The Mrs., Ms. 8, and I are back at Sherwood Cottage from a longish trip through the Texas Hill Country and points northeast. It was good to see family, and it was better to see how Ms. 8 reacted to events with the benefit of an additional year on her. Her smiles and squeals of delight, as well as her bubbling laughter that, to my delight, occasionally suddenly swerves towards supervillain cackling, did much to make all gathered around happy; her laughter excited our own. And I admit that matters soon distracted me from what I normally do, more than what this webspace makes obvious.
Now that I am back, there is much to do; work continues. A freelance piece awaits my attention, as does a wholly different bit of freelancing that seems to be short-term work but appears as if it will be amply remunerative during its term. I need to construct the syllabi for the two versions of a single course I am teaching in the upcoming term (about which more can be found here and here), and there are any number of other projects waiting for my attention. The time away from Sherwood Cottage, where I can do the work, was not helpful in that regard, even if it was helpful in several others.
On the trip, I almost got caught up on sleep. I woke later than I normally like most every day, contributing to not getting work done. I have said before that I work better earlier than later, so losing the earlier is not at all helpful for me. (And, yes, I rose later than I would have liked today, although not so much as was the case on the trip, and I attended to a few other things before sitting down to start writing this blog entry.) But I have almost made it back to my regular self, in large part because I rested as I did. So some good came of that particular aspect of travel to where I grew up and where my wife's families live. I'll not complain overmuch.
For now, I will be back at work, reading the assigned text and writing items for another job, maybe penning some more words into my personal journal (which I hope to complete with the year), and, most importantly, tending to Ms. 8 while her mother is at work. The Mrs. also struggles to ensure that Sherwood Cottage and its residents have what they need, and so I do what I can to support her while I engage in a similar struggle--and benefit from time with my daughter, which I know not many fathers get as much as they might otherwise like. I am mindful of this, and I work to ensure that Ms. 8 gets from me what she needs from me and that her mother gets the same. Fortunately, some of what we brought back to Sherwood Cottage from our time away will help with that, for which I am grateful.
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Showing posts sorted by relevance for query sherwood cottage. Sort by date Show all posts
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Monday, June 8, 2015
20150608.0712
The weather around Sherwood Cottage continues to be warm, ranging into hot (which really only begins at 90 F or 32 or so C), the air humid but not releasing the rain that had previously been forecast. (There is still rain in the forecast, but not for today, not so far as I have seen.) I remain mystified by how humid it is here, actually, given how far Sherwood Cottage stands from the sea. A state or more lies between it and the shore, so how the air remains so heavy with moisture eludes me. (One idea does present itself, something I have noted before, and if the moisture in the air is unreleased, one has to wonder what is the cause of the heavens' blue.)
Against that weather, I have done a few things around the house. One of the blinds we had on our windows broke and fell away; I finally got it replaced. The delay was caused in part by my laziness, admittedly, but only in part. Most of the leases in the town seem to end at the end of May and beginning of June, so that people in frantic pursuit of getting their deposits returned do an awful lot of home repair leading up to it. This often means they need new blinds, and the windows in Sherwood Cottage are evidently of the most common size that needs new blinds. It is hard to replace something when no replacement part is available, after all. But, as I noted, I finally got the job done.
I also hung and re-hung curtains. Sherwood Cottage is cooled by window units, a common situation here. The living room and each of the two bedrooms have their own. (The "and" makes the subject plural despite the "each," O, grammar Nazis!) Those in the bedrooms are aided by having curtains hung in the doorways, effectively isolating the air in each from that of the rest of the house. Both have such curtains, now; we had previously only had them up in the doorway to Ms. 8's room. Too, the curtain rods in her room and in the living room had been badly bent, not least because necessary hardware was missing. Those rods have been replaced, the correct hardware installed; sagging should not be so much a problem for them anymore. Other sagging is a different matter altogether.
Today will see me return to the dentist once again. Looking back at my comments about a previous visit, I realize that I have let slip something I ought not to have done. I can hope it will not be too much of a problem, although I am the wrong kind of doctor to actually know whether it will be or not. Then again, finding out is part of why I go to other doctors; they have knowledge and expertise I lack. I could wish, though, that others would seek mine similarly...
Against that weather, I have done a few things around the house. One of the blinds we had on our windows broke and fell away; I finally got it replaced. The delay was caused in part by my laziness, admittedly, but only in part. Most of the leases in the town seem to end at the end of May and beginning of June, so that people in frantic pursuit of getting their deposits returned do an awful lot of home repair leading up to it. This often means they need new blinds, and the windows in Sherwood Cottage are evidently of the most common size that needs new blinds. It is hard to replace something when no replacement part is available, after all. But, as I noted, I finally got the job done.
I also hung and re-hung curtains. Sherwood Cottage is cooled by window units, a common situation here. The living room and each of the two bedrooms have their own. (The "and" makes the subject plural despite the "each," O, grammar Nazis!) Those in the bedrooms are aided by having curtains hung in the doorways, effectively isolating the air in each from that of the rest of the house. Both have such curtains, now; we had previously only had them up in the doorway to Ms. 8's room. Too, the curtain rods in her room and in the living room had been badly bent, not least because necessary hardware was missing. Those rods have been replaced, the correct hardware installed; sagging should not be so much a problem for them anymore. Other sagging is a different matter altogether.
Today will see me return to the dentist once again. Looking back at my comments about a previous visit, I realize that I have let slip something I ought not to have done. I can hope it will not be too much of a problem, although I am the wrong kind of doctor to actually know whether it will be or not. Then again, finding out is part of why I go to other doctors; they have knowledge and expertise I lack. I could wish, though, that others would seek mine similarly...
Friday, April 10, 2015
20150410.0659
The weather at Sherwood Cottage has decided to offer a reminder that it is yet spring. Temperatures were in the 30s Fahrenheit when I woke this morning, although the upper 30s, so that the floors were chilly and the air brisk. They should reach the 70s, which will be nice; the Mrs. should be able to open up the house later in the day. I will be at work, of course, teaching my classes and attending a meeting, and we will be running errands afterward, so I do not think I will be able to enjoy much of the nicer weather today. I got mine yesterday, though, as I wrote for freelancing, and I will get more of it tomorrow as I grade the stacks of papers that are mine to handle. Somehow, I will get things done.
Doing so is a matter of time and timing, and having reliable clocks helps in managing both. I like to have clocks in sight; my inner sense of time is somewhat erratic, so I rely on external indicators. Unfortunately, some of the clocks in Sherwood Cottage are tricksy, usually in that they run fast. The clock on the microwave, for example, picks up a minute every now and again. The microwave's plug gets jostled often enough, though, that the clock is reset perhaps every week, so the occasional minute gained goes away before it can cause too much trouble. (There are some people who could usefully follow its example.)
It is not alone, though, and it is far from the worst offender in the house. That is probably the clock in the back bedroom (currently a guest room, soon to be Ms. 8's bedroom--and it should have been already). That one has an interesting history. It found itself dangerously close to the litter boxes in the van my wife and mother-in-law drove from The City to Sherwood Cottage when the Mrs. and I relocated, and it suffered consequences thereof that should be obvious. I was inclined to dispose of it then, but the Mrs. decided to clean it and keep it instead, and I did not argue--but it went to the back room. There, it is supposed to automatically update itself; there is some kind of received transmission involved, I think. But it does not. It sits and gains time, making for quite the jarring experience for me on occasion. This morning, I thought it had passed seven when it had not. In the past, it has been a half-hour ahead--or more.
I am inclined to think the problem is in having been an unwilling cat-toilet. But I am steeped in science fiction and fantasy literature, and the thought occurs to me that perhaps the time in that room does run differently than in the rest of Sherwood Cottage. And if that is the case, I have to wonder what would happen if I left the room through the window instead of the door...
Doing so is a matter of time and timing, and having reliable clocks helps in managing both. I like to have clocks in sight; my inner sense of time is somewhat erratic, so I rely on external indicators. Unfortunately, some of the clocks in Sherwood Cottage are tricksy, usually in that they run fast. The clock on the microwave, for example, picks up a minute every now and again. The microwave's plug gets jostled often enough, though, that the clock is reset perhaps every week, so the occasional minute gained goes away before it can cause too much trouble. (There are some people who could usefully follow its example.)
It is not alone, though, and it is far from the worst offender in the house. That is probably the clock in the back bedroom (currently a guest room, soon to be Ms. 8's bedroom--and it should have been already). That one has an interesting history. It found itself dangerously close to the litter boxes in the van my wife and mother-in-law drove from The City to Sherwood Cottage when the Mrs. and I relocated, and it suffered consequences thereof that should be obvious. I was inclined to dispose of it then, but the Mrs. decided to clean it and keep it instead, and I did not argue--but it went to the back room. There, it is supposed to automatically update itself; there is some kind of received transmission involved, I think. But it does not. It sits and gains time, making for quite the jarring experience for me on occasion. This morning, I thought it had passed seven when it had not. In the past, it has been a half-hour ahead--or more.
I am inclined to think the problem is in having been an unwilling cat-toilet. But I am steeped in science fiction and fantasy literature, and the thought occurs to me that perhaps the time in that room does run differently than in the rest of Sherwood Cottage. And if that is the case, I have to wonder what would happen if I left the room through the window instead of the door...
Saturday, May 2, 2015
20150502.0700
Ms. 8 got her own bedroom last night. Rather, my Mrs. and I moved out of the room where we had been sleeping since settling in at Sherwood Cottage and where we had put Ms. 8's crib, switching the beds in that bedroom--"the front"--and what had been the guest bedroom. It seemed a better choice to make than swapping all of the furniture around. There is more to do in that regard, of course; there is a bookcase that needs to come out of Ms. 8's room and into that my Mrs. and I now share. But what is left to do is relatively minor, easily accomplished once we or I set out to do it--although that will likely be a while.
Work continues, of course. I have a set of assignments to grade in haste, and I am fortunate that their nature is such as admits of my doing so. I am also in the midst of a freelance piece; it is well begun, but it is not done, and it needs to be. I will likely be able to complete it over the weekend. My conference paper also needs attention. The reading I have yet to do for it will go quickly, as the texts I am poring over are short and I have read one of them before, but it still takes some time and the writing takes a bit more. It will get done, though, as will all of the other tasks I have to handle before the term ends and I gallivant up and down the middle of the country.
Weather at Sherwood Cottage continues to be good. The nights are cool, the days warm, and the rain that we enjoyed has moved on so that the ground is drying out and I will likely be able to mow the yard today. It needs it; the falling water has helped the green carpets in the front and back of Sherwood Cottage become shaggy, a seeming throwback to the worst excesses of the 1970s. The back yard also needs some picking-up, as there are branches strewn about and what I can only call the leavings of plumbing work done to be found; a hatchet-job is needed, too, as roots and such are sticking up such that they will meet the mower blade uncomfortably. I have no desire to have wood chips or slivers of PVC flung at me at speed again. The experience was unpleasant enough the first time. And the second. And the others.
It is, for the most part, a calm, placid life I lead, following a pattern that I have allowed to grow up over the short time that I have been where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. I make no complaint of it; I know that the pattern of my life could be far worse than it is. It could be better, yes, and I continue to struggle to that end, but it could be worse. I have no desire to learn how much worse...
Work continues, of course. I have a set of assignments to grade in haste, and I am fortunate that their nature is such as admits of my doing so. I am also in the midst of a freelance piece; it is well begun, but it is not done, and it needs to be. I will likely be able to complete it over the weekend. My conference paper also needs attention. The reading I have yet to do for it will go quickly, as the texts I am poring over are short and I have read one of them before, but it still takes some time and the writing takes a bit more. It will get done, though, as will all of the other tasks I have to handle before the term ends and I gallivant up and down the middle of the country.
Weather at Sherwood Cottage continues to be good. The nights are cool, the days warm, and the rain that we enjoyed has moved on so that the ground is drying out and I will likely be able to mow the yard today. It needs it; the falling water has helped the green carpets in the front and back of Sherwood Cottage become shaggy, a seeming throwback to the worst excesses of the 1970s. The back yard also needs some picking-up, as there are branches strewn about and what I can only call the leavings of plumbing work done to be found; a hatchet-job is needed, too, as roots and such are sticking up such that they will meet the mower blade uncomfortably. I have no desire to have wood chips or slivers of PVC flung at me at speed again. The experience was unpleasant enough the first time. And the second. And the others.
It is, for the most part, a calm, placid life I lead, following a pattern that I have allowed to grow up over the short time that I have been where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. I make no complaint of it; I know that the pattern of my life could be far worse than it is. It could be better, yes, and I continue to struggle to that end, but it could be worse. I have no desire to learn how much worse...
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
20150120.0901
I am back at Sherwood Cottage after a short trip to the Texas Hill Country where I was raised, under the kindly hot sun and in the thin and stony soil of which I grew amid oak and cedar and the occasional brilliant bloom. My wife and Ms. 8 remain there, visiting other family as I do what I need to do to be ready to face the week ahead of me and the weeks that will come. For there is much I would have done over the past days, had I remained where I now am, and which I could not get done because I did not have with me what I would need to do them. But I do now, or I am close to it, and so I can do such things as set up a quiz against my students having not heeded my warnings and prepare some kind of lecture for them whether or not they did. And I can write again, which I have (obviously) been neglecting over the last few days.
There are rewards to visiting family. Environments conducive to writing--at least not for my writing--are not among them. And in some sense, they ought not to be. The point of the trip is to visit, to see people and talk with them, to do things with them such as take trips to nearby cities and visit craft shows. When I write, whether in the early morning when I really should or at such times as this, I tend to do so in solitude and, if not silence, quiet. I need a place to do it, too, and a van traveling the Texan highways is not a good one for the work. Nor yet is the shuttlepod as it flies from Sherwood Cottage to where the river makes a smile--particularly when, as yesterday, I pilot it (and am amazed, as ever, at how gas-stingy the thing is, with one tank taking me from the Hill Country into Oklahoma and perhaps half of another getting me the rest of the way home).
But that visit is done, now, and it will be some time before I have another--my schedule and that of the Mrs. will not permit it for some months. Now, it is for me to return to the daily life to which my choices have led me, the work of teaching and preparing for it, the work of The Work in which I try to tease out of the current corpus of human knowledge something new and capture some part of it in such a way that others can use it to tease out just a little more of their own in what one hopes is an unending cycle that leads ineluctably towards The Truth. Now, it is time for me to make Sherwood Cottage ready once again for those who live in it and who will return tomorrow--and now is the time to take advantage of their not being here yet to do so.
There are rewards to visiting family. Environments conducive to writing--at least not for my writing--are not among them. And in some sense, they ought not to be. The point of the trip is to visit, to see people and talk with them, to do things with them such as take trips to nearby cities and visit craft shows. When I write, whether in the early morning when I really should or at such times as this, I tend to do so in solitude and, if not silence, quiet. I need a place to do it, too, and a van traveling the Texan highways is not a good one for the work. Nor yet is the shuttlepod as it flies from Sherwood Cottage to where the river makes a smile--particularly when, as yesterday, I pilot it (and am amazed, as ever, at how gas-stingy the thing is, with one tank taking me from the Hill Country into Oklahoma and perhaps half of another getting me the rest of the way home).
But that visit is done, now, and it will be some time before I have another--my schedule and that of the Mrs. will not permit it for some months. Now, it is for me to return to the daily life to which my choices have led me, the work of teaching and preparing for it, the work of The Work in which I try to tease out of the current corpus of human knowledge something new and capture some part of it in such a way that others can use it to tease out just a little more of their own in what one hopes is an unending cycle that leads ineluctably towards The Truth. Now, it is time for me to make Sherwood Cottage ready once again for those who live in it and who will return tomorrow--and now is the time to take advantage of their not being here yet to do so.
Saturday, June 8, 2019
20190608.0430
I have been reasonably good at posting on 8 June, having done so in 2011, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, and 2018. The 2011 post was a brief one marking my parents' thirtieth anniversary then just past. The 2014 noted the birth of a cousin and work then in progress; the latter parts of it seem quaint to me now, particularly those discussing what was then my "professional" website. (I like to think that matters have improved somewhat since then in that regard; the website where I conduct my professional activities now looks better, and I have used it to learn a bit better how to design and code webpages. I admit I'm not as up as I ought to be, though.) The 2015 was a domestic report, noting small things I had done around Sherwood Cottage to make it a bit more livable. And the last three have been bits of verse, in context or not, that do not suggest themselves to me for analysis quite at the moment.
The domestic piece, though, seems to speak to me at the moment. Now, as then, my family and I rent the place where we live, paying someone else for the privilege of staying in a place we pay enough to be able to buy--if we can but get a down payment put together. The demands of daily life keep us from being able to do that; I admit that there are expenses we could trim slightly, but only slightly, and even when we do so, something crops up that keeps us from keeping much money back for very long. We are making progress, though it is slow, and there are times I do not think I'll ever be able to catch up to where I have been and where I probably need to be again.
Knowing that where we live is not ours, that it could be taken away at most any time (I pay the rent on time, but our landlord is not a young man, and I do not know if his successor will be as decent as he is) does not much motivate me to invest in making things better. I did not do much of it at Sherwood Cottage; what I did was more to reduce my utility costs than anything else. (It had some effect in that line, which I appreciated.) My family and I have done more where we live now, admittedly; Sherwood Cottage and the city in which it stands were never going to be forever homes for us, but the Hill Country town where I live now and where I grew up may well be. Knowing that we are more likely to stay here encourages making even things that are not mine better; I'll be using them longer, so I ought to involve myself in them more.
Still, I know that anything I do to the structure will stay where I put it, even though I will not stay where I put it. No small part of me chafes at the idea of putting my time, effort, and money into things that make others' investments more valuable but do not improve my own. It is a selfish attitude, perhaps, but I note that such selfishness is lauded as thrift in landlords and business owners. I want to wonder why the descriptors change when they are applied to individuals, but I already know that the answer is a de facto caste system--and that I am not at so exalted a rank as to admit of virtuous greed.
The domestic piece, though, seems to speak to me at the moment. Now, as then, my family and I rent the place where we live, paying someone else for the privilege of staying in a place we pay enough to be able to buy--if we can but get a down payment put together. The demands of daily life keep us from being able to do that; I admit that there are expenses we could trim slightly, but only slightly, and even when we do so, something crops up that keeps us from keeping much money back for very long. We are making progress, though it is slow, and there are times I do not think I'll ever be able to catch up to where I have been and where I probably need to be again.
Knowing that where we live is not ours, that it could be taken away at most any time (I pay the rent on time, but our landlord is not a young man, and I do not know if his successor will be as decent as he is) does not much motivate me to invest in making things better. I did not do much of it at Sherwood Cottage; what I did was more to reduce my utility costs than anything else. (It had some effect in that line, which I appreciated.) My family and I have done more where we live now, admittedly; Sherwood Cottage and the city in which it stands were never going to be forever homes for us, but the Hill Country town where I live now and where I grew up may well be. Knowing that we are more likely to stay here encourages making even things that are not mine better; I'll be using them longer, so I ought to involve myself in them more.
Still, I know that anything I do to the structure will stay where I put it, even though I will not stay where I put it. No small part of me chafes at the idea of putting my time, effort, and money into things that make others' investments more valuable but do not improve my own. It is a selfish attitude, perhaps, but I note that such selfishness is lauded as thrift in landlords and business owners. I want to wonder why the descriptors change when they are applied to individuals, but I already know that the answer is a de facto caste system--and that I am not at so exalted a rank as to admit of virtuous greed.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
20150512.0920
I am, at least for a brief bit, back at Sherwood Cottage. Tomorrow, I head up to the 50th International Congress on Medieval Studies, where I will be presenting a paper and presiding over two sessions, as well as attending at least one dinner and a number of other events. Yesterday, I got back from a whirlwind trip to the Texas Hill Country, where my wife and daughter and I attended what amounted to being a wake for my late grandmother. (I have not made much of a secret of my offline identity in this webspace, I think.) Today, I will be taking care of a few final things to be able to go forth and do what I need to do in Kalamazoo: printing, laundry, and the like.
As such, it will be another week before I settle into the summer routine I expect to have. The Mrs. will be working nearly full time if not actually full time or more, and I will have the day-to-day care of Ms. 8 while I try to keep up with freelancing (once it starts back up) or other research writing. It should be a productive summer for the household in the main, although we do plan on a trip or two during the months between now and the resumption of classes in August. Some weddings are scheduled, and more family could stand to see us now and again.
Another thing: The weather in the region where Sherwood Cottage stands has been severe in the past few days, and many have suffered and are suffering as a result. Donations to relief efforts would not be out of line. They will not find their way to Sherwood Cottage, however; the city where it stands and where we live has once again avoided the worst of the matter. There was rain here, certainly, and some wind, but not so much of either as in other places. (And it was good to see the Red River look a river again, as well as the Cimarron.) All is well here, and I pray it will continue to be so.
One more note: While I am away, I will have some internet access, although not as freely as I have while I am at home. Given the demands of the conference, though, I am more likely to focus my attention on Travels in Genre and Medievalism than on this webspace. So it may be a bit before regular updates resume here...
As such, it will be another week before I settle into the summer routine I expect to have. The Mrs. will be working nearly full time if not actually full time or more, and I will have the day-to-day care of Ms. 8 while I try to keep up with freelancing (once it starts back up) or other research writing. It should be a productive summer for the household in the main, although we do plan on a trip or two during the months between now and the resumption of classes in August. Some weddings are scheduled, and more family could stand to see us now and again.
Another thing: The weather in the region where Sherwood Cottage stands has been severe in the past few days, and many have suffered and are suffering as a result. Donations to relief efforts would not be out of line. They will not find their way to Sherwood Cottage, however; the city where it stands and where we live has once again avoided the worst of the matter. There was rain here, certainly, and some wind, but not so much of either as in other places. (And it was good to see the Red River look a river again, as well as the Cimarron.) All is well here, and I pray it will continue to be so.
One more note: While I am away, I will have some internet access, although not as freely as I have while I am at home. Given the demands of the conference, though, I am more likely to focus my attention on Travels in Genre and Medievalism than on this webspace. So it may be a bit before regular updates resume here...
Friday, January 1, 2016
20160101.0741
A new year has begun, as it would seem often to have done; I have spoken to it here, here, and here in this webspace. The Mrs., Ms. 8, and I were all abed long before the beginning of it at Sherwood Cottage; waiting for midnight has lost its allure, although I do recall some good transitions from year to year. (I recall some far less pleasant, as well.) My wife and I have had our fun, and Ms. 8 is as yet too young to recognize the holiday or value it. The neighborhood in which Sherwood Cottage stands is relatively empty with school not in session. Between the two, we were able to have a quiet evening spent reasonably peacefully. It was nice enough, if hardly the kind of thing valorized in public perception--but it has the great benefit of having prevented us from being hung over.
For me, the world has not much changed; I have to alter numbers on my blog posts and on the checks I sign (and, yes, I still write checks for a fair number of things; I like the existence of a physical record). Work still continues, with more freelancing waiting for my attention, as well as class prep and any number of other projects about which I have written on no small number of occasions before. The weather around Sherwood Cottage remains wintry (by area standards), with nights below freezing and days not much above it; the ground remains wet from the passing goliath, since there seems not to be enough warmth in the air to dry it. The lawn needs no attention, however, so some of the consequences of that problem are mitigated. Ms. 8 still does not get to play in her yard as much as she would like, though, and that is far less good. Unlike her father, she enjoys the outdoors, and I would give it her if I could. I would give her many things if I could. I cannot, though, which I do not think is a mark of pride.
To return to an earlier point--that I like the existence of a physical record--I am beginning a new volume of my journal today, having wrapped up the last one (after entirely too long) yesterday. It will be the thirtieth such volume since I began keeping a journal on something other than a legal pad in 2005. Just shy of three volumes a year is not an impressive rate of completion, I know, and there are gaps in each volume I have maintained that bespeak times either of substantial stress or indolence. Each time, I hope to do better; each time, I do not. I know such things about myself; it is part of why I do not make resolutions, as is traditional as one year becomes another. I know I will break them, and I am already often enough forsworn. I do not need to compound errors by repeating them; I can, at least, make new and different mistakes in the new year recently begun.
For me, the world has not much changed; I have to alter numbers on my blog posts and on the checks I sign (and, yes, I still write checks for a fair number of things; I like the existence of a physical record). Work still continues, with more freelancing waiting for my attention, as well as class prep and any number of other projects about which I have written on no small number of occasions before. The weather around Sherwood Cottage remains wintry (by area standards), with nights below freezing and days not much above it; the ground remains wet from the passing goliath, since there seems not to be enough warmth in the air to dry it. The lawn needs no attention, however, so some of the consequences of that problem are mitigated. Ms. 8 still does not get to play in her yard as much as she would like, though, and that is far less good. Unlike her father, she enjoys the outdoors, and I would give it her if I could. I would give her many things if I could. I cannot, though, which I do not think is a mark of pride.
To return to an earlier point--that I like the existence of a physical record--I am beginning a new volume of my journal today, having wrapped up the last one (after entirely too long) yesterday. It will be the thirtieth such volume since I began keeping a journal on something other than a legal pad in 2005. Just shy of three volumes a year is not an impressive rate of completion, I know, and there are gaps in each volume I have maintained that bespeak times either of substantial stress or indolence. Each time, I hope to do better; each time, I do not. I know such things about myself; it is part of why I do not make resolutions, as is traditional as one year becomes another. I know I will break them, and I am already often enough forsworn. I do not need to compound errors by repeating them; I can, at least, make new and different mistakes in the new year recently begun.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
20150823.0630
Yesterday was not the best day.
I had meant to spend the day at work on my writing, taking the time to push through a freelance piece and then to move on to other bits of work that need doing. It was going to be a good day to do it; the Mrs. was going to work her short shift (since the place she works is only open half-days on Saturdays), and around the time she got home, Ms. 8 would go down for her nap. I would be able to work then and afterwards, completing the freelance order and therefore getting more money; I would afterwards be able to do other writing entirely, possibly getting ahead on things for a change. All three of us at Sherwood Cottage would be happy with how things fell out.
Such was not to be, however. We had a storm roll through between Friday and Saturday, and in the morning, after I had written here and had begun work on the freelance piece (as Ms. 8 was still asleep, or seemed to be), high winds and substantial rainfall conspired to drop branches and limbs from trees. They also ended up bringing several trees down altogether, including one that fell onto the power lines that supply Sherwood Cottage with electricity. Power was out here for more than twelve hours. Consequently, I could not work, not and still take care of the things that needed caring for--for Ms. 8 was wholly discommoded by the disruption to her routine, and our eating went wacky, since neither our refrigerator nor our cookery could be deployed. (I have a grill, yes, but it does not start so well in the rain. Electric stoves are problematic, too.)
Matters did eventually get corrected. The city utility folks were hard at work all day; ours was not the only power outage in the area, and there was a *lot* of tree to remove from the supply lines leading to us. (The break occurred between other lots than ours.) I find no fault with their work; indeed, when there have been utility problems, the workforce in the area has been good about attending to them. Still, it was annoying to have lost a day--and a hot, humid one, at that.
I recognize, however, that it was *only* an annoyance. Our water still flowed, and we were able to ensure that our food did not spoil. (I am pretty sure we did...) And the power came back on relatively soon, particularly given the circumstances. I am not unmindful of the larger perspective. That does not mean, however, that I am pleased to be playing catch-up yet again today--as I always seem to be, anyway. Several thousand words of freelance work remain to me, and other jobs are in the offering. Preparations for the next week of teaching need making; I should write as I ask my students to write. And there is other work to do, besides. As ever.
I had meant to spend the day at work on my writing, taking the time to push through a freelance piece and then to move on to other bits of work that need doing. It was going to be a good day to do it; the Mrs. was going to work her short shift (since the place she works is only open half-days on Saturdays), and around the time she got home, Ms. 8 would go down for her nap. I would be able to work then and afterwards, completing the freelance order and therefore getting more money; I would afterwards be able to do other writing entirely, possibly getting ahead on things for a change. All three of us at Sherwood Cottage would be happy with how things fell out.
Such was not to be, however. We had a storm roll through between Friday and Saturday, and in the morning, after I had written here and had begun work on the freelance piece (as Ms. 8 was still asleep, or seemed to be), high winds and substantial rainfall conspired to drop branches and limbs from trees. They also ended up bringing several trees down altogether, including one that fell onto the power lines that supply Sherwood Cottage with electricity. Power was out here for more than twelve hours. Consequently, I could not work, not and still take care of the things that needed caring for--for Ms. 8 was wholly discommoded by the disruption to her routine, and our eating went wacky, since neither our refrigerator nor our cookery could be deployed. (I have a grill, yes, but it does not start so well in the rain. Electric stoves are problematic, too.)
Matters did eventually get corrected. The city utility folks were hard at work all day; ours was not the only power outage in the area, and there was a *lot* of tree to remove from the supply lines leading to us. (The break occurred between other lots than ours.) I find no fault with their work; indeed, when there have been utility problems, the workforce in the area has been good about attending to them. Still, it was annoying to have lost a day--and a hot, humid one, at that.
I recognize, however, that it was *only* an annoyance. Our water still flowed, and we were able to ensure that our food did not spoil. (I am pretty sure we did...) And the power came back on relatively soon, particularly given the circumstances. I am not unmindful of the larger perspective. That does not mean, however, that I am pleased to be playing catch-up yet again today--as I always seem to be, anyway. Several thousand words of freelance work remain to me, and other jobs are in the offering. Preparations for the next week of teaching need making; I should write as I ask my students to write. And there is other work to do, besides. As ever.
Monday, October 12, 2015
20151012.0628
I have argued against the observance being conducted today, at least under the name it currently carries. That an observance be carried out in early fall is, itself, okay. That it is dedicated to the memory of an important historical figure associated with the place having the observance is, itself, okay. That it is dedicated to the memory of a historical figure whose prominence derives from idiocy and atrocity--and the former is even taught in the "traditional" narratives into which I recall being indoctrinated in my childhood (and "traditional" education in the United States is indoctrination; the concept of American exceptionalism is cultish, indeed, as are the obligations of en masse oaths)--is not, itself, okay. There are more and better things to celebrate than the jackass Christopher Columbus.
Discussions about the holiday tend, to my observation, to prompt considerations of how many others who have committed atrocity are lauded. Comments about the slave-holding lives of Washington and Jefferson come to mind as examples, and they lead to the useful question of how bad a person can be and still be seen as worth praise. They lead also to the useful question of how much good can derive from evil means. Neither offers easy answers, although both easily open up historical figures to inquiry and critique--which is a good thing. "Accepted" truths should be questioned; that they are accepted is revelatory about their acceptors, as is the nature of those truths.
I was going to go somewhere else with this, but I cannot recall where.
What I do recall, though, is that this past weekend has been a good one, overall. Having my parents and my mother-in-law up has been to the benefit of all of us at Sherwood Cottage. Ms. 8, in particular, has enjoyed having access to three of her five grandparents, squealing in delight for hours on end as she has run from one to the other to the other or sat long in their laps, snuggling against them. That it must end is, of course, as it is, although I cannot say I am entirely glad to see it end. For one, it means that I must get back to my continuing work. (I do not get the observance off here, which is, again, confusing.) For another, it means that Sherwood Cottage will be more empty than it has been, and while that will mean I get to sleep in my own bed again, it is good, from time to time, to have company about the place--especially company that works as well as those who have been here.
By tomorrow, then, things will have returned to as much of a sense of normalcy as ever happens here, and I will have been back at the work of trying to make things right for my wife and daughter. The weekend now passed will help with that, I think, at least in some ways, and perhaps other things will fall into place that will allow me to do so far more than might otherwise be the case.
Discussions about the holiday tend, to my observation, to prompt considerations of how many others who have committed atrocity are lauded. Comments about the slave-holding lives of Washington and Jefferson come to mind as examples, and they lead to the useful question of how bad a person can be and still be seen as worth praise. They lead also to the useful question of how much good can derive from evil means. Neither offers easy answers, although both easily open up historical figures to inquiry and critique--which is a good thing. "Accepted" truths should be questioned; that they are accepted is revelatory about their acceptors, as is the nature of those truths.
I was going to go somewhere else with this, but I cannot recall where.
What I do recall, though, is that this past weekend has been a good one, overall. Having my parents and my mother-in-law up has been to the benefit of all of us at Sherwood Cottage. Ms. 8, in particular, has enjoyed having access to three of her five grandparents, squealing in delight for hours on end as she has run from one to the other to the other or sat long in their laps, snuggling against them. That it must end is, of course, as it is, although I cannot say I am entirely glad to see it end. For one, it means that I must get back to my continuing work. (I do not get the observance off here, which is, again, confusing.) For another, it means that Sherwood Cottage will be more empty than it has been, and while that will mean I get to sleep in my own bed again, it is good, from time to time, to have company about the place--especially company that works as well as those who have been here.
By tomorrow, then, things will have returned to as much of a sense of normalcy as ever happens here, and I will have been back at the work of trying to make things right for my wife and daughter. The weekend now passed will help with that, I think, at least in some ways, and perhaps other things will fall into place that will allow me to do so far more than might otherwise be the case.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
20150611.1034
I realize that I am later writing this than I normally am. Ms. 8 needed attention, and she is more important. She is also down for a nap, now, and so I have a little bit to do the writing that I try (with less success than I would like) to do each day.
I have heard the news that Christopher Lee has died. I have made the following comment in a few places: "Why mourn? He is clearly in Valhalla or something equally gloriously metal!" I supposed I will need to address the issue on Travels in Genre and Medievalism (to which more contributions are decidedly welcome) in the next day or so.
In the meantime, a freelance piece has come up, and I am at work on it now. This time, I get to read Diana Gabaldon's Voyager, the third member of the Outlander series. It is not the first book in that series I have treated; I actually had to deal with Written in My Own Heart's Blood upon its publication, having previously read none of the series, and I later read the second novel, Dragonfly in Amber. It is, after all, a bit later than my usual field of study, although I am certain that I could mine the works for their medievalist impulses. Holdovers from the medieval lingered into the eighteenth century in abundance, even as they still linger in the twenty-first.
Weather around Sherwood Cottage continues to approach the summer. Temperatures range into what even I, Texan by upbringing, acknowledge as "hot," and the humidity is high enough to make the experience entirely unpleasant. Unlike The City and Cajun Country, in both of which I have had the pleasant experience of combined heat and humidity, there is little to distract from that heat; The City at least had enough to do in the cool to allow for pleasant diversion, and Cajun Country has food that makes enduring the climate worth doing. (I do miss easy access to boudin and fresh cracklins.) Here, there is not so much. I am not certain why there is not, but I do not appreciate it.
I do appreciate having run the grill last night, however. Last night saw chicken breast get cooked over charcoal and mesquite chips, along with sweet potatoes and a garden salad. (I did not grill the last.) There is a fair amount left over; I think we will be having dinner salads tonight, eating the leftovers sliced over the remaining garden salad makings, possibly with some grated cheese in the offering. It seems a good way to go, as well as a way to have dinner without heating the house. Robb Walsh's comments about peculiar perversities in summertime cooking are spot-on, after all, and Sherwood Cottage already suffers from a lack of insulation and too much openness to the outside world.
Today will not likely be exceptional. It will likely be productive, though, and that is something else I appreciate greatly. I like having work to do; I simply wish to have it be more stable than is currently the case.
I have heard the news that Christopher Lee has died. I have made the following comment in a few places: "Why mourn? He is clearly in Valhalla or something equally gloriously metal!" I supposed I will need to address the issue on Travels in Genre and Medievalism (to which more contributions are decidedly welcome) in the next day or so.
In the meantime, a freelance piece has come up, and I am at work on it now. This time, I get to read Diana Gabaldon's Voyager, the third member of the Outlander series. It is not the first book in that series I have treated; I actually had to deal with Written in My Own Heart's Blood upon its publication, having previously read none of the series, and I later read the second novel, Dragonfly in Amber. It is, after all, a bit later than my usual field of study, although I am certain that I could mine the works for their medievalist impulses. Holdovers from the medieval lingered into the eighteenth century in abundance, even as they still linger in the twenty-first.
Weather around Sherwood Cottage continues to approach the summer. Temperatures range into what even I, Texan by upbringing, acknowledge as "hot," and the humidity is high enough to make the experience entirely unpleasant. Unlike The City and Cajun Country, in both of which I have had the pleasant experience of combined heat and humidity, there is little to distract from that heat; The City at least had enough to do in the cool to allow for pleasant diversion, and Cajun Country has food that makes enduring the climate worth doing. (I do miss easy access to boudin and fresh cracklins.) Here, there is not so much. I am not certain why there is not, but I do not appreciate it.
I do appreciate having run the grill last night, however. Last night saw chicken breast get cooked over charcoal and mesquite chips, along with sweet potatoes and a garden salad. (I did not grill the last.) There is a fair amount left over; I think we will be having dinner salads tonight, eating the leftovers sliced over the remaining garden salad makings, possibly with some grated cheese in the offering. It seems a good way to go, as well as a way to have dinner without heating the house. Robb Walsh's comments about peculiar perversities in summertime cooking are spot-on, after all, and Sherwood Cottage already suffers from a lack of insulation and too much openness to the outside world.
Today will not likely be exceptional. It will likely be productive, though, and that is something else I appreciate greatly. I like having work to do; I simply wish to have it be more stable than is currently the case.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
20151112.0619
I noted yesterday that the weather around Sherwood Cottage was changing. The change appears to have gone through, with cooler air blowing in along the high winds yesterday; it is in the 30s Fahrenheit now (low to mid single digits for my Celsius friends) and promises only to get to the upper 50s or lower 60s. I am not aware that precipitation is forecast, but that means relatively little; that I do not know does not mean it is not there (maugre some old pronouncements of friends of mine--and, yes, I do have and have had friends). I am aware, however, that the winds yesterday knocked some parts out of trees on the Sherwood Cottage lot; I had to drag a sizeable chunk back behind the garage yesterday when I got home. I hope there has been no damage to the roof; the owner is not likely to be happy at another roof replacement.
Work continues, of course. There is grading to do again; I had my students work through one of my riddle exercises yet again (not this one), and so I have to assess the work they did on it. There is another exercise that I have allowed to languish and need to redeem from its sojourn amid my papers, as well. Too, I stumbled across a piece to treat in my Fedwren Project, an annotated bibliography I am compiling for reasons I explain on the relevant page (here); I ought to attend to it. Further, I have a budding idea for a bit of writing to do to contribute to the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, here; others' contributions remain welcome. And freelance work and job applications both continue to await me. So I am able to remain as busy as I could ever want to be for as long as I could ever want to be. There is somehow comfort in that.
Amid this, Ms. 8 continues to suffer the effects of her cold. It is trying to move into her chest yet; the Mrs. and I are working to hinder it, keeping our daughter hydrated and comfortable as much as we can. The girl seemed to be in a good mood yesterday and last night, if annoyed and distracted by fits of coughing. (If only the glazed donut impression annoyed her so much.) She is beginning to be more willful, however, which does not always work as well as she might hope; neither of her parents are as tractable as she might like them to be. Her father, for example, resents her attempts to eat his shoes (true story) or wrap herself around his feet while he is at his desk. She will grow out of such behaviors, I am sure. I can hope she will do so soon--although I hope for her to get over the cold sooner than that.
As I have noted, there is much for me to do. I suppose I ought to be about it; I suppose I shall have more to say tomorrow.
Work continues, of course. There is grading to do again; I had my students work through one of my riddle exercises yet again (not this one), and so I have to assess the work they did on it. There is another exercise that I have allowed to languish and need to redeem from its sojourn amid my papers, as well. Too, I stumbled across a piece to treat in my Fedwren Project, an annotated bibliography I am compiling for reasons I explain on the relevant page (here); I ought to attend to it. Further, I have a budding idea for a bit of writing to do to contribute to the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, here; others' contributions remain welcome. And freelance work and job applications both continue to await me. So I am able to remain as busy as I could ever want to be for as long as I could ever want to be. There is somehow comfort in that.
Amid this, Ms. 8 continues to suffer the effects of her cold. It is trying to move into her chest yet; the Mrs. and I are working to hinder it, keeping our daughter hydrated and comfortable as much as we can. The girl seemed to be in a good mood yesterday and last night, if annoyed and distracted by fits of coughing. (If only the glazed donut impression annoyed her so much.) She is beginning to be more willful, however, which does not always work as well as she might hope; neither of her parents are as tractable as she might like them to be. Her father, for example, resents her attempts to eat his shoes (true story) or wrap herself around his feet while he is at his desk. She will grow out of such behaviors, I am sure. I can hope she will do so soon--although I hope for her to get over the cold sooner than that.
As I have noted, there is much for me to do. I suppose I ought to be about it; I suppose I shall have more to say tomorrow.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
20140401.0726
It is April Fool's Day. I am not doing anything to celebrate it, really. The world is foolish enough without adding to it on purpose.
Work continues as it ever does, both the actions that earn me (not enough) money and those that are the real work, the work on The Work. The students still show up to classes and turn in papers and quizzes (although not enough), so I must make ready lessons and spend time in grading. And I work on other projects, as well, sending out pieces in the hopes that they will make me a bit of money now and again. I have been fortunate enough to have some luck in that regard, and more recently than in the past. It is a tendency I hope to see continue.
It is not the only such tendency. Another is displayed by Ms. 8. She continues to grow stronger and more alert by the day. Yesterday, I saw her picking up her head and rolling up onto her side--entirely unassisted. She also does a fair pantomime of crawling; once she actually figures out how to get traction, she will be off like a shot, I think. I do not know whether or not I look forward to it; I am of course happy to see my daughter grow, but I know that she, being curious, will get into a number of things. Some of them will hurt her; my books, being full of knowledge, are heavy, and heavy things fall with great force onto the heads of babies who pull upon them. (If any of you who read this have good plans for building bookcase fronts, I would be happy to see them. If any of you are willing to come to Sherwood Cottage and help me build such fronts--or new bookcases entirely--I would be happy to see you.)
Appreciated also is the tendency towards warmer weather that has been evidenced around Sherwood Cottage. Not every day is warmer than the last; today is supposed to be about twenty degrees cooler. Even so, it is far warmer than it has been, such that even I, indoorsman as I proudly am, am happy to be out in the weather. Spring has managed to slip in around here, and I am glad to see it. If nothing else, the verdure makes the wintry gray the more intense by contrast--but I like many of the things that spring brings. (Flowers, for instance, although not in themselves but because they lead to honey--and honey leads to other things I like.) I like not having to spend so much money to heat my house; it is not cheap to do it here. (Indeed, it seems like I pay more to do it here than I did in The City, where everything is supposed to be more expensive.) I like also getting to use the natural light; it strikes the eye differently, and that difference--as with many differences--is quite useful.
Work continues as it ever does, both the actions that earn me (not enough) money and those that are the real work, the work on The Work. The students still show up to classes and turn in papers and quizzes (although not enough), so I must make ready lessons and spend time in grading. And I work on other projects, as well, sending out pieces in the hopes that they will make me a bit of money now and again. I have been fortunate enough to have some luck in that regard, and more recently than in the past. It is a tendency I hope to see continue.
It is not the only such tendency. Another is displayed by Ms. 8. She continues to grow stronger and more alert by the day. Yesterday, I saw her picking up her head and rolling up onto her side--entirely unassisted. She also does a fair pantomime of crawling; once she actually figures out how to get traction, she will be off like a shot, I think. I do not know whether or not I look forward to it; I am of course happy to see my daughter grow, but I know that she, being curious, will get into a number of things. Some of them will hurt her; my books, being full of knowledge, are heavy, and heavy things fall with great force onto the heads of babies who pull upon them. (If any of you who read this have good plans for building bookcase fronts, I would be happy to see them. If any of you are willing to come to Sherwood Cottage and help me build such fronts--or new bookcases entirely--I would be happy to see you.)
Appreciated also is the tendency towards warmer weather that has been evidenced around Sherwood Cottage. Not every day is warmer than the last; today is supposed to be about twenty degrees cooler. Even so, it is far warmer than it has been, such that even I, indoorsman as I proudly am, am happy to be out in the weather. Spring has managed to slip in around here, and I am glad to see it. If nothing else, the verdure makes the wintry gray the more intense by contrast--but I like many of the things that spring brings. (Flowers, for instance, although not in themselves but because they lead to honey--and honey leads to other things I like.) I like not having to spend so much money to heat my house; it is not cheap to do it here. (Indeed, it seems like I pay more to do it here than I did in The City, where everything is supposed to be more expensive.) I like also getting to use the natural light; it strikes the eye differently, and that difference--as with many differences--is quite useful.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
20150613.0755
Company is coming to Sherwood Cottage today; my folks will be up from the Hill Country. Because some part of creation is a smartass, I am also dealing with allergies or a head cold (I am unsure which), as is the Mrs. Ms. 8 seems to be clear of it at the moment, save for a bit of a plugged nose; I am grateful for it, as she does not respond well to being de-snotted in any way, shape, or form. I understand it, of course, as I am not fond of having my nose wiped for me or my nostrils aspirated. (Yes, I know about neti pots. No, I do not use them. Feels too much like drowning, and I've been closer to drowning more often than I care to recall.) That I understand, however, does not make dealing with it easier.
Weather about the place continues to be interesting. Rain has been moving in again, which remains good; despite the seeming monsoon of not too long ago, the rivers are receding, which tells me we still need more water in the area. The current storms are coming erratically, however, with sudden downpours of limited area that do not last long. One fell on the grocery store to which the Mrs., Ms. 8, and I went yesterday evening. Rain fell intensely for five or so minutes and tapered off for the next fifteen. None fell on Sherwood Cottage, however--at least at that point. Ours hit during the night, if the states of the driveway and the road onto which it opens are any indication. I am glad I mowed the yard recently; it will make doing so when next I must easier, I hope.
Freelance work continues, which I appreciate (not least for the paycheck). I am amid the write-up of Gabaldon's Voyager, although I am not making as much progress on it as I should like. The state of my head makes it more difficult to do, the congestion in the physical being mirrored in the mental. I have several more days to get the project done, though, so I am not terribly worried. Ms. 8 will sleep, and I can do some work while she does. Also, my parents are coming up; with them here, I need not worry so much about each individual moment with Ms. 8. Having more eyes to observe her makes a difference, and having those eyes be part of people who understand that work must be done makes the difference a helpful one. They will certainly appreciate the time with her.
About the write-ups: It may seem a bit odd that I am working over a novel that is more than twenty years old at this point, particularly since most of the write-ups I do are of novels only recently released. (Indeed, the last several orders have been issued on books released the same day as the order issue.) Some of the older-piece orders are for books only recently optioned into or about to be released as movies, so that the writing is newly popular. Others back-fill series still in progress, with the new releases receiving attention and the older releases receiving treatment for the sake of completeness. They all pay the same, so I am happy to do them--although I would be happier to have a clearer head, indeed...
Weather about the place continues to be interesting. Rain has been moving in again, which remains good; despite the seeming monsoon of not too long ago, the rivers are receding, which tells me we still need more water in the area. The current storms are coming erratically, however, with sudden downpours of limited area that do not last long. One fell on the grocery store to which the Mrs., Ms. 8, and I went yesterday evening. Rain fell intensely for five or so minutes and tapered off for the next fifteen. None fell on Sherwood Cottage, however--at least at that point. Ours hit during the night, if the states of the driveway and the road onto which it opens are any indication. I am glad I mowed the yard recently; it will make doing so when next I must easier, I hope.
Freelance work continues, which I appreciate (not least for the paycheck). I am amid the write-up of Gabaldon's Voyager, although I am not making as much progress on it as I should like. The state of my head makes it more difficult to do, the congestion in the physical being mirrored in the mental. I have several more days to get the project done, though, so I am not terribly worried. Ms. 8 will sleep, and I can do some work while she does. Also, my parents are coming up; with them here, I need not worry so much about each individual moment with Ms. 8. Having more eyes to observe her makes a difference, and having those eyes be part of people who understand that work must be done makes the difference a helpful one. They will certainly appreciate the time with her.
About the write-ups: It may seem a bit odd that I am working over a novel that is more than twenty years old at this point, particularly since most of the write-ups I do are of novels only recently released. (Indeed, the last several orders have been issued on books released the same day as the order issue.) Some of the older-piece orders are for books only recently optioned into or about to be released as movies, so that the writing is newly popular. Others back-fill series still in progress, with the new releases receiving attention and the older releases receiving treatment for the sake of completeness. They all pay the same, so I am happy to do them--although I would be happier to have a clearer head, indeed...
Monday, July 7, 2014
20140707.0714
Today, I am trying to return to what passes for normalcy for me--which is not "normal" as most understand it, I admit. My wife and I are currently enjoying an inversion of several of the normative gender roles prevalent in the perception of mainstream US popular culture; she works, while I stay home to take care of the house and those who dwell in it. As such, I have some cleanup to do from the trip; there is laundry to handle, and there are dishes that need washing. (I do reserve the right to write a bit and to have a cup of coffee before I go about doing so, though.)
To that end, I am glad that the water is back on at Sherwood Cottage. It is not because of problems paying bills that the water was turned off, certainly; I cut the requisite check as soon as I received the billing statement, and it appears to have already cleared my bank. No, it was off in the evening because of something that happened a couple of houses down from me ("down" being higher-numbered lots, thus farther away from the origin point). I am not sure what caused it, but a water pipe going to the house in question burst, and it did so on the city's side of the water meter. As such, city crews arrived to work on the problem, and doing so required that they close the main that serves Sherwood Cottage.
I understand the need to do so, of course, and I acknowledge that the inconvenience imposed upon me was only an inconvenience. But I am nonetheless reminded of the precarious interconnections upon which I rely, and I doubt that I am alone in that reliance. It is some way to the nearest water source for me if I have to carry water by hand, for instance, and I know that my skill set is not such that I would do well at foraging for my own food or food for my family. I suppose that makes me something of a parasite, or would did I not contribute in some small way to the betterment of that body from which I derive sustenance. I am perhaps as one of the bacteria in our guts, distinct from us in fact but vital to our ongoing lives in the aggregate. Some of the work I do, whether on The Work or elsewhere, is needful, and all of the work that I and those like me do is necessary even if any single worker is eminently replaceable.
It might be asked why I would contemplate such things. They cannot conduce to my comfort. They certainly do not ring of that which builds up a person. They are images that do not need to be taken far to unravel, since it is not at all a great cognitive distance to travel from gut bacteria to feces and flatus, and thinking of myself as mostly belching forth stinking gases and producing waste is hardly flattering. It is what I am trained to do, however, and I cannot but do as I have been shaped by myself and others to do. I cannot but be as I am made to be. And so I will be getting back to chores and The Work soon.
To that end, I am glad that the water is back on at Sherwood Cottage. It is not because of problems paying bills that the water was turned off, certainly; I cut the requisite check as soon as I received the billing statement, and it appears to have already cleared my bank. No, it was off in the evening because of something that happened a couple of houses down from me ("down" being higher-numbered lots, thus farther away from the origin point). I am not sure what caused it, but a water pipe going to the house in question burst, and it did so on the city's side of the water meter. As such, city crews arrived to work on the problem, and doing so required that they close the main that serves Sherwood Cottage.
I understand the need to do so, of course, and I acknowledge that the inconvenience imposed upon me was only an inconvenience. But I am nonetheless reminded of the precarious interconnections upon which I rely, and I doubt that I am alone in that reliance. It is some way to the nearest water source for me if I have to carry water by hand, for instance, and I know that my skill set is not such that I would do well at foraging for my own food or food for my family. I suppose that makes me something of a parasite, or would did I not contribute in some small way to the betterment of that body from which I derive sustenance. I am perhaps as one of the bacteria in our guts, distinct from us in fact but vital to our ongoing lives in the aggregate. Some of the work I do, whether on The Work or elsewhere, is needful, and all of the work that I and those like me do is necessary even if any single worker is eminently replaceable.
It might be asked why I would contemplate such things. They cannot conduce to my comfort. They certainly do not ring of that which builds up a person. They are images that do not need to be taken far to unravel, since it is not at all a great cognitive distance to travel from gut bacteria to feces and flatus, and thinking of myself as mostly belching forth stinking gases and producing waste is hardly flattering. It is what I am trained to do, however, and I cannot but do as I have been shaped by myself and others to do. I cannot but be as I am made to be. And so I will be getting back to chores and The Work soon.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
20140601.0747
I am not displeased to have woken up to a world in which the Spurs advance to the Finals again...
When I wrote in this webspace at around this time last year, I did so in part to complain of the changes to my body wrought by life away from the kindly summer sunshine of the American South and Southwest and of the lack of adequate ventilation in homes and many other places in The City. Now I live much closer to the South and the Southwest; Oklahoma is not really part of either, having not seceded from the Union and having insufficient Hispanic influence upon its traditions and histories, but it is a lot closer than New York. The sun is more like it was when I grew up, long in the sky and unstinting with its gifts, although it is far more humid here than was true for me in the Folk Festival town (and the anniversary of the event is today, as well). Here, as in The City, though, I find myself cooled by window units rather than honest central air.
I understand why Sherwood Cottage relies on the things, three window units working in tandem to make livable the living space and ease sleep in the bedrooms. The building is not young, and it has obviously been treated poorly by some of the tenants it has had. Neither circumstance prompts the kind of expenditure that would be needed to have central air installed, and although the landlord is a decent person, I know that the housing is provided as a way to make money; spending money on it is not the most desirable act for the landlord to take.
I gather also that expense factors into many of the decisions to cool by window unit. Although I contend that the long-term cost of central air is less, I know that the initial cost is far greater, requiring much in terms of mathematics to figure out how much air needs to move to effectively cool a given space, labor to set up the duct work and other machinery, and outlay in terms of materials. I also know that it is an involved construction process. (I believe I have mentioned how I know such things.) Window units can be bought at local stores easily, often for under $200, and can be put into service within an afternoon. They offer immediate relief at a lesser immediate cost, and so they are attractive.
Even so, although I am faring better now and do not threaten to burst into flame at the merest brush of sunlight as I did while in The City, I still sweat far more profusely than I prefer or that I remember, and much of that perspiration still flows from my upper lip. I still fall back on older ways to keep cool, and they still work, but they still send me to the toilet frequently. At Sherwood Cottage, though, the bathroom is not quite so cool...
When I wrote in this webspace at around this time last year, I did so in part to complain of the changes to my body wrought by life away from the kindly summer sunshine of the American South and Southwest and of the lack of adequate ventilation in homes and many other places in The City. Now I live much closer to the South and the Southwest; Oklahoma is not really part of either, having not seceded from the Union and having insufficient Hispanic influence upon its traditions and histories, but it is a lot closer than New York. The sun is more like it was when I grew up, long in the sky and unstinting with its gifts, although it is far more humid here than was true for me in the Folk Festival town (and the anniversary of the event is today, as well). Here, as in The City, though, I find myself cooled by window units rather than honest central air.
I understand why Sherwood Cottage relies on the things, three window units working in tandem to make livable the living space and ease sleep in the bedrooms. The building is not young, and it has obviously been treated poorly by some of the tenants it has had. Neither circumstance prompts the kind of expenditure that would be needed to have central air installed, and although the landlord is a decent person, I know that the housing is provided as a way to make money; spending money on it is not the most desirable act for the landlord to take.
I gather also that expense factors into many of the decisions to cool by window unit. Although I contend that the long-term cost of central air is less, I know that the initial cost is far greater, requiring much in terms of mathematics to figure out how much air needs to move to effectively cool a given space, labor to set up the duct work and other machinery, and outlay in terms of materials. I also know that it is an involved construction process. (I believe I have mentioned how I know such things.) Window units can be bought at local stores easily, often for under $200, and can be put into service within an afternoon. They offer immediate relief at a lesser immediate cost, and so they are attractive.
Even so, although I am faring better now and do not threaten to burst into flame at the merest brush of sunlight as I did while in The City, I still sweat far more profusely than I prefer or that I remember, and much of that perspiration still flows from my upper lip. I still fall back on older ways to keep cool, and they still work, but they still send me to the toilet frequently. At Sherwood Cottage, though, the bathroom is not quite so cool...
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
20150505.0726
As I noted last year at around this time, ¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo! and happy Revenge of the Fifth!
Now that the holiday cheer is dispensed with, on to other things: The weather around Sherwood Cottage inches toward summer, with lows in the sixties (Fahrenheit, of course; we'd not want to convert to a sensible system of measurement, now, would we?) and highs formally in the eighties--although I would not be surprised to find that it actually reached ninety. Humidity is up, which likely accounts for the feeling; forecasts suggest that rain will be moving in and staying through the weekend, which will make for a fun time getting things loaded for travel. Once the semester ends, we are paying call on family, and I will be running thence to Kalamazoo for the International Congress on Medieval Studies, at which I am to be quite busy. Getting to do so in the rain makes things all the better.
I do not complain about the rain, though, not really. Having grown up in the Texas Hill Country makes me appreciate water falling form the sky. There is not often enough of it doing so in a year, and only rarely does too much come at once. Twice, to my recollection, or twice of serious note, anyway, but not more than that. The rivers often run low, as do the aquifers upon which many depend, and that is not less true near Sherwood Cottage than in the oak- and cedar-covered hills among which I grew up. Too much red dirt shows beside the waters that do not flow as they ought for me to complain that they are replenished from above--even if such rejuvenation has uncomfortably sexual overtones. But that I am happy to have it happen does not mean that I am pleased entirely with its timing; it will make some things a bit less convenient for me and mine.
That inconvenience occasions complaint is doubtlessly a sign of my being steeped in privilege, of course. I recognize this, and I recognize that my life has been largely good; if annoyance at having to drive in the rain befalls me, it only does so because there is rain (which is good) and because I have a car in which to drive (which I also count as good; if nothing else, I can run deliveries for extra money, although preferably not in a town whose population includes so many of my students--I have some dignity). I am able to drive said car, which not all are, and to expect that my travels will be conducted relatively safely; I do not have to worry so much that I will be pulled over--with legal sanction and official protection for the one doing it--for being in the kind of car I drive or for driving it through the places I do. I do not have to worry that my doing anything other than prostrating myself will end up in my being shot--or that I will be shot even if I do so, leaving the Mrs. and Ms. 8 to deal with the trauma and loss. All I have to do is get through the rain and let it soak into the ground--and that is not so bad.
Now that the holiday cheer is dispensed with, on to other things: The weather around Sherwood Cottage inches toward summer, with lows in the sixties (Fahrenheit, of course; we'd not want to convert to a sensible system of measurement, now, would we?) and highs formally in the eighties--although I would not be surprised to find that it actually reached ninety. Humidity is up, which likely accounts for the feeling; forecasts suggest that rain will be moving in and staying through the weekend, which will make for a fun time getting things loaded for travel. Once the semester ends, we are paying call on family, and I will be running thence to Kalamazoo for the International Congress on Medieval Studies, at which I am to be quite busy. Getting to do so in the rain makes things all the better.
I do not complain about the rain, though, not really. Having grown up in the Texas Hill Country makes me appreciate water falling form the sky. There is not often enough of it doing so in a year, and only rarely does too much come at once. Twice, to my recollection, or twice of serious note, anyway, but not more than that. The rivers often run low, as do the aquifers upon which many depend, and that is not less true near Sherwood Cottage than in the oak- and cedar-covered hills among which I grew up. Too much red dirt shows beside the waters that do not flow as they ought for me to complain that they are replenished from above--even if such rejuvenation has uncomfortably sexual overtones. But that I am happy to have it happen does not mean that I am pleased entirely with its timing; it will make some things a bit less convenient for me and mine.
That inconvenience occasions complaint is doubtlessly a sign of my being steeped in privilege, of course. I recognize this, and I recognize that my life has been largely good; if annoyance at having to drive in the rain befalls me, it only does so because there is rain (which is good) and because I have a car in which to drive (which I also count as good; if nothing else, I can run deliveries for extra money, although preferably not in a town whose population includes so many of my students--I have some dignity). I am able to drive said car, which not all are, and to expect that my travels will be conducted relatively safely; I do not have to worry so much that I will be pulled over--with legal sanction and official protection for the one doing it--for being in the kind of car I drive or for driving it through the places I do. I do not have to worry that my doing anything other than prostrating myself will end up in my being shot--or that I will be shot even if I do so, leaving the Mrs. and Ms. 8 to deal with the trauma and loss. All I have to do is get through the rain and let it soak into the ground--and that is not so bad.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
20140706.1638
I am only now returned to Sherwood Cottage from a trip to the hinterlands of Arkansas to visit with my in-laws. It was a good trip, to be sure, and one of several I have had scheduled for the season (such as next week's Evil Incarnate conference trip). Still, I am glad to be home, as I always am at the end of a trip.
I betray some cultural elitism in my description of the part of Arkansas where I was as "the hinterlands." I am not exactly in a major metropolitan area at Sherwood Cottage, nor is this pace a particularly prominent cultural hub. I suppose, though, that I display my having grown up in Texas and lived in the Best of the Boroughs in such a comment; the former breeds a pride of place that lingers, and the latter promotes arrogance. It is not the only parallel between the two, certainly, and I have every intention of explicating them. But not today.
Today, in what remains of it, I will unpack from the trip and decompress from the hours behind the wheel that seem longer than they used. And I will see about returning to The Work, which I had put off for a bit to attend to the obligations and joys of family.
I betray some cultural elitism in my description of the part of Arkansas where I was as "the hinterlands." I am not exactly in a major metropolitan area at Sherwood Cottage, nor is this pace a particularly prominent cultural hub. I suppose, though, that I display my having grown up in Texas and lived in the Best of the Boroughs in such a comment; the former breeds a pride of place that lingers, and the latter promotes arrogance. It is not the only parallel between the two, certainly, and I have every intention of explicating them. But not today.
Today, in what remains of it, I will unpack from the trip and decompress from the hours behind the wheel that seem longer than they used. And I will see about returning to The Work, which I had put off for a bit to attend to the obligations and joys of family.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
20150604.0627
The weather around Sherwood Cottage approaches its late-spring normal. Rain is in the forecast for a few days from now, but until then, the weather is warm and the skies go from morning cloudiness to afternoon clarity so that the sun may play freely over the still-damp ground. The songs of lawnmowers pervade the air from sunup on, a full-day cacophony because the machines are tuned too closely together. How those whose ears work well take in such things is not clear; there are perhaps benefits to certain parts not doing as they ought to do. It is a microcosm of the felix culpa concept, the idea that rising can only happen because of a fall, and so the fall is fortunate. But if we are fortunate at Sherwood Cottage, it is because the rain has fallen and will fall again soon; while flooding presents problems and yards choked with weeks-unmown grass annoy, we are still in a rain deficit in the long term, and the water is welcome (although it could come slowly to better effect).
Work continues, as ever. Another freelance piece is in progress, albeit slow progress. The book read for it, Stephen King's Finders Keepers, is a good one, about which there is much to say. (I will not say it here; I have a job to do with it first. What is left over from the paid work may well go to the unpaid. Or not.) Another freelance piece is in the offing, a correction of work done badly by others. It is not the first such offer I have had, not the first such piece of work there has been for me to do. But it pays well enough, so I do not complain, and there is something flattering in being trusted to make right what has been done wrongly. (If it could result in a continuing-line job, that would be more flattering, but I will take what I can get in the meantime.) And I still look for other work to do; I cannot count on the freelancing, of course, and my "real" job is avowedly contingent and temporary. I am only visiting, after all.
The Mrs. and Ms. 8 are heading off for a few days. There is a wedding for them to attend, a family event where they are expected. I was also invited, of course, but work is as it is, and I am a curmudgeon, hardly good company. (I am still amazed that the Mrs. agreed to become my Mrs. I do not know what I offer that attracts her so. I doubt it is my vast wealth.) They will travel by train--the only civilized way--and meet with her mother and family. The Mrs. looks forward to the occasion. Ms. 8 seems annoyed to have been woken to make the trip. But the train leaves when it leaves, and it takes an hour to get to it from here, so I will have to have them underway soon.
I hope they enjoy it. I hope I can get enough done to make being here while they are there worth being.
Work continues, as ever. Another freelance piece is in progress, albeit slow progress. The book read for it, Stephen King's Finders Keepers, is a good one, about which there is much to say. (I will not say it here; I have a job to do with it first. What is left over from the paid work may well go to the unpaid. Or not.) Another freelance piece is in the offing, a correction of work done badly by others. It is not the first such offer I have had, not the first such piece of work there has been for me to do. But it pays well enough, so I do not complain, and there is something flattering in being trusted to make right what has been done wrongly. (If it could result in a continuing-line job, that would be more flattering, but I will take what I can get in the meantime.) And I still look for other work to do; I cannot count on the freelancing, of course, and my "real" job is avowedly contingent and temporary. I am only visiting, after all.
The Mrs. and Ms. 8 are heading off for a few days. There is a wedding for them to attend, a family event where they are expected. I was also invited, of course, but work is as it is, and I am a curmudgeon, hardly good company. (I am still amazed that the Mrs. agreed to become my Mrs. I do not know what I offer that attracts her so. I doubt it is my vast wealth.) They will travel by train--the only civilized way--and meet with her mother and family. The Mrs. looks forward to the occasion. Ms. 8 seems annoyed to have been woken to make the trip. But the train leaves when it leaves, and it takes an hour to get to it from here, so I will have to have them underway soon.
I hope they enjoy it. I hope I can get enough done to make being here while they are there worth being.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
20160320.0845
Spring would seem to have sprung, at least in terms of the motions of the earth through the celestial ether. Around Sherwood Cottage, the weather is less springlike today than it was last week; temperatures were in the freezing range this morning, and they are expected only to get up into the mid-50s F (13 C, if I remember my conversions correctly). For contrast, last week was in the 70s (F) and up. But I have not packed away my sweaters or my jackets, and Sherwood Cottage retains the window films the Mrs. and I put up each year to try to keep out at least some of the chill; we are well here, and in a position from which we can look out upon the cool day and appreciate not having to be out in it so much. So that part of things is good.
As spring springs, Spring Break at the schools where I teach is coming to its end. At this point, I have 5/6 of what I meant to get done during the break accomplished. There were three things I meant to do, noted here: grade papers, write a piece for the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, and write a paper for the International Congress on Medieval Studies. The first was done on Wednesday, the second then, too. On the third, I am halfway done, hence the fraction I report. I expect to be able to wrap up that particular piece of writing today; I have been working on other things as they have come to me, enjoying the relatively relaxed time of the break to do so. It has been nice, and I have enjoyed it. Tomorrow, however, begins a headlong rush towards the end of the term, and it will not be until it is over that I will have a break again.
So work is about to continue again. I do not know that I am ready for it to do so; I have been too much indolent on this break, sleeping later than I am accustomed to doing in response to the lack of structured activity, and feeling somewhat disoriented for doing so. (I likely have needed the rest, however.) Whether I am ready for it or not, however, I know that it must be done. It always does, whatever the season and whatever changes to the seasons may occur, however clearly or raggedly they may. I suppose, then, that I ought to get to it.
As spring springs, Spring Break at the schools where I teach is coming to its end. At this point, I have 5/6 of what I meant to get done during the break accomplished. There were three things I meant to do, noted here: grade papers, write a piece for the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, and write a paper for the International Congress on Medieval Studies. The first was done on Wednesday, the second then, too. On the third, I am halfway done, hence the fraction I report. I expect to be able to wrap up that particular piece of writing today; I have been working on other things as they have come to me, enjoying the relatively relaxed time of the break to do so. It has been nice, and I have enjoyed it. Tomorrow, however, begins a headlong rush towards the end of the term, and it will not be until it is over that I will have a break again.
So work is about to continue again. I do not know that I am ready for it to do so; I have been too much indolent on this break, sleeping later than I am accustomed to doing in response to the lack of structured activity, and feeling somewhat disoriented for doing so. (I likely have needed the rest, however.) Whether I am ready for it or not, however, I know that it must be done. It always does, whatever the season and whatever changes to the seasons may occur, however clearly or raggedly they may. I suppose, then, that I ought to get to it.
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