Many technical writers have been looking long and hard at working with XML, for a variety of reasons — ranging from a resume bullet-point to a genuine hope that it could improve productivity and help us better maintain our documentation. The problem is, vendors and consultants are the primary cheerleaders for XML solutions; they’re are all too ready to roll out six-figure systems to the few companies that have documentation departments with sufficient budgets and ignore all the rest of us. I’ve ranted in the Yahoo XML-doc mailing list about this topic, warning that XML is poised to sink into obscurity like its predecessor SGML, and for the same reasons. I truly believe that if XML is to gain widespread acceptance by technical writers, there needs to be a simple (cheap, easy to learn, no consultants required) XML-based system that can produce real documentation. Something no more complex than HTML, for example.
As it turns out, standard HTML may be all that’s needed. Printing a Book with CSS: Boom! describes how the authors created a published (to paper) book using HTML to mark up the text, and CSS (Cascading Style Sheets) to provide the formatting. The trick is to use a commercial CSS-based formatter that supports the proposed functionality in CSS3 (a future standard), which provides page layout necessities like headers and footers.
My hat is off to the authors. We now know that HTML/CSS is adequate for book publishing; knowing that it’s feasible is half the battle.
Saturday, December 03, 2005 No comments
M.A.E. with PITA
M.A.E. and The Boy were goofing around a few nights back, and he tried to pick her up. What he actually did was drop her on her can. It didn’t take long before she was in serious hurt. Mrs. Fetched ended up staying up with her and giving her Advil until they could get to the chiro-cracker.
Dr. Chiro X-rayed her and yep, she had a compressed disk and some shifting down there. He did what he could to re-align it, and told her to use ice, help it out by pulling her knees to her chest, and avoid hot baths. Things started getting better, until M.A.E. forgot about the hot bath part and took one. Baaaaaaaaad move. Worse, Dr. Chiro had a continuing education seminar in Orlando, so he couldn’t do anything about it. He did refer her to a guy in the next town down, who worked on her for about an hour and only charged her $25 (very important, as she doesn’t have a lot of extra moolah).
Meanwhile, The Boy, who’s like half responsible for all this, is kind of ignoring the whole situation. For example, he called us while Daughter Dearest and I were running errands, and asked us to bring them home some lunch — but when we got there, he fixed his own plate and left it to M.A.E. to hobble out and get her own. Needless to say, she is getting more than a little cheesed.
The one bright spot: I apparently guessed right about the problem being inflammation. I have some good old aspirin (can’t seem to convince Mrs. Fetched that it does many things better than Tylenol or Advil). After we got M.A.E. to eat something, we gave her a couple of aspirin and it seems to have helped. Dr. Chiro will be back in tomorrow evening and will see her then — maybe he can do something else for her.
Dr. Chiro X-rayed her and yep, she had a compressed disk and some shifting down there. He did what he could to re-align it, and told her to use ice, help it out by pulling her knees to her chest, and avoid hot baths. Things started getting better, until M.A.E. forgot about the hot bath part and took one. Baaaaaaaaad move. Worse, Dr. Chiro had a continuing education seminar in Orlando, so he couldn’t do anything about it. He did refer her to a guy in the next town down, who worked on her for about an hour and only charged her $25 (very important, as she doesn’t have a lot of extra moolah).
Meanwhile, The Boy, who’s like half responsible for all this, is kind of ignoring the whole situation. For example, he called us while Daughter Dearest and I were running errands, and asked us to bring them home some lunch — but when we got there, he fixed his own plate and left it to M.A.E. to hobble out and get her own. Needless to say, she is getting more than a little cheesed.
The one bright spot: I apparently guessed right about the problem being inflammation. I have some good old aspirin (can’t seem to convince Mrs. Fetched that it does many things better than Tylenol or Advil). After we got M.A.E. to eat something, we gave her a couple of aspirin and it seems to have helped. Dr. Chiro will be back in tomorrow evening and will see her then — maybe he can do something else for her.
Friday, December 02, 2005 No comments
Yay
I got my driver’s license renewed today, only six days after it expired. It wasn’t too horrible of an experience; a neighbor needed a ride in that direction anyway so I got to talk to someone on the way down. After dropping her off, I grabbed an Arby’s turkey “Reuben” (hey, it ain’t a real Reuben anyway, on that swirly bread) and scarfed it on the way to the bureau.
As usual, there were a fair number of people waiting for their turn. I followed a younger couple in; the guy at the counter handed them a ticket (A110) and told them it would be about 45 minutes. “I don’t want to wait that long!” the woman exclaimed, then handed the ticket back and left. I’ve been to this place before; she has no idea that she will likely never get so lucky again.
“I’ll take that,” I told the counter guy.
He just looked at me, then said, “What are you here for?”
“Renewal.”
“Oh, okay.” He handed me the ticket, and I hopped back out to the car to get my copy of Motorcycle Consumer News, as I’m trying to catch up on some back issues. I’m down to the last few. Finding a plastic chair in the corner, I settled in to read.
I only got about eight pages read when my number came up. I went to the designated counter, handed the lady my old license (if she noticed it was expired, she didn’t say so), and told her I wanted the 10-year term (I figure by that time, we’ll be out of oil and I won’t have to worry about driving anymore, heh). As I went to get my picture taken, a woman cut in front of me and said, “What’s going on? Three people have gone ahead of me now!” I have no idea what system glitch was bedeviling this poor woman, but she was still waiting for something to happen when I left.
It might have taken 45 minutes from the time I stepped in to the time I left. And my picture doesn’t suck too badly.
As usual, there were a fair number of people waiting for their turn. I followed a younger couple in; the guy at the counter handed them a ticket (A110) and told them it would be about 45 minutes. “I don’t want to wait that long!” the woman exclaimed, then handed the ticket back and left. I’ve been to this place before; she has no idea that she will likely never get so lucky again.
“I’ll take that,” I told the counter guy.
He just looked at me, then said, “What are you here for?”
“Renewal.”
“Oh, okay.” He handed me the ticket, and I hopped back out to the car to get my copy of Motorcycle Consumer News, as I’m trying to catch up on some back issues. I’m down to the last few. Finding a plastic chair in the corner, I settled in to read.
I only got about eight pages read when my number came up. I went to the designated counter, handed the lady my old license (if she noticed it was expired, she didn’t say so), and told her I wanted the 10-year term (I figure by that time, we’ll be out of oil and I won’t have to worry about driving anymore, heh). As I went to get my picture taken, a woman cut in front of me and said, “What’s going on? Three people have gone ahead of me now!” I have no idea what system glitch was bedeviling this poor woman, but she was still waiting for something to happen when I left.
It might have taken 45 minutes from the time I stepped in to the time I left. And my picture doesn’t suck too badly.
Friday Night Cinema
Because you’re broke and exhausted from Christmas shopping.
’Tis the season, and this week’s feature is seasonal... in a “cock your head, raise one eyebrow, then go wubba-wubba-wubba” kind of way.
Simone Isaacs & George Isaacs: Black Jesus & Baby Buddha
’Tis the season, and this week’s feature is seasonal... in a “cock your head, raise one eyebrow, then go wubba-wubba-wubba” kind of way.
Simone Isaacs & George Isaacs: Black Jesus & Baby Buddha
Monday, November 28, 2005 1 comment
Your stress test results...
... are normal. So the doc told Daughter Dearest this afternoon.
Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance .....
Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance Happy dance .....
Sunday, November 27, 2005 1 comment
Ugly Sunday around here
I woke to sirens going by the house about 3:30 last night. Everyone else slept right through it like it they’d grown up in the metropolis.
Coming to church this morning, this was what the back door looked like. Click the picture to get a bigger image if you want, but in the end it’s some kid’s nasty idea of a practical joke. I cautioned other church members to not get too worked up about it, because that’s what the prankster wanted.
Then they told me Wesley Chapel, a church about a mile north of FAR Manor, had burned down last night. I thought maybe the tale had grown in the telling, but going over there this afternoon showed me different. Now I know what the sirens last night were about.
A lot of people, including myself at first, linked the two — although the fire department says a furnace problem caused the fire. It’s just an odd coincidence, how one church could get a door defaced and another burn down on the same night.
But thinking about it, I think it might be just a coincidence. The spray paint is only on the door, and should be fairly easy to clean off — we have some spray-on paint remover, and I would have given that a try today if I’d had a can of white spray paint to finish the job.
Needless to say, it was a rather somber day at church.
Coming to church this morning, this was what the back door looked like. Click the picture to get a bigger image if you want, but in the end it’s some kid’s nasty idea of a practical joke. I cautioned other church members to not get too worked up about it, because that’s what the prankster wanted.
Then they told me Wesley Chapel, a church about a mile north of FAR Manor, had burned down last night. I thought maybe the tale had grown in the telling, but going over there this afternoon showed me different. Now I know what the sirens last night were about.A lot of people, including myself at first, linked the two — although the fire department says a furnace problem caused the fire. It’s just an odd coincidence, how one church could get a door defaced and another burn down on the same night.
But thinking about it, I think it might be just a coincidence. The spray paint is only on the door, and should be fairly easy to clean off — we have some spray-on paint remover, and I would have given that a try today if I’d had a can of white spray paint to finish the job.
Needless to say, it was a rather somber day at church.
Friday, November 25, 2005 4 comments
Fiction: A Bloodless Coup
I’ve been planning to start putting some short stories, and perhaps a novel or two, online for a while now. What has held me up is debating on whether to post them here or on a new blog. For now, I guess I’ll put them here.
The first story is one of redemption, found by the most unlikely people, in the most unlikely place, on the eve of...
Voices broke the prisoner’s fitful sleep. A quiet conversation would not usually waken William, even from the uncomfortable slumber afforded by being shackled to a prison wall — but this particular voice brought him fully awake at once. So this is it, he thought. A thrill of apprehension — bah, call it what it is, fright — ran up his spine, but he resolved to show none of it to the Despot.
The sound of footsteps, echoing through the empty cells, reached him first. Time stretched to the breaking point; it seemed like years before two men finally stood before him. He recognized them both; one wore a dark travel-worn cloak, the other a guard’s uniform. The first said, “I wish to speak with the prisoner in private. Take the hidden exit and prepare two mounts for us.” It was widely rumored that Evard would at times ride through the realms in disguise, listening for dissent among the people. This explained the battered pack he carried; it would contain some plain clothes and other necessities. As for the first — William resigned himself to the inevitable. One secret he had, and he would likely carry it to his grave. With some luck, Evard, Overlord of the Three Realms, would shortly join him there.
The Overlord stood quietly for a moment, watching the prisoner, as the guard continued down the cell block. He saw a young man of medium build and dark brown hair, a somewhat younger-looking version of Evard himself. (There was much grey among the brown in Evard’s mane these days, however.) Like most of Evard’s prisoners, he looked somewhat the worse for wear but had no serious injuries. Unlike any other prisoner, he met Evard’s eyes boldly. “The Despot comes to gloat,” he said.
“Good evening, William of Oaktree,” the Overlord said. “I hope you are enjoying your stay; you won’t be here much longer.” The prisoner said nothing but watched the Overlord smile sadly. “I suppose you were wondering how I caught on to your plan to overthrow me,” he continued after a moment. “I must say, it was a very clever plan, but it had a fatal flaw that you could not have known about.
“You see, it was the exact same plan I used to topple Charles the Tyrant, twenty-seven years ago! Intriguing, eh?” William stared, then nodded reluctantly. “You’re clever — how could I say different? We’re much alike — or at least you are much like I was at your age. So it’s nothing you did that brought you here, just bad luck.”
“And some day, your luck will run out as well,” William growled defiantly.
“So true,” Evard agreed. William gave him a puzzled frown. “I’ve known that since the day you were born.”
“I?”
“Twenty-one years ago, the Prophet informed me that I would not — rather, the realm would not see old age remove me from my Seat. One must be careful when quoting prophecy, you know. You have undoubtedly heard the prophecy; Marie is a woman whose word cannot be suppressed.
“You were born on April twenty-eighth, no? That is the very day Marie stood before me and announced her prophecy against me. An amazing coincidence, don’t you think?” Evard put down his pack, then sat on the floor with his back against the bars of the empty cell opposite William’s. “There, now we speak eye to eye.
“So when I caught on to your plan, it became clear to me who you are. I summoned Marie this morning and asked her to tell me my fortune, now that you were in my hands. ‘By noon tomorrow,’ she said, ‘God will take the Three Realms from your hand and give them to another whom He has chosen.’ So you see, my luck truly has run out.”
“Then it’s over, or all but,” said William, smiling for the first time. “Whatever happens to me, at least I know it was worth it.”
“You understand, I was concerned,” Evard smiled back. “Marie once was a dear friend of mine — you find that surprising? I give you another surprise: she anointed me Lord of the Realms, the week before I overthrew Lord Charles. I suppose she has done the same for you? — no need to answer; your face tells all. In all the time I’ve known Marie, she has never prophesied wrong.
“When Marie left this morning, I went to my chambers and thought a great deal. I even prayed. That was difficult; I’ve been out of the habit for too long. I’d like to share some of my thoughts with you, but first —” Evard removed a scroll from his cloak — “can you guess what this is?”
William fought down the apprehension. “My death sentence, I suppose,” he replied dryly.
Evard laughed — not the cruel or maniacial laughter that William expected, but a hearty, even joyous laughter of a man enjoying a good joke. William thought — for a moment — that he could come to like a man who could laugh like this.
“No, not your death sentence, William,” chuckled Evard at last. “You live or die, it makes no difference to my fate. Tomorrow I am no longer the Overlord; Marie made that clear enough. What this is, you may come to think of as something worse than death.” He opened the scroll. “Judge for yourself:
The silence stretched between them for several moments, until William broke it. “Is — is this some kind of twisted joke?”
“Sadly, no,” sighed Evard. Marie’s prophecy will be fulfilled, in a way that I suspect will surprise even her. God takes the realm from my hand — an open hand that now offers Him what has always been His — and you take my place.”
“And you, what becomes of you?” William asked. “Do you expect me to simply let you go free?”
“I’m rather hoping you will,” Evard replied frankly. “But to make sure, I’m leaving it for your friends to release you.” The Overlord rolled up the scroll and tossed it through the bars into William’s cell, just out of reach. “When they come to set you free, they will find you here, with your proclamation. Marie knows my handwriting; she will confirm that I wrote it.
“So, tomorrow at noon, you become Overlord. The Three Rings are in my chambers, with a copy of the proclamation — and a list of those in the government whom you should... let’s say, offer honorable retirement. I’ve left strict orders with the staff that no one is to enter my chambers before noon tomorrow. In celebration of your capture, I have given the Sand Hill garrison three days’ leave, which should allow your friends to walk right in and free you — your jailer is also on his way home for an extended holiday. Marie will catch on to what is happening soon enough, and the people certainly will not rise up against you.
“Neat and orderly: no blood is shed. The garrison will be too hung over and confused to mount effective resistance, you have the approval of the Prophet, the people will regard you as a hero.”
“But why?”
“Which ‘why’ do you mean? Why you should let me go to find my fate? Why I’m stealing away? Why you? Which is it?”
William rubbed the back of his head on the rough wall of his cell. “All of it, I suppose. You’ve said why you’re leaving the Seat — I suppose you will take the wealth of the Realms with you?”
“You disappoint me, lad. What kind of repentance would it be, that I lay down the Three Rings and become a thief? No, you may have heard it said that I live as simply as one can in a palace and I will not hereafter live in luxury. I admit, I will not leave penniless, but I will take no more than the pension due a soldier who has served the Realms for nearly thirty years. Perhaps enough to buy a small croft in a faraway land.”
William let it pass. “Marie — you called her a friend?”
“Once upon a time, I railed against the Injustice of Charles. I must have had the favor of God, and I certainly had the good advice and friendship of a Lady who speaks His Word. Can you believe, the first few years of my reign were thought of as a kind of golden age? People prospered, they spoke without fear, and they hailed me as the Deliverer. Believe it or not, but tonight I will speak no lies.”
“Then... I remember hearing... what happened?” William hated himself for stammering in front of the Despot, but God! what was happening here? How could anyone expect this?
“I don’t rightly know.” Evard sighed and buried his head between his knees for a few moments, scratching the back of his scalp. Finally, he looked up and stared at the ceiling as he continued. “I can say this: the road to Evil is travelled one step at a time. You do something you ought not, justifying it as being good for the Realms. The next time, it becomes easier, and perhaps you go a little farther. Eventually, you begin to see your position as something other than a gift of God, you begin to see it as something that was rightly yours of birth. You see your deeds as Right, whether or not they truly are... then you do not hold the Seat so much as the Seat holds you.
“This is my warning to you, Lord William,” Evard looked directly at his prisoner and spoke sternly now. “I myself hung Charles the Tyrant in the Plaza, the day I took the Seat. I told myself, and all who would listen, that I was ending the Injustice with Justice. I could have given Charles an honest trial, and the result may well have been the same. But when you drink from that cup called Power, it’s so hard to put it down. You begin to listen only to that which you want to hear, and the prophets speak to you less and less and then one day they speak against you. You silence those who criticize you, first by threats and then by blood and fire. To make a long story short, in ten years’ time I was no better than the man I’d hung.”
Evard looked into the eyes of his prisoner, silent for a few moments. “It is said a death sentence focuses the mind,” he said at last. “Today, I realized I had a choice: put down the Three Rings and perhaps live, or let you or another worthy soul take them from my dead hand. Remember this, Lord William: God always gives you a choice, even at the very end. Perhaps especially at the very end. Tomorrow, Marie puts the Three Rings on your right hand, places the Staff of Office in your left, and leads you to your Seat. Perhaps it is in your mind to make hunting me down your first act of office. The people would likely applaud you for it. But unless I am dragged back by force, the sun will never shine upon Evard in the Three Realms again.”
A noise from the far end of the cell block told of the guard climbing the stairs: he no doubt had the horses ready. Evard stood and retrieved his pack. “Think on what I have said tonight, Lord William. Ask Marie, and she will speak truly. You may not like what you hear, but what she says you always need to know.”
“Milord?” the guard spoke through a door slightly ajar, giving the Overlord his privacy. “The horses are ready.”
“Good,” Evard called. “Go down and I will join you in a moment.” To William he said, “And now I bid you good-bye and good luck. Listen to your people, listen to your prophet, and above all listen to God. I can guarantee that we would not be having this conversation if I’d taken that advice myself.” And without another word, Evard bowed to the prisoner, grinned, shouldered his pack, and walked briskly toward the end of the cell block. To William, it was the stride of a much younger man — perhaps a young man who had found the mate of his dreams.
Near dawn, a lone figure watched from the shadows of a tavern stoop, as two men on horseback reached the Tri Via near the eastern border of the Three Realms. They spoke for a few minutes, then one of the men saluted, mounted up and rode back the way he came. The other stood and watched until he was out of sight, then turned back and tacked a paper to the trivia post. He looked around him, staring intently toward where the watcher hid unmoving, then mounted up and rode south toward Fenn Vale. Once the second rider had gone, the watcher walked hesitantly to the trivia post to see what had been left. If yet another had been there to watch the watcher, he would have seen the prophet Marie raise her hands heavenward and laugh, as if God had told her a very funny joke.
The first story is one of redemption, found by the most unlikely people, in the most unlikely place, on the eve of...
A Bloodless Coup
Voices broke the prisoner’s fitful sleep. A quiet conversation would not usually waken William, even from the uncomfortable slumber afforded by being shackled to a prison wall — but this particular voice brought him fully awake at once. So this is it, he thought. A thrill of apprehension — bah, call it what it is, fright — ran up his spine, but he resolved to show none of it to the Despot.
The sound of footsteps, echoing through the empty cells, reached him first. Time stretched to the breaking point; it seemed like years before two men finally stood before him. He recognized them both; one wore a dark travel-worn cloak, the other a guard’s uniform. The first said, “I wish to speak with the prisoner in private. Take the hidden exit and prepare two mounts for us.” It was widely rumored that Evard would at times ride through the realms in disguise, listening for dissent among the people. This explained the battered pack he carried; it would contain some plain clothes and other necessities. As for the first — William resigned himself to the inevitable. One secret he had, and he would likely carry it to his grave. With some luck, Evard, Overlord of the Three Realms, would shortly join him there.
The Overlord stood quietly for a moment, watching the prisoner, as the guard continued down the cell block. He saw a young man of medium build and dark brown hair, a somewhat younger-looking version of Evard himself. (There was much grey among the brown in Evard’s mane these days, however.) Like most of Evard’s prisoners, he looked somewhat the worse for wear but had no serious injuries. Unlike any other prisoner, he met Evard’s eyes boldly. “The Despot comes to gloat,” he said.
“Good evening, William of Oaktree,” the Overlord said. “I hope you are enjoying your stay; you won’t be here much longer.” The prisoner said nothing but watched the Overlord smile sadly. “I suppose you were wondering how I caught on to your plan to overthrow me,” he continued after a moment. “I must say, it was a very clever plan, but it had a fatal flaw that you could not have known about.
“You see, it was the exact same plan I used to topple Charles the Tyrant, twenty-seven years ago! Intriguing, eh?” William stared, then nodded reluctantly. “You’re clever — how could I say different? We’re much alike — or at least you are much like I was at your age. So it’s nothing you did that brought you here, just bad luck.”
“And some day, your luck will run out as well,” William growled defiantly.
“So true,” Evard agreed. William gave him a puzzled frown. “I’ve known that since the day you were born.”
“I?”
“Twenty-one years ago, the Prophet informed me that I would not — rather, the realm would not see old age remove me from my Seat. One must be careful when quoting prophecy, you know. You have undoubtedly heard the prophecy; Marie is a woman whose word cannot be suppressed.
“You were born on April twenty-eighth, no? That is the very day Marie stood before me and announced her prophecy against me. An amazing coincidence, don’t you think?” Evard put down his pack, then sat on the floor with his back against the bars of the empty cell opposite William’s. “There, now we speak eye to eye.
“So when I caught on to your plan, it became clear to me who you are. I summoned Marie this morning and asked her to tell me my fortune, now that you were in my hands. ‘By noon tomorrow,’ she said, ‘God will take the Three Realms from your hand and give them to another whom He has chosen.’ So you see, my luck truly has run out.”
“Then it’s over, or all but,” said William, smiling for the first time. “Whatever happens to me, at least I know it was worth it.”
“You understand, I was concerned,” Evard smiled back. “Marie once was a dear friend of mine — you find that surprising? I give you another surprise: she anointed me Lord of the Realms, the week before I overthrew Lord Charles. I suppose she has done the same for you? — no need to answer; your face tells all. In all the time I’ve known Marie, she has never prophesied wrong.
“When Marie left this morning, I went to my chambers and thought a great deal. I even prayed. That was difficult; I’ve been out of the habit for too long. I’d like to share some of my thoughts with you, but first —” Evard removed a scroll from his cloak — “can you guess what this is?”
William fought down the apprehension. “My death sentence, I suppose,” he replied dryly.
Evard laughed — not the cruel or maniacial laughter that William expected, but a hearty, even joyous laughter of a man enjoying a good joke. William thought — for a moment — that he could come to like a man who could laugh like this.
“No, not your death sentence, William,” chuckled Evard at last. “You live or die, it makes no difference to my fate. Tomorrow I am no longer the Overlord; Marie made that clear enough. What this is, you may come to think of as something worse than death.” He opened the scroll. “Judge for yourself:
“Lord Evard, Overlord of Sand Hill and the Three Realms, to all subjects of the Realms. Listen well to this proclamation.
“In accordance with prophecy, I do as of noon on August Fourth, renounce my Seat and all claim to the Lordship of the Three Realms.
“The prophet Marie has anointed as my successor William of Oaktree, whom I name Lord William. I charge all officials of the Realms to pledge your loyalty to your new Lord.
“May God bless the Three Realms and its new ruler.
“Affirmed this August Third, with God as my witness, Lord Evard.”
The silence stretched between them for several moments, until William broke it. “Is — is this some kind of twisted joke?”
“Sadly, no,” sighed Evard. Marie’s prophecy will be fulfilled, in a way that I suspect will surprise even her. God takes the realm from my hand — an open hand that now offers Him what has always been His — and you take my place.”
“And you, what becomes of you?” William asked. “Do you expect me to simply let you go free?”
“I’m rather hoping you will,” Evard replied frankly. “But to make sure, I’m leaving it for your friends to release you.” The Overlord rolled up the scroll and tossed it through the bars into William’s cell, just out of reach. “When they come to set you free, they will find you here, with your proclamation. Marie knows my handwriting; she will confirm that I wrote it.
“So, tomorrow at noon, you become Overlord. The Three Rings are in my chambers, with a copy of the proclamation — and a list of those in the government whom you should... let’s say, offer honorable retirement. I’ve left strict orders with the staff that no one is to enter my chambers before noon tomorrow. In celebration of your capture, I have given the Sand Hill garrison three days’ leave, which should allow your friends to walk right in and free you — your jailer is also on his way home for an extended holiday. Marie will catch on to what is happening soon enough, and the people certainly will not rise up against you.
“Neat and orderly: no blood is shed. The garrison will be too hung over and confused to mount effective resistance, you have the approval of the Prophet, the people will regard you as a hero.”
“But why?”
“Which ‘why’ do you mean? Why you should let me go to find my fate? Why I’m stealing away? Why you? Which is it?”
William rubbed the back of his head on the rough wall of his cell. “All of it, I suppose. You’ve said why you’re leaving the Seat — I suppose you will take the wealth of the Realms with you?”
“You disappoint me, lad. What kind of repentance would it be, that I lay down the Three Rings and become a thief? No, you may have heard it said that I live as simply as one can in a palace and I will not hereafter live in luxury. I admit, I will not leave penniless, but I will take no more than the pension due a soldier who has served the Realms for nearly thirty years. Perhaps enough to buy a small croft in a faraway land.”
William let it pass. “Marie — you called her a friend?”
“Once upon a time, I railed against the Injustice of Charles. I must have had the favor of God, and I certainly had the good advice and friendship of a Lady who speaks His Word. Can you believe, the first few years of my reign were thought of as a kind of golden age? People prospered, they spoke without fear, and they hailed me as the Deliverer. Believe it or not, but tonight I will speak no lies.”
“Then... I remember hearing... what happened?” William hated himself for stammering in front of the Despot, but God! what was happening here? How could anyone expect this?
“I don’t rightly know.” Evard sighed and buried his head between his knees for a few moments, scratching the back of his scalp. Finally, he looked up and stared at the ceiling as he continued. “I can say this: the road to Evil is travelled one step at a time. You do something you ought not, justifying it as being good for the Realms. The next time, it becomes easier, and perhaps you go a little farther. Eventually, you begin to see your position as something other than a gift of God, you begin to see it as something that was rightly yours of birth. You see your deeds as Right, whether or not they truly are... then you do not hold the Seat so much as the Seat holds you.
“This is my warning to you, Lord William,” Evard looked directly at his prisoner and spoke sternly now. “I myself hung Charles the Tyrant in the Plaza, the day I took the Seat. I told myself, and all who would listen, that I was ending the Injustice with Justice. I could have given Charles an honest trial, and the result may well have been the same. But when you drink from that cup called Power, it’s so hard to put it down. You begin to listen only to that which you want to hear, and the prophets speak to you less and less and then one day they speak against you. You silence those who criticize you, first by threats and then by blood and fire. To make a long story short, in ten years’ time I was no better than the man I’d hung.”
Evard looked into the eyes of his prisoner, silent for a few moments. “It is said a death sentence focuses the mind,” he said at last. “Today, I realized I had a choice: put down the Three Rings and perhaps live, or let you or another worthy soul take them from my dead hand. Remember this, Lord William: God always gives you a choice, even at the very end. Perhaps especially at the very end. Tomorrow, Marie puts the Three Rings on your right hand, places the Staff of Office in your left, and leads you to your Seat. Perhaps it is in your mind to make hunting me down your first act of office. The people would likely applaud you for it. But unless I am dragged back by force, the sun will never shine upon Evard in the Three Realms again.”
A noise from the far end of the cell block told of the guard climbing the stairs: he no doubt had the horses ready. Evard stood and retrieved his pack. “Think on what I have said tonight, Lord William. Ask Marie, and she will speak truly. You may not like what you hear, but what she says you always need to know.”
“Milord?” the guard spoke through a door slightly ajar, giving the Overlord his privacy. “The horses are ready.”
“Good,” Evard called. “Go down and I will join you in a moment.” To William he said, “And now I bid you good-bye and good luck. Listen to your people, listen to your prophet, and above all listen to God. I can guarantee that we would not be having this conversation if I’d taken that advice myself.” And without another word, Evard bowed to the prisoner, grinned, shouldered his pack, and walked briskly toward the end of the cell block. To William, it was the stride of a much younger man — perhaps a young man who had found the mate of his dreams.
Near dawn, a lone figure watched from the shadows of a tavern stoop, as two men on horseback reached the Tri Via near the eastern border of the Three Realms. They spoke for a few minutes, then one of the men saluted, mounted up and rode back the way he came. The other stood and watched until he was out of sight, then turned back and tacked a paper to the trivia post. He looked around him, staring intently toward where the watcher hid unmoving, then mounted up and rode south toward Fenn Vale. Once the second rider had gone, the watcher walked hesitantly to the trivia post to see what had been left. If yet another had been there to watch the watcher, he would have seen the prophet Marie raise her hands heavenward and laugh, as if God had told her a very funny joke.
Friday Night Cinema - double feature!
Hey, I know. You’re exhausted from Christmas shopping on Black Friday. You blew all your money... and besides, you’re too exhausted to pay attention to a two-hour movie. Never fear, Friday Night Cinema is here! We bring you short flicks that won't strain your attention span or your wallet.
Just in case you have enough energy to sit through two shorts tonight, here they are. Both are comedy of a sort. One is the kind of weird thing that you have to laugh at because you don’t know how else to react. The other is a laugh with a bit of satirical edge.
OK, enough preview. Time to watch some flicks.
Meg Reichart with Kurt Hoffman: Il m’a vu nue
Buzzflash: Deekbold Voting Machines (QuickTime) Large | Small
Just in case you have enough energy to sit through two shorts tonight, here they are. Both are comedy of a sort. One is the kind of weird thing that you have to laugh at because you don’t know how else to react. The other is a laugh with a bit of satirical edge.
OK, enough preview. Time to watch some flicks.
Meg Reichart with Kurt Hoffman: Il m’a vu nue
Buzzflash: Deekbold Voting Machines (QuickTime) Large | Small
Thursday, November 24, 2005 1 comment
Thanksgiving, and giving thanks
I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving where such is celebrated. We did pretty well today; lots of chow and laughter. My contributions to the spread at the in-laws were challah bread (using this recipe, and a sardine spread which I threw together. If anyone else wants to try it, here’s a recipe:
Sardine spread
1 tin sardines, drained
3 oz. cream cheese (approx)
1 large basil leaf (I used two, which made it kind of strong)
3 oregano leaves
1 sprig of parsley
pinch of thyme & rosemary
(substitute herbs as needed for availability and taste)
Remove the stems from the herb leaves. Chop finely (food processor works great for this). Add the cream cheese. Remove backbones from sardines and add the sardines (not the backbones... but you knew that). Blend/process until completely mixed. Serve with crackers.
What am I thankful for this year?
As with every year (day) this millennium so far, I’m thankful for having a job. These last two years I’ve been thankful that the job, as crazy as it drives me sometimes, provides good medical insurance and meets at least our basic needs.
I’m thankful for having a family and friends, both local and online, who care.
I’m thankful for having an imagination and a place to let it run.
I’m thankful for living in America. Bush-league has damaged it, but hasn’t broken it. Better times are coming.
Sardine spread
1 tin sardines, drained
3 oz. cream cheese (approx)
1 large basil leaf (I used two, which made it kind of strong)
3 oregano leaves
1 sprig of parsley
pinch of thyme & rosemary
(substitute herbs as needed for availability and taste)
Remove the stems from the herb leaves. Chop finely (food processor works great for this). Add the cream cheese. Remove backbones from sardines and add the sardines (not the backbones... but you knew that). Blend/process until completely mixed. Serve with crackers.
What am I thankful for this year?
As with every year (day) this millennium so far, I’m thankful for having a job. These last two years I’ve been thankful that the job, as crazy as it drives me sometimes, provides good medical insurance and meets at least our basic needs.
I’m thankful for having a family and friends, both local and online, who care.
I’m thankful for having an imagination and a place to let it run.
I’m thankful for living in America. Bush-league has damaged it, but hasn’t broken it. Better times are coming.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005 No comments
Update
Current music: DI.fm Deep House
I had the stress test today. The doc said there was a wiggle in the EKG that shouldn’t have been there, but she didn’t think it was serious. They emailed that and the CT scans to a cardiologist and told me I’d hear from them today if there was a problem — “no news is good news.”
No phone call, so things are looking better. I’m holding out some hope that I can lose weight, exercise, put the hydrogarble up for good, and remind myself why I can’t sit on me arse and blog all the time. Or work. The happy dances should give me some good exercise, anyway!
Everyone else took off to see the Harry Potter movie. I’ve been kind of tired all day, so I stayed home. I have a couple of things I want to finish up on this manual (from work), and I got the challah bread started for tomorrow. I’ll probably stay up until about 10 or so, then sack it.
I had the stress test today. The doc said there was a wiggle in the EKG that shouldn’t have been there, but she didn’t think it was serious. They emailed that and the CT scans to a cardiologist and told me I’d hear from them today if there was a problem — “no news is good news.”
No phone call, so things are looking better. I’m holding out some hope that I can lose weight, exercise, put the hydrogarble up for good, and remind myself why I can’t sit on me arse and blog all the time. Or work. The happy dances should give me some good exercise, anyway!
Everyone else took off to see the Harry Potter movie. I’ve been kind of tired all day, so I stayed home. I have a couple of things I want to finish up on this manual (from work), and I got the challah bread started for tomorrow. I’ll probably stay up until about 10 or so, then sack it.
Monday, November 21, 2005 No comments
Holy Moly
I’ve heard that smoking can kill you, but I don’t think this was what they meant.
No argument with the closer: “the hapless Madame had no memory whatsoever of the incident. We’re pretty sure a couple of hundred other passengers are wishing they could erase the incident from their memories too.”
No argument with the closer: “the hapless Madame had no memory whatsoever of the incident. We’re pretty sure a couple of hundred other passengers are wishing they could erase the incident from their memories too.”
Lobster Stew(ed)
The ding-a-ling came home with another ticket — this one for 72 in a 45 zone. Baaaaaad news.
Seeing that it’s his second ticket within 30 days (he got another one Hallowe’en night), he’s probably going to get his license suspended. I assume they’ll give him a special ticket to drive to work and school... but that second ticket was while he was going to work.
He’s going to learn a whole new meaning of the word, “fine.”
Seeing that it’s his second ticket within 30 days (he got another one Hallowe’en night), he’s probably going to get his license suspended. I assume they’ll give him a special ticket to drive to work and school... but that second ticket was while he was going to work.
He’s going to learn a whole new meaning of the word, “fine.”
Stormy
Current music: CMradio - Celtic
The wind is pretty strong tonight — the NWS says 15 to 25mph, gusting to 30. Well, that should pull down the rest of the leaves.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to obsess about my blood pressure; that’s sure to drive it up. I’ve been having something like anxiety attacks, though, which doesn’t help (although the one on the way home felt more like excitement, like I was about to do something I’d been looking forward to doing). I just have to keep remembering, “Fear Not,” and I go in for tests tomorrow. I had one heck of a leg cramp Saturday morning, which has left the calf muscle a bit sore — as I’ll be on the treadmill, I hope it won’t act up on me.
Feh. Good news? The drains aren’t backed up anymore. There was some kind of brickwork in the drain system that was catching toilet paper. The plumbers removed both the clog and the brickwork (since none of them could figure out what it was for).
The wind is pretty strong tonight — the NWS says 15 to 25mph, gusting to 30. Well, that should pull down the rest of the leaves.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to obsess about my blood pressure; that’s sure to drive it up. I’ve been having something like anxiety attacks, though, which doesn’t help (although the one on the way home felt more like excitement, like I was about to do something I’d been looking forward to doing). I just have to keep remembering, “Fear Not,” and I go in for tests tomorrow. I had one heck of a leg cramp Saturday morning, which has left the calf muscle a bit sore — as I’ll be on the treadmill, I hope it won’t act up on me.
Feh. Good news? The drains aren’t backed up anymore. There was some kind of brickwork in the drain system that was catching toilet paper. The plumbers removed both the clog and the brickwork (since none of them could figure out what it was for).
Saturday, November 19, 2005 1 comment
Happy Dance Time
Two (much larger) competitors of the company I work at find it too much of a struggle to compete, so they’re joining forces. Our stock got hammered on the news, but those things are temporary. We’ll continue doing what we do best while they’re sorting things out.
The real winners, though, are Scientific-Atlanta employees. I was a contractor there for 3½ years before moving to where I am now, and have stayed for eight years. Cisco’s modus operandi with new companies is to provide a thorough corporate culture enema, and no company I’ve been at — or heard of — needs one more than S-A.
S-A’s corporate culture still somehow reflects its roots as a McCarthy-era defense contractor. Employees are simply cogs in the machine, to be paid as little as possible and discarded at whim. I’m hunting for an email address for Cisco’s CEO (or at least HR department) and suggest they simply can everyone at S-A above the supervisor level, and a third to a half of the sup’s.
So on behalf of people I used to work with and still think of as friends, I do the happy dance. If it were a bit warmer, I’d dance naked around FAR Manor to celebrate.
The real winners, though, are Scientific-Atlanta employees. I was a contractor there for 3½ years before moving to where I am now, and have stayed for eight years. Cisco’s modus operandi with new companies is to provide a thorough corporate culture enema, and no company I’ve been at — or heard of — needs one more than S-A.
S-A’s corporate culture still somehow reflects its roots as a McCarthy-era defense contractor. Employees are simply cogs in the machine, to be paid as little as possible and discarded at whim. I’m hunting for an email address for Cisco’s CEO (or at least HR department) and suggest they simply can everyone at S-A above the supervisor level, and a third to a half of the sup’s.
So on behalf of people I used to work with and still think of as friends, I do the happy dance. If it were a bit warmer, I’d dance naked around FAR Manor to celebrate.
Friday, November 18, 2005 4 comments
BP update
And I don’t mean British Petroleum.
The stuff I’m taking now is hydrochlorothiozid (gesundheit!), 25mg, once a day.
It occurred to me that I’m having to treat this similarly to how The Boy should treat his diabetes — monitor the vital sign in question, take medication, eat better & exercise. I just get a squeeze rather than a poke.
My mother-in-law happened to have a BP meter in her closet, so I didn’t have to go buy one. My brother-in-law and his family left an exercise bike in our garage with a bunch of other equipment, so I think that’s going to come into the house. It’s fairly quiet; I think everyone will be able to watch TV while I’m going nowhere fast.
Turns out that lots of other folks at work are also on BP medication. What does that tell you?
The stuff I’m taking now is hydrochlorothiozid (gesundheit!), 25mg, once a day.
It occurred to me that I’m having to treat this similarly to how The Boy should treat his diabetes — monitor the vital sign in question, take medication, eat better & exercise. I just get a squeeze rather than a poke.
My mother-in-law happened to have a BP meter in her closet, so I didn’t have to go buy one. My brother-in-law and his family left an exercise bike in our garage with a bunch of other equipment, so I think that’s going to come into the house. It’s fairly quiet; I think everyone will be able to watch TV while I’m going nowhere fast.
Turns out that lots of other folks at work are also on BP medication. What does that tell you?
Friday Night Cinema
...when you don’t have time or money to run to the theater or rental store.
Tonight’s feature suddenly got a little dated — but never fear, it will be back in vogue all too soon.
Dominic Tocci: I Can’t Afford My Gasoline (Flash)
Tonight’s feature suddenly got a little dated — but never fear, it will be back in vogue all too soon.
Dominic Tocci: I Can’t Afford My Gasoline (Flash)
BlueHippo rip-off
M.A.E. was looking to get The Boy a laptop for Christmas. She got suckered by this outfit calling itself BlueHippo. To make a long story short, they told her she could get a laptop for $600, then sold her a $300 desktop system for $2000. She called and cancelled the order, and they started taking money out of her account anyway.
Mrs. Fetched went with her to the bank, and they’re going to formally dispute the charges to get her money back. I’ll have to see if Apple has any refurb iBooks....
Mrs. Fetched went with her to the bank, and they’re going to formally dispute the charges to get her money back. I’ll have to see if Apple has any refurb iBooks....
Thursday, November 17, 2005 No comments
Sony in the dog house
After two weeks of public-relations hell, several class-action lawsuits, and the introduction of a virus that takes advantage of its DRM cloaking, Sony/BMG has decided to take its lumps. They have pulled the DRM-infested CDs from store shelves, apologized to their suckers customers, and started a recall. The BBC (includes a partial list of infested titles) and Wired cover the story.
As it turns out, Mac users were not immune to the wiles of Sony DRM. But to load it on a Mac, you would have to open the data image that the CD provides, run the installer, and type an administrator password. Not exactly stealthy.
The last straw may not have been the virus, nor a computer security expert announcing that over 500,000 networks have Sony’s malware installed — but then Microsoft declared it malware and announced that their “Defender” product would find and remove it. When the Evil Empire can score PR points off of you, you know you’re in it ankle-deep-head-first. Some people have opined that Sony broke several computer tampering laws, but huge corporations don’t get prosecuted in Bushworld so that line is not worth pursuing.
But in all the mea culpa and sackcloth, there’s a crucial piece missing — as Arlo Guthrie put it: “Kid, have you rehabilitated yourself?” Sony/BMG admitted the crime and now they’re paying the fine, but confession is not repentance. Indeed, their first attempt to blunt the negative publicity involved announcing they were temporarily suspending use of that particular DRM malware. Sony might even promise to never use the “XCP” copy-protection again, but they have not — and probably will not — swear off all future attempts at DRM.
However, the piracy that Sony (and other RIAA companies) whines about has been around long before the Internet or even the personal computer. I remember swapping cassette tapes with friends back in the early 1970s, basically mixes of our favorite 45s. Technology has simply made swapping music more efficient is all. As I said earlier this month, we fought this copy-protection battle with software companies about 20 years ago. Copy-protection only inconveniences those who want to be honest — indeed, there were pirates back in the 1980s who only traded (formerly) protected titles. Look at it this way: if you knew all new cars were booby-trapped, would you buy one?
Wired suggested a while back that there could well be a way out for a media company with the guts to try it. I expect to see flying pigs first, though.
As it turns out, Mac users were not immune to the wiles of Sony DRM. But to load it on a Mac, you would have to open the data image that the CD provides, run the installer, and type an administrator password. Not exactly stealthy.
The last straw may not have been the virus, nor a computer security expert announcing that over 500,000 networks have Sony’s malware installed — but then Microsoft declared it malware and announced that their “Defender” product would find and remove it. When the Evil Empire can score PR points off of you, you know you’re in it ankle-deep-head-first. Some people have opined that Sony broke several computer tampering laws, but huge corporations don’t get prosecuted in Bushworld so that line is not worth pursuing.
But in all the mea culpa and sackcloth, there’s a crucial piece missing — as Arlo Guthrie put it: “Kid, have you rehabilitated yourself?” Sony/BMG admitted the crime and now they’re paying the fine, but confession is not repentance. Indeed, their first attempt to blunt the negative publicity involved announcing they were temporarily suspending use of that particular DRM malware. Sony might even promise to never use the “XCP” copy-protection again, but they have not — and probably will not — swear off all future attempts at DRM.
However, the piracy that Sony (and other RIAA companies) whines about has been around long before the Internet or even the personal computer. I remember swapping cassette tapes with friends back in the early 1970s, basically mixes of our favorite 45s. Technology has simply made swapping music more efficient is all. As I said earlier this month, we fought this copy-protection battle with software companies about 20 years ago. Copy-protection only inconveniences those who want to be honest — indeed, there were pirates back in the 1980s who only traded (formerly) protected titles. Look at it this way: if you knew all new cars were booby-trapped, would you buy one?
Wired suggested a while back that there could well be a way out for a media company with the guts to try it. I expect to see flying pigs first, though.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005 3 comments
Contents Under Pressure
Starting the drive home yesterday, I started feeling really strange — pressure in my chest, tingling all over, a bit dizzy. I didn’t have any of the shooting pains talked about by heart attack victims, and the pressure was only pressure rather than pain. But there was a hospital right along the way, and I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow (i.e. today) to figure out what was going on, so I popped into the ER and tried to describe my symptoms as best as I could.
Blood pressure was a bit high in triage, but the (male) nurse thought that might be anxiety more than anything. We hiked down the hall and he put me in one of the rooms. In rapid succession, people came in to hook me up to the blood pressure monitor, take my statistics, tape an oxygen sensor to a finger and stick about nine EKG sensors on my chest (the hairy parts and not), put an IV in my hand, and take a chest X-ray. Even after relaxing, my BP stayed up (about 150/90 at one point) so they started pumping some kind of medication into the IV and it started coming down. Eventually, they let me have my laptop and I played a few rounds of solitaire (kind of hard to type with an oxygen sensor taped to your left birdie finger).
In short, the doc figures I’m getting hypertension as a result of the stress (stress? what stress?) lately. The EKG and X-ray didn’t show up any cardiac issues. He wrote me a prescription for clonidine and told me to see a cardiologist just to make sure. He wrote up a referral to a guy a ways away; I’m going to visit my own doc tomorrow for a second opinion & (I hope) a closer cardiologist. So I spent about 2-½ hours in the ER, and I was hungry when I left. I grabbed a sandwich and my prescription and came home.
All in all, I’m probably going to cost the insurance company a couple of grand to find out what I’m pretty sure of already: I need more exercise, less food, more sex, and less strife. The clonidine gave me a serious case of the nods for a couple of hours this afternoon, about four hours after I took it. I need to take another, but the wife wants me to help her drop off our minivan with some friends — their van lunched out yesterday (sounded like it was throwing a rod Monday) and he’s in a wheelchair — so I’ll take it when I get home & crash good tonight.
Blood pressure was a bit high in triage, but the (male) nurse thought that might be anxiety more than anything. We hiked down the hall and he put me in one of the rooms. In rapid succession, people came in to hook me up to the blood pressure monitor, take my statistics, tape an oxygen sensor to a finger and stick about nine EKG sensors on my chest (the hairy parts and not), put an IV in my hand, and take a chest X-ray. Even after relaxing, my BP stayed up (about 150/90 at one point) so they started pumping some kind of medication into the IV and it started coming down. Eventually, they let me have my laptop and I played a few rounds of solitaire (kind of hard to type with an oxygen sensor taped to your left birdie finger).
In short, the doc figures I’m getting hypertension as a result of the stress (stress? what stress?) lately. The EKG and X-ray didn’t show up any cardiac issues. He wrote me a prescription for clonidine and told me to see a cardiologist just to make sure. He wrote up a referral to a guy a ways away; I’m going to visit my own doc tomorrow for a second opinion & (I hope) a closer cardiologist. So I spent about 2-½ hours in the ER, and I was hungry when I left. I grabbed a sandwich and my prescription and came home.
All in all, I’m probably going to cost the insurance company a couple of grand to find out what I’m pretty sure of already: I need more exercise, less food, more sex, and less strife. The clonidine gave me a serious case of the nods for a couple of hours this afternoon, about four hours after I took it. I need to take another, but the wife wants me to help her drop off our minivan with some friends — their van lunched out yesterday (sounded like it was throwing a rod Monday) and he’s in a wheelchair — so I’ll take it when I get home & crash good tonight.
Saturday, November 12, 2005 No comments
Exhausting Saturday
Sheesh, half an hour after doing the church bulletin, I was thinking it’s Sunday.
The day started waayyyyy too early, what with getting some stuff to where the church was having a yard sale before driving down to meet the counselor. The first meeting was pretty low-key; we talked with her alone for a while, then The Boy did. She thinks we can get someone closer to home through our insurance (I was using the Employee Assistance Program thingie we also have at work).
Got home, tried to nap (wife riled me before leaving to help at the yard sale), so I went out and split wood until my chest started hurting. I think it’s heartburn, but I’ve felt lousy most of the afternoon & I’m going to the doc Monday, just to make sure. We don’t have a history of heart trouble in the family, except for one grandmother who had cancer to deal with. What I need more than anything, no doubt, is rest and exercise. In that order.
After taking The Boy to work, I swung by the yard sale since it was on the way to pick up M.A.E. from her job; I loaded a table in Moby Dodge (the great white minivan) then went to get her. We got back, finished packing up, and left. Daughter Dearest bought herself a set of golf clubs for $30 (with a pink bag no less!), so now I get to teach her how to use them. I won’t have to slug the first boy who says, “She can swing my club, heh heh” — she’ll do the honors and I’ll just have to scrape him off the ground with a spatula.
The day started waayyyyy too early, what with getting some stuff to where the church was having a yard sale before driving down to meet the counselor. The first meeting was pretty low-key; we talked with her alone for a while, then The Boy did. She thinks we can get someone closer to home through our insurance (I was using the Employee Assistance Program thingie we also have at work).
Got home, tried to nap (wife riled me before leaving to help at the yard sale), so I went out and split wood until my chest started hurting. I think it’s heartburn, but I’ve felt lousy most of the afternoon & I’m going to the doc Monday, just to make sure. We don’t have a history of heart trouble in the family, except for one grandmother who had cancer to deal with. What I need more than anything, no doubt, is rest and exercise. In that order.
After taking The Boy to work, I swung by the yard sale since it was on the way to pick up M.A.E. from her job; I loaded a table in Moby Dodge (the great white minivan) then went to get her. We got back, finished packing up, and left. Daughter Dearest bought herself a set of golf clubs for $30 (with a pink bag no less!), so now I get to teach her how to use them. I won’t have to slug the first boy who says, “She can swing my club, heh heh” — she’ll do the honors and I’ll just have to scrape him off the ground with a spatula.
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