesn’t look starved yet. And yet, he’s spreading the misery. Mrs. Fetched says she’s taking him to the doctor tomorrow, but she’s been saying that for a week now.

However, he has figured out how to use the iPad. He can wake it up and find a game (or Adobe Ideas, a nice finger-painting app), even if he doesn’t quite understand how to play just yet. His favorite game is Otto Matic, right now. Even “better,” he’s figured out that my iPhone has most of the same games — which means I can’t give Twitter a look without Mason crawling into my lap and trying to grab my phone. It did come in handy over the weekend though, when we were trying to keep him from nodding off in the car before lunch: I handed him the phone and he took it from there.

Tax time is here, but I’ve already done ¾ of the work: just waiting on Mrs. Fetched to get me the business expenses and car taxes.

I downloaded the Blogger app for my iPhone over the weekend, thinking maybe it would help me compose stuff at lunch. Kind of, yeah… if it bothers to save drafts. Google needs to do some serious work on that app, or make a mobile-friendly dashboard. It’s best feature is (again, when it saves) the ability to upload photos from the phone.

Oh, remember Prince Stinky? He disappeared for a couple weeks, but came back with a little matted fur but otherwise fine. I think he has a first home somewhere nearby, and comes here to visit when he needs a little weirdness in his life. Mrs. Fetched is making noises about getting him fixed, so he won’t spray everything (Daughter Dearest says he even scented my car last weekend).

Winter and headcolds both go away, so things will soon improve at FAR Manor. Just gotta wait it out.

Skylar, "Latchkey" Kid

I was trying to catch up on Twitter this afternoon, when I looked out the window and saw Big V cruising up the driveway in her power-chair. I shouted an alarm, and Mrs. Fetched and Daughter Dearest went out to see what was going on.

“I need you to call 911,” she said, “Skylar has locked himself in the car.” Now for those sharp readers (which, since you’re reading TFM, is all of you) who were wondering why she didn’t make the call herself, she dropped her cellphone in the toilet yesterday. Which makes it a smellphone for sure! Turns out that Cousin Splat was cleaning out the car, and Skylar wanted to “help.” Of course, there is no second set of keys for their car.

The 911 dispatcher asked Mrs. Fetched if the toddler was stressed. “No,” she said, “but his grandmother is pretty stressed!” That got a chuckle out of dispatch. I figured I’d better go down there myself, just in case there was something I could do… and passed Big V (and her German Shepherd with the huge schnozz) on the way.

Skylar is (when he’s not throwing a random fit) the Zen Master of toddlers. He was chattering nonsense, poking at various things, and not concerned in the least about being locked in an Impala. Cousin Splat (his dad) and I tried to get him to poke the power unlock, to no avail. I thought about trying to get him to push buttons on the key fob, but the keys were in the ignition and decided that wouldn’t be a good idea. The car has an interlock where you can’t shift out of park unless you’re hitting the brakes, but still. Big V got in on the act, and the schnozzlehound got between her and me when she started sounding upset… like I was the problem here.

The cop showed up at last, and had me hold the flashlight on the driver door latch while he ran a gadget between a window and the weatherstripping. Skylar got interested in the thing poking in the car, and started pushing on it. This was actually helpful (for a change), since it gave the cop enough leverage on the latch to pop it.

“His diaper is pretty wet,” said Cousin Splat, carrying him inside.

“Yeah, you probably have to change your pants too, after that!” Big V opined.

I think they’re going to get a spare key made first thing tomorrow.

Staycation 2011, Days 0–2

Work has a strange policy: they let you carry over two weeks of vacation per year. But everyone gets three weeks, plus a week of personal days and floating holidays, so (if you carried over two weeks from last year) you pretty much have to burn off a month’s worth of vacation to keep from losing any. The upshot is, the office gets awfully empty the second half of December.

We were hoping to get down to Florida to visit Mom before Christmas, but I couldn’t ever get anyone to nail down the days they were off… so maybe we’ll go next month. At least with the chicken houses in permanent shutdown, there won’t be that to contend with — but I have full faith in Mrs. Fetched’s ability to find some other timesuck to throw me into.

With Mason around, I’m already watching him nearly all weekend, every weekend. This weekend was typical in that regard. After a haircut trip yesterday, I zipped over to the bank to deposit a check and that was the closest thing approaching free time I had. Mason refused to take an afternoon nap, so I had none of the time I expected for writing this post yesterday. Then Mrs. Fetched and Daughter Dearest took off on a shopping trip, leaving us to find our own supper. I know Mason likes Subway’s meatballs, so we went there… and they were out of meatballs. I headed up to Johnny’s, where the food’s good but the service is glacial, and got us some chow. Then it was off to Chick-Fil-A, the only fast-food joint around here with an indoor playground, to let Mason burn off some energy.

One thing about Mason: he has a near-fetish for straight lines. He’ll line his cars up in a neat little row, then have a Toddler Meltdown™ when they don’t stay straight when he pushes the line. On modern playgrounds, with their tunnels and spiral slides, he’ll go through a straight tunnel — but if he can’t see the other end, he won’t go in. So he would go up the stairs, then come down and go poke around in the toddler area. Meanwhile, a little girl about three months younger than him was roaring down the spiral slide and having a good old time. Didn’t make the slightest impression on him.

So I’m not sure what happened — maybe some other kids chivvied him through the bent tunnel into the upper level — but he ended up in the enclosed area up top and started crying, because he wouldn’t go down the slide and he wouldn’t go back down the tunnel where he couldn’t see the outlet. I had to climb in there and talk him down; if he could see me, he was fine.

He also refused to nap today — and I had to make rolls for the supper after our church cantata — but I chucked him in his crib anyway until I got the dough thrown together. He was not exactly happy about that, but he got over it pretty quick once I came in and got him out. I got the rolls done just in time — I mean, we were out the door as soon as I threw them in a paper bag — and my throat survived the singing.

Tomorrow, I hope to do some yard work and some writing. Not necessarily in that order. The Boy and Snippet will be here for Christmas proper — or maybe I should say improper — so there might be a little soap opera-kind of post this weekend.

Revolving Door

I really ought to install a revolving door at FAR Manor — M.A.E. lasted about a week at the free-range insane asylum this time. At the beginning of the week, she told us she was going to visit with Lobster for a night. One night stretched to two, three… and Lobster has a girlfriend living with him, so I don’t think it was that. However, I did get a call on my smellphone while I was at work from some guy named Jesse (I think it was). I figure she hooked up with someone on Facebook. Again.

So I was working at home Friday, because I had a meeting on Wednesday, and she came in without my noticing. I often work with the door closed to keep Mason from demanding more granddad time, so that wasn’t unusual. I also managed to miss the “discussion” she had with Mrs. Fetched, who had talked with her baby-daddy when he called earlier. So…

M.A.E. asked Mrs. Fetched, “Am I going to get Moptop this weekend?”

“No.”

“Why not?!”

“I don’t want her here this weekend.” There was the minor detail about us not being here all afternoon today, and M.A.E. almost immediately blowing off everything after she promised us she’d do anything if we let her come back, but Moptop does antagonize Mason a lot. Sure, he gives it right back, but the constant shrieking does get annoying.

So M.A.E. stomped upstairs to make some phone calls. Mrs. Fetched called up the stairs after her to bring the phone back down with her. She didn’t. This is where I first learned of M.A.E.’s presence, as she stormed back downstairs, slamming the door behind her, then out. “If you’re leaving,” Mrs. Fetched advised her, “you’d better take your stuff with you, because you’re not coming back.” M.A.E. gave no response. We found out later she went down to Big V’s with the boo-hoo routine, then got Cousin Splat to give her a ride into town (presumably to meet her current… whatever you want to call it).

• • •

Left to right: Mason, me, Skylar

The 80s song, “Me and the Boys” might be my theme song for this week, since that might be what’s coming. Since we get Thursday and Friday off, and everyone else is going to be gone anyway, I took the rest of the week as vacation (or more like staycation). Skylar is another revolving-door inmate at FAR Manor, in and out a lot, and I expect that Mrs. Fetched will find many “reasons” to leave them both with me.

I’m hoping that Big V will start picking up some of the slack, since she’s had cataract surgery and can see a little better now. Funny how things work: just when he’s where he’s not screaming in his sleep at night, and is starting to play a little better with Mason, they take him back.

One of the Evil Twins is here for a couple days, so I just may get a few things done while otherwise abandoned with the grandkid. Her sister is visiting some friends, and she’s getting stir-crazy.

The End is Just the Beginning

Somebody pinch me. Bonus points if you’re female and I get to pinch back.

It appears that we have outlasted the chicken houses!

Tyson’s, using their usual “company store” debt-slavery tactic, demanded some rather pricey upgrades to the chicken houses to renew the in-laws’ contract. They said “nope,” and thus the last batch was scheduled to leave around the end of March. However, since the entire paycheck goes out the furnaces during winter grow-outs, the in-laws pulled the plug after the last batch left Friday night. Permit me a brief…

WOOOOO-HOOOOOOOO!!!!

This leaves the farm with four empty chicken houses and still a small hill of debt remaining. Several possibilities have been bandied about for making the houses pay the rest of their way — some kind of greenhouse seems to be the idea that we all keep coming back to. It's actually not a bad idea; the houses have lights, water, heat, and ventilation. And fertilizer. Lots of fertilizer. If we replace some of the roofing tin with plexiglas, we can get some sunlight into the middle of the houses as well. I’m pushing for herbs (cooking, not smoking) as a primary crop, since the stores charge like two bucks for an ounce of leaves and they can grow like weeds under the right conditions. The agent at the ag coop that has the loan had several good suggestions for marketing and lining up customers. The upside is, you can go away for a weekend and not come back to a thousand dead chickens to pick up.


In less pleasant news, M.A.E. seems to be back at the manor. She can’t seem to pick friends who can handle her desired lifestyle, which is to spend the entire day on Facebook and do as little as possible to help around the house. She’s brought her daughter (Moptop is no longer a good moniker for her as her curls have gone for now) over for weekends and she and Mason have a great time antagonizing each other.

Gotta take the bad with the good, I guess.

Weekend Wibbles

Writing Wibbles, Photo Wibbles, Life Wibbles, I need to start posting in the moment again.

But first, welcome to the two newest followers:

• S.M. Reine — author, proprietor of Red Iris Books, and (as you may remember) the person who designed my White Pickups cover.
• Carole Gill — an author whose goal, as she puts it, is to “push the boundaries of gothic romance.”

Your visitor’s badges are at the front desk — in a free-range insane asylum, you don’t want to be mistaken for an inmate!

Hallowe’en has come and gone. Mason had his first trick or treat experience, and brought home a modest bucket of loot. Now when he wants a piece of candy, he’ll say, “Trick or treat? Please?” As he loves Cars so much, Mrs. Fetched got him a pit crew uniform for his first outing.

If I had to caption this particular photo, it would be something like, “Well, they told me to make a scary face, so…” Or maybe “Caaaaandyyyyyy!”

This morning at church, he pulled a good one. He snagged a hymnal and sat down and said, “Read?” I reached for it, and he insisted, “I’m reading!”


Daughter Dearest has also been busy. She had her senior recital last weekend and it went pretty well. The preparations for the reception following were fairly intense, though. Fortunately, I was spared and and just had to keep Mason out of everyone’s hair.

We took video, and I took a few pictures:

I've learned that slightly de-saturating the photo is the best way to deal with the rather intense backdrop on the Falany Performing Arts Center stage. DD really has a gorgeous voice. I’ll link to the video somehow when Mrs. Fetched edits it down, so you won’t completely miss out.


Writing? Right. I’m definitely not doing NaNoWriMo, but cheering on anyone who is. I’ve got two people, John Xero and Chuck Allen, looking over the complete version of Xenocide so I’ll know it’s in reasonable shape. I’m using it as a “test bed” of sorts, turning it into an eBook so I’ll have an idea of what the overhead will be like for White Pickups as well.

My #FridayFlash piece from week before last (Geek vs. Zombies) pretty much confirmed a theory I came up with: if you want lots of pageviews and comments, write a zombie story. I got really close to cracking 200 pageviews, and got nearly 30 comments. Quite a spike when compared to other recent #FridayFlash stories (not to mention the #TuesdaySerial). So the big question: is it wrong to be a “zombie whore”? I don’t think so, not if you write them because you enjoy writing them. I like doing a slightly different take on the zombie apocalypse — such as scavengers on the edges of the horde, or even grass-eating zombies.

I’m working on a soundtrack for White Pickups. I’m about 40% done, and that’s just songs in my own playlists. I’ll continue looking for suitable tunes.


I happened across a site called ifttt (IF This Then That) recently. It’s really handy, the way it can tie many of your online services (and your phone) together. It doesn’t talk directly to Blogger, but does read RSS feeds, so I have it auto-tweet new blog posts and text me when someone comments. Several people have had trouble with Feedburner’s auto-tweet lately, and I pointed them to ifttt. I may expand on what I’m using it for later on. I also need to talk about Calibre, and how it can turn your Kindle (or other eReader) into an offline blog/news reader.

Let There Be Light

You know I wouldn’t pass up a chance to re-use this picture, right?

Tuesday evening, I was playing with Mason under his bed for a few minutes. When I went to get up, I put my left knee down on the register grate… then put my entire weight on that knee. HURT I limped around for a few minutes until the pain went away and didn’t think much of it.

Until that night, when it hurt enough to wake me up. Ibuprofen was my friend then and for the next two nights. It never got to the point where I couldn’t walk on it, or needed my friend Reality the crutch, but I didn’t like it much. From then until Friday afternoon, when the pain subsided, I didn’t do much tweeting, blogging, or writing. I’d planned to post yesterday’s October Horror Spotlight on Thursday, but it was one of the casualties of the week.

So when I got home from work on Friday, I got crackin’ on my #FridayFlash and got it posted.

But Saturday brought new issues to the fore. Ever since the fluorescent fixture in our bathroom crapped out again last winter, we’ve been getting by with a lamp on the vanity. It hasn’t been a wonderful workaround — it gave just enough light to be useful, but took up space and we kept trying to flip the switch. We finally decided to do something about it and picked up a new fixture at Home Despot.

As with any project, I realized I needed more parts once I actually got started, not to mention getting the wrong parts for the next thing, so back I went. With everything I needed, the actual job took less time than the round trips needed to get the stuff. (I took the picture with auto-exposure set to −2 so the light wouldn’t blow out the whole picture.)

A less annoying, but still necessary project, completed the electrical work at FAR Manor. One of the dimmers in the living room wasn’t working right, and I decided to get something that didn’t have a large protruding knob that Mason or Skylar could put a lot of sideways force on. What I really wanted were the new touch-plate dimmers, but they didn’t have any rated to work with dimmable CFL or LED bulbs. So I settled on sliders with rocker switches.

One of the things I got on my second trip was a wall plate and a 3-way switch. It turns out that they don’t have a wall plate with two big rectangular cutouts (slider size) and one small (regular switch size). So I replaced the working switch with a rocker so I could get a plate to fit them all.

Unlike the bathroom light, where I just had to turn off a switch to have safe working conditions, we had to find the breakers for the dimmers. Once that was accomplished, I got to work… OH $#¡+ the 3-way switch was on another circuit we hadn’t shut off! Mrs. Fetched fixed that by hitting the main breaker, and I got that job finished without any further tingly zappage.

So I have a good dimmer and a good 3-way switch in the parts drawer now. I think I know where I want to put the dimmer…

Way Out West

Technically, this wasn't an “Escape from FAR Manor” — my employer has an office in Beaverton OR, and they wanted me to attend the Author-it training the writers out there were getting. Fortunately, we have something set up with a travel agency, and they took care of making the derangements (including changing my name on the plane tickets to match what’s on my driver’s license). It’s been like six years since I had to get on a plane, and several things have changed since then — like fees for just about everything including checked baggage. Since you’re allowed two carry-on bags (one luggage and one “personal item” such as a computer bag), I put my clothes in a soft-sided bag and loaded up the laptop bag with other things.

So Monday morning, I bolted out the door a little later than planned since I was trying to take care of a panic-mode glitch in one of Mrs. Fetched’s video projects — leaving behind the credit card I’d planned to use for incidentals such as the hotel room and rental car. Fortunately, I’d stopped for lunch just a little ways down the road and was able to call someone to bring it to me.

It’s difficult to find a non-stop flight from Atlanta to Portland, and nearly impossible to find one that fits the corporate travel budget, so I had an hour and a half layover in Chicago. O’Hare is undergoing a lot of reconstruction right now, so things are a little strange. For the first time in my experience, they rolled stairs up to the plane and we got off outside. Cool! Getting to the next gate took about a third of my layover time. It was going to be a long leg to Portland — around five hours — so I asked the guy at the United desk whether the inflight meal was worth paying for. “The food itself is okay,” he said, “but you don’t get very much.” He proceeded to suggest a place just down the hall that made great hot sandwiches, and I took his advice. It was an early supper, but it was going to be a long evening (made even longer by shifting three time zones west).

On the plane, I suddenly realized I’d left my crappy feature phone in the terminal. A flight attendant told me there was time for me to go grab it, but another one brought it in and asked if anyone had lost a phone. I was of two minds: 1) Whew! 2) Can’t get rid of it, it followed me onto the plane! I suspect if I’d left an iPhone behind, I’d have never seen it again. We left without further incident, and I spent the flight reading and listening to my iPod.

In Portland, the nice young woman at the Hertz rental counter gave me directions to the hotel — or rather, directions to the exit I needed to take. The hotel turned out to be a few blocks off the road, and I stumbled across our office while looking for it. I finally stopped and called the front desk and got directions. The room was labeled “kid-friendly” — it had a little table for kids to sit and draw or play board games, there were cute decorations all over… Mason would have loved it, but I had it all to myself.

Mason and Dutch

For me, the high point of the trip was meeting Janet, a regular on Andi’s blog, and her husband Wayne. They lived just a few miles away, so we managed to get together the last evening I was there at a local Thai restaurant. They plied me with gifts for Mason (really cool folks!) and sent me back with most of the leftovers. I didn’t do much exploring other than that, just spent a lot of uninterrupted evening time writing. I pretty much stayed jet-lagged the entire week, waking up at 4am every morning.

The second-to-high point was the first leg of the trip home. The TSA people in Portland actually smile and talk to you; I asked one if there was a problem bringing my lunch through security. “No,” he said with a grin, “but you might have to share!” I didn’t have to, but there was plenty. The first leg of this trip was to Seattle, on Horizon/Alaska Air. Not only did they roll the staircases out like in Chicago, it was a twin turbo-prop! I hadn’t flown on a prop plane since college, in the days of North Central/Republic Airlines. More cool! They used two staircases, which made boarding a lot less congested than usual. We got in the air, and they brought beverages around. Including… free beer! I LOVE THIS AIRLINE! I did ask them if they planned to serve Atlanta any time soon (doesn’t sound like it, drat).

Finally, the long flight to Atlanta on Delta. And here was a surprise: every leg, both ways, was on a different plane. The Boeing 757 was easily the most cramped from a passenger standpoint, while still being the largest. Even the Bombardier prop-job was more comfortable. I read a lot, catnapped, and generally endured until we landed. Delta’s gone downhill in a lot of ways in the last 20 years.

With the unresolved jet-lag, at least I didn’t have to readjust when I got home.

Lobster Toss

Lobster hasn’t been at the manor for more than a few minutes at a time since we returned from the resort. We specifically told him to not bring his girlfriend over here, especially since he hasn’t even started divorce proceedings, so he (and she) have been at Big V’s place. Another instruction I gave him before we left for Michigan was: “no drugs over here, or you’re outta here.”

Well… back when M.A.E. was still here, the first night we left for Michigan, he and a friend (that Mrs. Fetched told him to never bring to the manor) went in the detached garage and did some meth.
According to M.A.E., he was so whacked he probably doesn’t remember her cussing him out. So last night, Mrs. Fetched told me I needed to tell him to pack it up. Fine, whatever.

So tonight I sat down to check the state of the Internet and it immediately started thundering. I unplugged the power strip and figured that telling Lobster to come get his stuff would be a waste of time because he’s: a) too lazy to get off his girlfriend and do it; b) hoping Mrs. Fetched would forget about it if he put it off long enough, because she has a history of doing that. We’ve been down this road before; I grabbed a couple of garbage bags and waded into the nightmare that is the former bedroom of The Boy and Snippet (and Lobster, sleeping on a mattress at the foot of the bed).

The pile of dirty clothes behind the door was immediately recognizable as Lobster’s, so I shoveled clothes into one of the bags. After removing our towels (so that’s where they all went!), the remaining pile of clothes fit easily into one bag. I started on a second pile, but began recognizing some of those as The Boy’s things. I did, however, find a suitcase that belonged to Lobster so the clothes that looked clean went in there. Things that were obviously garbage went into the trash.

As I was finishing up, Mrs. Fetched made her slow way up the steps. After seeing what I was up to, she joined in. As with anything the wife does, scope creep ensued and (after figuring we got all of Lobster’s stuff bagged up) we started going through all the other crap laying on the floor. There were dishes, cups, a few empties (mostly beer but there was a Crown Royal bottle too), more socks, more towels, more socks, and even more socks. I took a deep breath and dived under the bed and found… more socks, among many other things including several empty photo albums for Mason and a bag of (thankfully unused) condoms. Many little bits of paper and other articles of trash. The iPad charger and an All Dogs Go To Heaven DVD. The lighter I’d been missing (for starting fires in the patio table firepit).

But the crowning horror was yet to come. Daughter Dearest complained mightily about the state of the bathroom when she was here last weekend. She even taped a note to Lobster on the mirror, ending with “if you would clean up after yourself, maybe you could keep a girlfriend.” We found the note in the bedroom; I was surprised he didn’t wad it up or shred it. But the bathroom hadn’t been cleaned up beyond removing the note. Mrs. Fetched, who has cleaned up a dead man’s blood in the bizarre reality that is life at FAR Manor, started by mining out the mildewed washcloths and towels piled in a corner. She asked me to bring a broom, the mop, and the mop bucket. Figuring she’d want me to bring up the cleaning stuff she forgot to ask for, I added it to the load.

So that’s where we are tonight. Mrs. Fetched is cleaning up the biohazardous upstairs bathroom, after I took some risks picking up crap in the bedroom. Tomorrow, I’m getting a large bottle of rum and drinking myself happy.

Moving Furniture

With M.A.E. out of the manor, Mrs. Fetched decided it was time to bring in the bed she bought for Mason at a yard sale last year. There were many cobwebs to clean out of various corners, and I ended up vacuuming then wiping down each part with a towel, and that got it pretty clean.

Whoever designed this bed knows little boys. It’s up off the ground, giving room for a matching dresser and cubby along one side. The door on the footboard turns the rest of the under-bed into either storage or a kid’s fortress of solitude.

Mason said, “Cheeeeeese!” as I took the picture. Where did he learn that from?

Mason watched and “helped” as I assembled everything, then put the slats, pad, and mattress on top. He was suddenly less pleased with the door, but I showed him that he could come out the back side and around and that mollified him a bit.

The cubby is a tight squeeze for a kid, even one as small as Mason, but I told him he could throw toys in there. He opened it, tossed whatever gadget he was holding at the moment, then closed it. Now if we can get him to do that consistently…

He’s still in the crib for now, and this will be the guest bed until he’s old enough to sleep in it himself.

Amusing, but Only a Little

This evening, Mrs. Fetched and I went down to Big V’s with some chow — and Skylar. The big blond chunker is starting to think FAR Manor is home, but he’s always glad to see his gramma. Mrs. Fetched set up her morning meds — I think they’d be enough to fill her up and she wouldn’t need breakfast — while I had one eye on the Kindle (reading Seed by Ania Ahlborn right now) and one on Skylar. Meanwhile, The Boy was tasked with watching Mason.

We came home to find The Boy sacked out in the lounge chair and Mason playing quietly in the living room. He’d only pulled a few old VHS tapes off a shelf — and laid one on The Boy and two on the love seat. As I picked up the latter, he brought me the sleeves.

M.A.E. and Daughter Dearest were lurking nearby if anything came up, but Mason was being mostly good (if a little mischievous about the tapes). I’m glad it wasn’t Skylar; he’d have made a huge mess for sure and probably hurt himself. As it was, the results were only amusing. Yes, The Boy gets up really early for his job these days, but he needs to focus…

Mason Gets a Boo-Boo, and What Part of…

I came home Saturday evening from dropping M.A.E. off at her work (Burger King). Mason was stumping around on the floor, looking at his feet, and Mrs. Fetched looked more than a little upset.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Look at Mason.” I did — and saw a knot on his forehead about the size of a golf ball. Seems he’d been in the playpen while Mrs. Fetched was starting a fire, moved a toy to the side, climbed up on it, then dived out head-first. He was hysterical for a while, Mrs. Fetched nearly as bad off, but eventually got over the fright and initial pain and went back to playing around. I was going to nickname him “Lumpy” for a while, but the swelling went down rapidly. It’s just a small bump and a bruise on his forehead now.

He’s also suffering from either allergies or just plain Pollen Overload. Mrs. Fetched took him to the doctor today and got something to help with the congestion. Maybe he’ll sleep through the night now… after three blissful full-sleep nights last week, the bill came due. With interest. Last night, I was about to get into bed at 12:30 (far later than I wanted) and Mason woke up. It was past 1 a.m. by the time I was able to crawl in, and then he woke up again at 3. When Mrs. Fetched goes out to him, he calls for me, but I was just too wasted to do anything but lay there and try to sleep again. Maybe it’ll be better tonight.


I’m going to have to stop working at home for a while, I think. Last Thursday was the last straw. I’d been complaining to Mrs. Fetched that nobody (including her) hesitates to interrupt me when I’m supposed to be working. “I know,” she says — which must mean but I don’t care because it never changes. So Thursday morning, she futzed about doing things that she deemed important while I took care of Mason, and there went the first hour of “work.” Any day I work at home, M.A.E. interrupts me about four times a day, wanting me to watch the kids while she goes out and sucks butt (i.e. cigarette). Mason usually gets too cranky for me to deal at least once a day, so I have to go out and comfort him and sometimes get him to take the nap he needs.

Then M.A.E. had to pick up her check from work. Moptop was napping when it was time to go at 3:30. Mrs. Fetched assured me that she would just take her there and come back by the time Moptop woke up at 4:30. Well… Moptop slept until 4:30 all right — almost on the dot — but no Mrs. Fetched. “Oh, we’re still on our way back. Why don’t you meet us at Zaxby’s for supper?” And that was the last hour of work gone. I really didn’t get much done because I knew I’d not get rolling before the next interruption. Thus, I’m not going to work at home this week. I haven’t said anything, because nobody’s listening and there’s no need for words anyway. If I can’t work at home when I’m supposed to be working, I won’t stay home.

The deal may have been sealed this evening, when Mrs. Fetched talked about me watching Moptop again while I’m supposed to be working on Thursday. There was some static on the line, so I may not have heard right, but it wouldn’t surprise me if I did understand correctly. Or maybe it’s the Evil Twins who are going to watch her — they just called about arranging to babysit. Maybe I will work at home on Thursday.

Whew

Mrs. Fetched is not at the manor tonight. FINALLY, I get to catch up on blog stuff!

Saturday was one of those weekend days I’m not terribly thrilled with: when I’m doing everything except what I’d like to be doing on a weekend. On a whim, I kept track of my hours:

08:00 - 10:30 Watching Mason
10:30 - 12:00 Video shoot (for one of DoubleRed’s classes)
12:00 - 02:30 Lunch with Mrs. Fetched’s dad (plus a side trip)
02:30 - 03:30 Trimming the hedges, something that was really needed
03:30 - 04:30 Taking M.A.E. to work
04:30 - 07:30 Watching Mason, took him to the park (see below)
07:30 - 09:00 Supper (at Ryan’s with Mrs. Fetched’s parents)
09:00 - 09:30 The only free time I had all day
09:30 - 10:30 Doing taxes
10:30 - 11:45 Picking up M.A.E. from work
11:45 - bedtime

The reason I did this? I was anticipating hearing Mrs. Fetched gripe about why I hadn’t finished the taxes yet. She wisely chose to not say anything.

During the afternoon Mason shift, I took him to the park. He was indifferent to getting in the car, but got really excited when he saw where we were going. I had absolutely no problem bundling him into the stroller and taking him there.

He had a pretty good time — especially since he decided he was now brave enough to go down the slides. So he went down…

…and up, proving he’s The Boy’s child.

If you haven’t been keeping up with White Pickups, the last episode drove off last week. Of course, I haven’t resolved many important issues, including the nature of the pickups themselves. The sequel, Pickups and Pestilence, should tie up all the loose ends. There’s still the work of transforming the original story into a regular novel and doing “something” with it. Whether that “something” is trying to get an agent and go the traditional publishing route, or short-circuit that whole circus and indie-publish, is something I’ll be wrestling with for a while. Whichever way I go, I want the entire story complete.

Somewhere along the line, I decided to give Scrivener a try. It comes highly recommended by several writers I know, and you can download it and try it free for 30 days, so I figured I had little to lose. It took me about an evening to realize it caters to my episodic novel-writing style, and another day or two to realize it can export to the major eBook formats, so I decided to cough up the $45 for it. Being a cheap so-and-so, when I saw the “enter coupon code” field in the web order form, I hunted up a coupon code online and got it for $36 instead. The sequel is already in there, and now I just need to bring in the original… and FAR Future while I’m at it.

Over the weekend, one of my Twitter buddies retweeted a link to a writing contest, hosted by a fantasy journal called Hogglepot. Brooke hadn’t received any entries, with only a week left in the submission period, and I just happened to have a story that fit the criteria — a longer version of The Philosopher’s Stone. To get it close to the 1000-word flash criterion, I’d cut it down to the point of damaging the story. The longer version might get a chance to breathe in a different venue. I hope there’s some more entries — I’d be thoroughly embarrassed if I ended up finishing second in a field of one — and Brooke has extended the deadline for two weeks, so if you have a fantasy short you ought to send it along.

Since I’ve been cranking out lots of #FridayFlash stories, I also need to figure out what I want to submit for Best of Friday Flash Vol 2. If I eliminate the serials (there go G-5 and Accidental Sorcerers), and anything over 1000 words (bye-bye Philosopher’s Stone), I still have several stories I think are worthy for consideration. But picking just one (that’s a requirement) is difficult. Maybe y’all can help? Which of these is the best one? Check ’em out if you can’t quite remember them…

• Click (a photo shoot that takes a turn for the weird)
• Assignation (sci-fi, infertility and intrigue)
• Go Out With a Bang (zombie)
• Put That Down! (the April Fool’s story at Mari’s blog)
• something else?

Leave a comment with your preference or tweet me — or heck, send me an email if you like. Just help me out, okay?

It’s not Wednesday, but just in case I don’t get a chance to wibble tomorrow, I’d like to welcome G.P. Ching to the free-range insane asylum. Ms. Ching is a Friday Flash stalwart, and has a debut novel out, The Soulkeepers. Go check her writing out!

And now, I’m off to type in what I wrote at lunch: some of Pickups and Pestilence. I’m down to five blank pages in my Moleskine…

Pulling Up, Welcome, Writing

Things have improved quite a bit in the last two days. The HR person went into the database and could see from the transaction history that I had tried to add The Boy, so she went ahead and fixed it. I came home to find both Skyler and Big V here at the manor, but they went home after a while so it was all good. I still find myself with very little free time, and end up staying up much later than I should. On the other hand, Moptop is back… none the worse, nor better either.


One thing I’ve been wanting to do for a while is say hello to new blog-followers and welcome everyone to the free-range insane asylum. Since I haven’t done this before, I’m going to go back a couple months. From here on, I’ll list those since the last shout…

• Lace — Survival Suburbanite Style

• Clifton Hill — artist, writer, book reviewer

• Craig WF Smith — author of Zoolin Vale and the Chalice of Ringtar

• John Anelio — musician specializing in Sci Fi Songs

• Icy Sedgwick — aspiring author and great photo prompts (see Click, The Philosopher’s Stone)

• Apple Ardent Scott — writes horror and cool flash fiction

• Cathy Webster — fiction and life, it’s like TFM without the angst

• Mari Juniper — “stories, reflections, and pretty things”

• John Wiswell — anyone with the guts to call his blog The Bathroom Monologues is worth reading!

• Laurita Miller — and I seem to have lost her blog…


With the last few episodes of White Pickups waiting to be posted, I’ve been going back into the story and doing some preparatory work on the eBook version. The primary thread, how Cody becomes the person everyone looks to, is (I think) in reasonable shape. I need to work on some of the supporting characters, and these last few episodes are setting the stage for the sequel without really supporting the current story lines. Kind of sloppy, but that’s what happens when you just start writing sometimes. Without them, the ending felt kind of abrupt, which is why I didn’t just move them to Book 2.

I’m working on defining the framework for the two books now, which is probably a good idea because the second one is already about a third written.

Meanwhile, the Accidental Sorcerers series is already done — easy enough, since it’s only four parts — and the next three parts come out on successive Fridays. As in, part 2 tomorrow. Stay tuned…

Weekend Roundup

There’s been enough stuff going on, but not enough time to post mid-week. I hate when that happens, so I’ll just dump everything in one post…

The Boy and I replaced brake pads on both my Civic and Mrs. Fetched’s on Monday afternoon (which was a paid holiday in the US). Doing this without a C-clamp — or rather, being unable to find any of several C-clamps I should have around the manor — to push the brake piston into the caliper can be rather difficult. After a lot of frustration, I hit on the idea of using this gigantic ancient screwdriver I found laying on the highway to pry against the brake pad, and that worked. The next three calipers combined took us less time than the first.

But I’d been hearing some disturbing rumors, and decided to come right out and ask The Boy about it: “Are you and Snippet back together?”

“Yeah.”

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHH!!!!!!

Fortunately, what goes up must come down, and The Boy came in from work this morning in a sour mood. Seems that Snippet is “still confused about whether she loves me, so I made it really easy on her, I’m done with her.” WOOHOOOO!!! I hope it’s permanent this time. Snippet may have made threats about getting custody of Mason (not gonna happen) because he’s talking about having him “legitimized.” Seems like since Mason’s family name (on his birth certificate) is the same as The Boy’s, it shouldn’t be difficult. Besides, the paper granting Mrs. Fetched guardianship obligates her to make sure he’s cared for. Snippet didn’t care enough to get her skinny @$$ out of bed in the afternoon to take care of him when she was here, so why would things be different when nobody’s trying to get her to do anything at all?


Excuses for not writing:

1) Your grandbaby snatched your pen and Moleskine out of your shirt pocket. (See, I’ve got proof!)

2) The rest of the family thinks that watching TV is infinitely more important than taking care of said grandbaby, so they drop the kid on the one person who has better things to do than watch TV.

3) Feline interference.

Actually, I’ve been doing some writing… mostly #FridayFlash stories. I just haven’t had much time to dedicate to a serious edit of White Pickups, which is needed to fix various issues. There’s also a sequel to attend to. I wasn’t planning to serialize that one here on the blog, but if that’s what it takes to get me to finish it… I’ll need lots of urging in the comments as I post episodes though. Ideas come fast and furious these days, and even if they don’t, there are various writing prompts to try. Not to mention ideas I’ve shelved…

There are various “collectors” out there, and I’ve started submitting White Pickups to the Tuesday Serial collector and my flash stories to the FridayFlash collector. I had what I think is a wicked-cool idea for a flash collector: send a story link, it strips out everything but the story and compiles all submissions into a weekly anthology (or magazine if you prefer) in both ePub and MOBI formats. The whole thing could be automated — probably would have to be if it caught on — and would give people who have eReaders and long stretches of time offline the chance to keep up with the many good stories being blogged out there.

Some people put audio versions of their flash stories on Audioboo. My test run with that suggests the story needs to be around 750 words maximum to fit in the 5 minutes provided there. But I might try it. I do occasionally write something really short (I have one that’s less than 200 words in current trim) so I do have some fodder to work with.


I would love to take a vacation. Daughter Dearest is home for spring break, which would have been a good time to go. Oh well, I hope it means I’ll get a little relief from the near-nightly (and all weekend) Mason-sitting for a couple weeks. The Boy and I did take him over to the park this afternoon, among other things, and he didn’t want to go back inside when we got home. He needed a nap, and refused to take one, then finally demanded a bottle. He usually only gets a bottle at bedtime now, but we were both tired and cranky and I figured it was worth a try. He was out in ten minutes.

Oh, and the battery died in my motorcycle — at work, naturally. Fortunately, it’s light enough to push to the top of the driveway and I was able to roll-start it and get home. But with gas prices going through the roof all of a sudden, this wasn’t the time. (But is there ever a good time to have your battery die?)

48 Hours in the Dark: Misery or Inconvenience?

Updated September 2017, February 2022, December 2022. Changes are preserved at archive.org.

During one of the many winter storms to hit the US this month (January 2011), one of my online friends (whom I won’t name to protect the innocent) lost power for nearly 48 hours.

Power outages in the summer are mostly inconvenient. Mostly—people with certain health issues would say different. During winter, they can be miserable and even deadly. We’ve had winter storms here on Planet Georgia that knocked our power out for over a week. The first one (The Blizzard of ’93) was horrid, because we had nothing in the way of emergency supplies. The next big one (“Ice2K” in January 2000), we rode out in relative comfort. We’ve been through others since then, the most recent in 2018. It was a hassle, but we had learned our lesson.

Both FAR Future and White Pickups are stories of survival, at their base. Indeed, Johnny Latimer made the basic needs explicit in one episode of White Pickups: food, fuel, water, shelter. For now, let’s assume shelter isn’t an issue — you’re safe in your house or apartment, but the power’s out. It’s probably cold outside. Since you’re at home, you (usually) have food… just make sure you have things you can fix without needing to cook. So now you’re down to needing two essentials, fuel (heat) and water… and hey, maybe the waterworks has backup power? Maybe the pipes aren’t frozen? Maybe not. The thing is, winter storms and tropical storms usually give you some warning, and a day or so to get ready. Don’t waste it.

Unless you live in a rural area like around FAR Manor, chances are the power won’t be out for nine days after a storm. Unless it’s a really big one. But for now, assume two or three days. Your food and shelter are intact; all you need to worry about is fuel (heat, light) and water. With a few inexpensive items, you can turn a miserable two or three days into a mere hassle.

Water is self-explanatory. You need it for drinking, washing, and cooking. Figure on a gallon (or 4 liters) per person per day for drinking, and another for washing and cooking. Either buy enough for two or three days at the grocery store, or wash out a couple of containers and fill ’em up. Change out the water every couple of weeks if you fill your own containers; water your plants with it or drink it then refill. A really good idea I heard is to fill large freezer bags with water and put them in the freezer. You can pull them out to thaw overnight, or they’ll help keep your freezer food cold. Camping stores have collapsable 5-gallon (20 l) water jugs. Fill your bathtub to use for flushing the toilets. One or two packs of wet-wipes are useful for cleaning hands and faces (and other body parts as needed).

Fuel can be a little more difficult. If you have a gas stove, no problem — open the oven and set it on low, that’s a trick the old-timers know about. You can also cook on a gas stove with or without electricity. If you have a pilotless stove, you’ll need matches or a lighter to take the place of the electric igniter. But if you have all-electric appliances, you need to break out a grill or camp stove. The unfortunate thing with those is, you don’t want to use them indoors. Cooking on a gas stove means any wasted heat warms up at least your kitchen.

Speaking of kitchens… canned food can be a godsend during an extended blackout, but only if you can open the cans. I heard a story about the 2021 Texass blackout, where a survivalist had a ton of canned goods and electric can openers. If you can work a hand-cranked can opener, spend the extra money on a good one (I have a KitchenAid, no regrets). I always rinse off my hand-cranked can openers after use, to keep them clean. Even a super-cheap one can last a long time if they stay clean. If you have trouble with hand tools, there are battery-operated openers. Just make sure you have spare batteries on hand, and make sure they’re working before you need them.

Depending on your ability to cope with the situation, you can get by with very little or require a lot. But fuel isn’t just heat, it’s light. “It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness,” and that goes double for when the power’s out. The nice thing about candles is that they’re portable and can be decorative as well — meaning you can have them out on display instead of stashing them in a closet. A candle holder with a glass chimney is good because it lets you carry it around without dripping hot wax on your hand. Just keep matches or a lighter handy. Oil lamps or kerosene lanterns are nice to have, especially for reading, since they’re brighter. To get more light in a certain direction, put a mirror or square of aluminum foil behind the candle or lamp. They all provide both light and a little heat.

You can also go with a wind-up flashlight; I bought one for $8 a couple years back and I used it for years. In these modern times, you can get electric lanterns that can charge on a USB port and even provide a USB charger. Some have a hand crank, if you don’t have any other way to charge them.

Mobile electronic gadgets are a lifeline for lots of people these days, and not just in urban or suburban locations. How do you keep your phone going, when the outlets aren’t cooperating?

Besides the USB lantern, you can get portable battery packs to keep your phone going for one more day They aren’t terribly expensive, but you do need to make sure they’re charged up before the storm hits. If you have a car, you can use its battery to charge your devices. If you have a need, drive around some to keep the car battery from wheezing.

Apartment dwellers might not have this option, or would be severely limited, but having a backup generator could be a lifesaver. A 12KW generator can run pretty much anything you need in the aftermath of a winter storm, including the water pump and hot water heater (if you start them one at a time, anyway). A 4KW generator can run a gas furnace, refrigerator, and lights. Even a tiny 1KW “camp” generator can run lights, chargers, and a small space heater.

An inexpensive camp stove can be a big help for warming soup or heating water for coffee (or for washing). It’s amazing how much better you’ll feel with a cup of hot coffee (or tea) and a clean face! Choose a model that uses sealed propane or butane canisters, they're safer and burn cleaner. Put it near a window and open the window a crack while in use, to keep a healthy level of oxygen in your dwelling. The older models that use “white gas” or “Coleman fuel” need to sit outside. If you have a sheltered porch, or (in apartments) an outside hallway, that should be fine.

When the sun is shining in your windows, open the curtains and let it in. Hang blankets over windows in shadow to keep more heat in. Wearing layers inside can keep you warm, especially if you’re active (walking around). Kerosene heaters can be used safely, but if you have curious pets or children who can knock it over… not a great idea. The fumes from a heater give the wife a headache, so they may not be for you in any case. The “Buddy” line of camping heaters run on small propane cylinders; many are rated for indoor use. Just make sure you have spare cylinders available for 2 or 3 day outages (mine would use 3 per day, if running 24/7).

If you have a bunch of snow on your balcony or porch, it can help to keep your refrigerated items from spoiling. Pack snow into a pot and put it in the fridge, or pack snow and your necessities into a cooler and let it stay out in (shaded) sub-freezing weather. You can melt snow for washing if needed; if you heat it over a stove, stir it to prevent a scorched smell.

Finally, develop a routine — it will help a lot with the psychological part of things. Adjust the curtains, get snow, read, exercise, fix meals, check on your neighbors, call friends or relatives. It gives you a feeling of control over the situation, instead of waiting for the power trucks to show up.

Additions? Corrections? Leave a comment…

Wednesday (cough cough) Wibbles

OK, that’s enough of that. The “new” Blogger editor was sitting and spinning so I gave up and went back to the old one.

So it’s after midnight, and thus technically Thursday morning. Oh well, it’s still Wednesday night somewhere.

Mason has an ear infection, brought on by his back teeth coming in. I have some unspecified virus, according to the doc, that’s been going around Sector 706. Two different causes, but we’re both feverish, congested, and we both sound like we’re about to cough up a lung on occasion. I was well for about four days between shucking the first whatever and catching this one. I’d sleep all night anyway, or most of it, if Mason wasn’t waking up miserable.

Today (that is, Wednesday) was Mrs. Fetched’s and my 26^th anniversary. We had a dinner out, just the two of us. Kind of nice for a change. I bought us an AppleTV to go with the new HDTV as an anniversary present, and pulled some YouTube stuff in just to show off. The Boy has a Netflix account, and he said he’ll punch it in so we (Mrs. Fetched, really) can pull down movies to watch. Me, I’ll probably use it to stream Groove Salad or some other ambient station when I’m trying to put Mason to sleep.

With White Pickups pretty much wrapped up, I pulled it (episode by episode) into Sigil, a Free authoring tool that uses ePub as a native file format. From there, I gave it a more novel-like format, including actual chapters, and added some more story toward the beginning. There’s still a lot to go, but I pulled it into Calibre (a free ebook manager) and convert it to MOBI so I could load it onto my Kindle. I’m busy reading Thoreau’s Walden right now, but I’ll be soon marking places where the story needs more fleshing-out. I’m sure the ending (and other parts) will need a little work, but that’s what drafts are for, right? Whether I find a publisher or go indie (still trying to decide), the novel will have editing improvements and extended material.

Speaking of writing, I’ll have a #FridayFlash ready to go. It needs a little work as well, but that’s the beauty of flash fiction — it can be fixed up well enough in an evening or two.

I can’t wait to get better… I have stuff to do outside. I never did get the winter garden started, although the rain (and snow) never did let the patch dry out enough to dig up. I still need to finish clearing up the bank out by the road and hacking back the vines there. At least I managed to lose four pounds compared to June (at my last checkup), even with Eating Season. But I need to get exercising too. Maybe I’ll stay healthy for more than four days this time. :-)

Holiday Haircuts

It’s a good thing Mrs. Fetched scheduled everyone to get a haircut yesterday — Mason woke up with a case of Epic Bed Hair:

I tried smoothing it down a bit, to no avail. Oh well, he was more interested in eating breakfast than his appearance, so I got him (and me) some cereal.

Mason was the first to get a haircut. I sat in The Chair, he sat (then stood, by request) and did pretty well. He kind of flinched at the sound of scissors snapping around his ears, but he got the bed hair fixed then trimmed down. He no longer has Old Man Hair, which is his usual state. Then it was my turn. He sat on Mrs. Fetched’s lap and watched big hunks of my hair fall to the floor… and said “oh dear!” loud and clear. He’s really started talking a lot in the last week; he’ll often repeat words spoken to him or at least try (except he won’t say “grape” — he’s too busy eating them to name them).

So after we got our haircuts, and while Mrs. Fetched and Daughter Dearest were getting theirs, Mason started wandering around. The shoppe has a helpful basket of rollers that kind of stick to each other that they keep out for the kids to play with — “we had someone here with her 15-year old kid and he made a Christmas tree out of them” they told us — and he had a good time pulling them out and strewing them across the floor.

But that didn’t last too long… he likes to explore. He thumbed through a couple magazines out front, then found the bathroom area. They have this little flower fairy statue, and Mason was fascinated with it. I didn’t get the camera out quick enough to catch him rubbing “her” boobs, but at least he hugged “her” afterwards. DoubleRed came by later; I told her about that and she said, “Yup, sounds like Mason. He’s gone for mine a few times.”

Then he took a little nap on the way home.

Friday Flush

This was going to be a Friday Flash post, but things didn’t quite work out that way. I’ll have it ready next week, but I might as well catch y’all up on the everlasting soap opera here…

Mrs. Fetched’s granny died earlier this week, age 98. The photo here is from last fall, obviously, when Mason was rather tiny. The Boy got tagged as a pallbearer, which meant he had to do the monkey suit thing… which meant I had to tie a tie for him and loan him a jacket and black pants. The funeral was in Rome (GA), which meant I put over 300 miles on Mrs. Fetched’s car Wednesday and Thursday. Mrs. Fetched’s sister (the one who gave me the iPad) got a block of hotel rooms near the funeral home, but The Boy needed to be home because it was nearly certain he’d have a probation-related drug/alcohol test on Thursday morning… which meant I got to drive home. Mason stayed at the hotel with Mrs. Fetched.

“Make sure you get me up at 5:00 to make my call,” he said as he headed upstairs.

“If I wake up, I will,” I said. Left unsaid was this is your responsibility, why are you trying to dump it on me? But I did wake up shortly after 5 a.m., and heard the squawk of his alarm all the way in my bedroom. No surprise there, he’d sleep through World War III. I went up and poked him, told him to make his phone call. He turned off the alarm and I went back to bed.

Surprise! He also rolled over and went back to sleep. A friend of his called at 8 a.m. to let him know he needed to do something, so I took him to the ER to get a screen there. He got his papers, and we came back home. Whether it will be enough is the question… if the judge declares him in violation, he goes to jail for 90 days this time.

We got some breakfast and headed back to Rome. Mason did fair… he loved the flowers and wanted to touch (and chew) them. He finally got bored about halfway through the service and Cousin Al took him out back. Then at the graveside, he decided he wanted to preach his own sermon. His second cousin Skyler was already removed from the immediate action (via a nephew), and his other second cousin Wyatt (with his mom) joined us soon after. Being removed from the scene did not deter Mason from delivering his sermon, though.

Meanwhile, my car was in for a new idler pulley (yay, I was afraid the power steering pump was shot). $180 got me rolling again. The mechanic was impressed by the 402,000 miles on the odometer, and that’s a little low because the speedo only works intermittently these days. At least with a manual transmission, you can use the tach to figure out how fast you’re going.

This evening, Mrs. Fetched decided to (finally) put up the tree… so the living room looks like it always does this time of year. Mason and Moptop each hung ornaments on the lower branches, I’ll post pics tomorrow when I get a chance. I also made a loaf of bread this evening, and marked it with an M (for Mason). There was some dough stuck to the bread machine pan after the dough cycle completed. so I rolled it out and put it on top of the loaf. That I’ll also shoot in the morning…