Character Building Excersize 3a

Just messing at character setups and what not.
I had another form of these over in the DevArt Scraps pile a few months ago to jump start my creativity. I find that parking something online sometimes helps - kinda like re-arranging the furniture helps one to be inspired to vaccuum more efficiently.

At the moment, the time spans over 1000 years. K'lolius is possibly a couple thousand years old at the time of Morwynn's birth. Morwynn's mother is nearly immortal.
Morwynn's father and brothers and many other characters maintain a normal life span of approximately 100 years. Jidan's own birth came a few hundered years before Morwynn's, but through use of the grids he has managed to move ahead a few centuries in order to achieve a goal.

TBA. Obviously.


THESE ARE DISJOINTED SNIPPETS.
LARGELY UNEDITED.
(Be Forewarned.)





Character Setup : Jidan. (Jee-DAHN)

He stared at the console, scanning each of the faces as they rapidly flashed through the Grid panels. He hoped that it would hold up to this pace after all these years out of service. He was waiting for a glimpse of any one he might recognize before he began slowing down the rate of replay. He saw the early Masters (working phrase), the first members of his order, laboring at their tasks. He saw the eagerness in their eyes as they began their journey exploring the pathways of knowledge and wisdom. He smiled. He too understood that joy of discovery. He remembered when he had found the ancient sheets of vellum which his great-great-great grandsire Hemji had stored for one of his students.
Then he saw the Woman.
He focused all his attention now on the console. She fit the profile – tall, elegant, beautiful beyond description. But there was a sadness about her.
As the Grid advanced he saw her sadness deepen into anguish. Suddenly, she was gone.
He shut down the Grid, restarted it and reversed it slowly to a point just for she had disappeared.
He let the panels roll slowly forward again, this time panel by panel – day by day. Here she is reading. Her gaze placidly going over the pages. She lifts her head and looks across the great room and stares a long time. She discerns that some one is watching her and her movements become very planned and controlled from here on out. She eventually stands. Removing the mantle that hangs from her shoulders, she folds it neatly and lays it upon the throne. She goes to her wardrobe and chooses a dull grey hooded cloak. She also takes up an opaque white veil and wraps it around her head covering her face from the eyes down. She opens the door and leaves the room. She walks slowly down the Corridor, her eyes lovingly caress each of the enormous carved doors that line its smooth stone walls. Perhaps she is thinking of their occupants? She appears melancholy and wistful. She reaches the end of the Corridor, and steps into the stairwell. A shaft of light beams radiantly down on her face as she looks up toward it. She begins to climb the spiraling stone staircase which opens out into broad daylight. It takes a moment for Jidans eyes to adjust to the brightness. The woman has walked out into a vast grassy meadow beneath a cloudless sky. Jidan can see that this meadow is located on the side of a broad knoll. He breathlessly waits for her to reach the top, hoping that he will be able to get an idea of where she is. As she gains the summit, she is greeted by a tree of enormous proportions. There is not one single leaf upon the tree and its branches stretch out, up lifted, toward the sky as if to consume the heavens in their embrace. As Jidan watches, The Woman reaches beneath her robe and she pulls out a neck lace holding a key whos handle is carved in the image of the tree. She looks long and contemplatively at the key in her hand.
The woman begins to walk in a circle around the tree. It is indeed a marvel and unlike any tree that Jidan has ever seen. The bark is grey and twisted. She passes by a large knothole which grins foolishly back at Jidan through the console. He flinches momentarily.
The woman continues her walk around the base of the Tree. It is approximately 20 ft. in diameter. She circumvents the tree a 3rd time, climbing up over each of the gigantic roots as they leave the trunk, like grasping fingers, toward the life giving soil below. She leans against the tree as she goes along, her fingers searching for a hand hold to balance her as she climbs over and around the roots. Her hand disappears from view, into a niche in the Tree bark. She removes her hand and replaces it with the toe of her boot. She hops up and catches one of the lower branches in her hands, swinging herself up and continues to climb into the uppermost branchs of the tree. She rests momentarily, and as Jidan watches, it appears that the woman is sitting in the opened palm of a giant hand. She looks at the sky above and then scans the horizon slowly. She looks directly at him, not sure if she is looking at someone but sensing it. The hair stands up on his neck and he knows that she senses him. She looks down and then disappears from his sight.
The console goes dim.
He rubs his eyes and sits back in his chair.



Character Setup : Confidante
(Chamberlain/Over-seer-type servant to Mordan.)

Confidante lay beneath the twinkling stars.
They danced across the night sky, beckoning him to follow, and he was of a mind to do just that.
He thought of all the events that had brought him to this moment. He remembered the day that Fuday had come to him. The nurse stood upon the doorstep with the sniveling child of his dead sister in hand.
How could she possibly expect him to take the child?
It was ludicrous!
Confidante remembered that day, and the ones that followed as he watched the child grow from blubbering toddler into a cunning charmer - beguiling teacher and peer alike.

Confidante, fearing that the introduction of a child would jeopardize his station within the household, tried vainly to dismiss the woman and child, closing the door upon them.
Mordan, Confidantes employer and a well respected council member, came upon the scene and inquired after the visitors. Confidante reluctantly explained the presence of the Nurse and Child.
To his shock and dismay, Mordan was most encouraging of Fudays adoption by Confidant. He even stood up for Fuday before the Advisors for the Master Program,(working phrase), getting Fuday enrolled in the finest school.
A few months of "strenuous" discipline brought forth the expected, pleasing results; Fuday became a model student and citizen.

At least according to appearances.

The discipline which Fuday recieved via Confidante and the Schoolmasters only served to hone his deceptive traits.
Fuday became a master of deception.
He managed, after time, to effectively display the character qualities of innocence and propriety. He learned to cleverly conceal his "small crimes", and in time, effectively frame his schoolmates for the infractions.
He was adept.
Confidante took note of Fuday's "special gifts" with a secret sense of pride.

These images passed quickly through the mind of Confidante as his life seeped out of him, staining the desert sand.





Character Set up: Morwynn & Dalen (MOR-win, DAH-len)

I suppose that I should have been more compliant as a young child.
But I found life in my Father’s compound exceedingly boring and the activities my brothers participated in were far more interesting to me than music lessons, instruction in courtly poise and all of the other gentle activities that the women of our family have been trained in for generations.

I remember sneaking into the Council Chamber, which was used by father when informal meetings were held in the residences of council members. I would climb through the east window and out on to the wall that encompasses the entire compound. At this location the council chamber overlooked the paddocks and stables. After what would have equaled approximately 400 paces, the wall narrowed and it became necessary for me to crawl along the top more carefully. It was also at this point that the wall crossed out of the paddocks and along the edge of the Field Yard. In this place, the trees were thick enough that I could observe the training sessions of the young warriors, with out being noticed.
At least for a while.
I watched my brothers and their friends learn the arts of battle, and being the competitive athletic child that I was, I longed to join them. This longing became an obsession and distraction and at every chance I could glean, I endeavored to study them at length.
I also became very interested in the tools of war, and namely the Roti; a compact oval device that concealed within its body, a set of 4 gleaming, razor sharp arms that, at the touch of a tiny lever would extend as the warrior flung it, spinning and slicing through the air, toward its intended victim. But the Roti was not like other weapons of war craft, like a sword, dagger, axe or mallet, for there were no more craftsmen living who were able to manufacture the Roti’s. The Master Order (working phrase) were the inventors of the Roti in the long ago times and that art had been lost to them. Though a man made device, the Roti was able to develop “a relationship” of sorts with its user. As long as the Warrior wielding the Roti had his target firmly in mind and heart, when the Roti released from his hand, it would meet its mark or return to the hand of its user for another throw.

To be awarded a Roti was a high honour.
My eldest brother, Mordal, was given such a treasure, and the minute it came into his possession I pestered him daily with question after question about it and its use.
I came in possession of this very same Roti via thievery.

When Mordal discovered my theft, and confronted me, I confessed.
That was the honourable thing to do.
Thief that I was, I was no liar, and was honest to a fault.

My next brother, Dalen, who was nearest in age to me, observed the confrontation with poorly veiled amusement. After Mordal extracted the priceless treasure back from me, he dismissed us both by slamming the door to his chamber in our faces leaving us in the hallway.

As Dalen and I walked down the hall together, we discussed his observations of Mordal and the other Warriors training sessions with the Roti.
He told me I was foolish to take something that was so dangerous and that I didn’t understand. He told me that the other disciplines must be fully mastered before one could be considered for such a high honour.
I began to ask him about these disciplines.
He spoke softly as he explained, and while I was thoroughly absorbed with his discourse, he parked the but of his staff between my feet, mid-stride and tumbled me straight to the ground. He extended his hand to me, to help me rise with his palm facing upward. I reached out to grasp it, and he flicked his hand over at the last second, and poked me in the forehead effortlessly, and sent me sprawling backward again. It was a stupid trick and yet he relished his dominance over me.
I smiled, concealing my hurt and anger. I clambered to my feet and stuck my tongue out at him and proceeded down the hallway.
“Come on, “ I called back to him. “We aren’t supposed to running around the house while guests are arriving.”
“Guests?” he called trotting to catch up with me.
As he caught up with my, I threw myself to one side and down, delivering my elbow to his crotch.
This move “impressed” him.
I sat down on the cool stones of the hallway an waited for him to stop rolling around and moaning on the floor. We sat quietly for a long while, until we heard the chimes sound, calling us to the evening meal.

The next day, after Field Training, Dalen sought me out. He carried a long, slender bundle and beckoned me to come with him outside of the compound wall where the land sloped down toward the river, off in the distance. It was quiet here. He began to un-wrap the bundle and withdrew two staves. One I recognized as his own. The second he presented to me. It was on this day that my brother became my mentor.


Character Set up: Dalva (DAHL-vuh)
(Mordal, Dalen and Morwynn's mother.)

Mist hovered across the lake.
The willow leaned out over the surface of the water, its branches drooping their dampened leaves, dripping tiny beads of water back down into the pool, only to be sucked back in through the trees roots, completing and beginning an endless cycle. The woman was entranced by the idea and she deeply inhaled the fragrance of the flowers growing along the banks in the shade cast by the willow. This was her refuge from the steady march of time, which never seemed to take a rest. It was her place to compose her thoughts, and to ponder the guilt which sometimes threatened to over take her. Peace and tranquility was in the mist. It was in the tree and its relationship to the water, which was also representative of the terrible cycle she had set in to motion eons ago. How could something she loved and was drawn to, condemn her presence each time she sought its shelter? How is it that she alone was allowed to make that final decision on her own, bearing the secret knowledge alone all this long time? Where had been intervention for her? Would there ever be intervention for her?

She straightened her back resolutely and thought purposefully to herself, “Yes. I left.”
She did leave the Atenuites, but she was no longer as certain now as she was then, if it had been the right choice. It certainly hadn’t solved any of the restlessness and disappointment, nor any of the other things she had hoped it would.

Character Set Up : The Atenuites

The Atenuites were a unique Order that served the populace of their world.
The Atenuites were the healers, and through the Grid, they became the Muses of the artisans and the Angels of their world.

The served quietly, keeping themselves apart from the hussle and bussle of the population of the world and its people,as best they could.

Through the Grids, they worked as intermediaries, promoting the practice of learning and good will. They pursued, as part of their service, understanding of creativity, instinct and intuition, compassion and empathy, and the application of spiritual and relational knowledge which, eventually and ideally, would result in wisdom and balance and successful guidance of the Grid.

They were the watchers. (she who watches?)

Waiting for those in need or crisis to show up in the panels of the Grid Console. Compassionately and lovingly arranging the grid so that events would occur in such a way as to open the individual up to direct intervention from the Creator Will.
Things did not always line up, however, due to circumstances that seemed beyond their abilities to influence or encourage.
These cases were extremely difficult for Dalva to reconcile in her own mind.
She was tender hearted and forgiving, looking beyond the individual’s own poor choices that often brought them to the brink of their catastrophe, she faithfully poured her heart into every person that showed up on the Grid, and was devastated if they decided against, or missed their chance for interaction with the Creator Will.

Until she left the Atenuites, Dalva was their High Guardian over the Order. She interceded on their behalf before the Creator Will. She counseled them in their Grid arrangements when ever necessary.
There had only ever been 3 High Guardians, in all the millennia of their world’s existence. For what ever reason, The Guardians were different genetically from the other members of the Atenuite order. They experienced unusually long life spans and it was rumoured that they were immortal. This was not true. As the Passing Time for an Atenuite Guardian drew nearer, there would be a birth in that same lineage, which would provide the Atenuite Order with their new Guardian. Such children were often given to strange visions, a unique birthmark and (Insert some other bizarre attributes here, later.)

Morwynn:

Morwynn sat beneath the twinkling stars.
They danced across the night sky, beckoning her to follow, and she was of a mind to do just that. The Caravan had stopped for the night to camp, and the Wagon Captain was taking his shift as night watcher. She thought of her young carefree days, carousing with her brother Dalen. Here, in the dark, before the crackling fire, she is free to reminisce and permit her tears to come forth.

“You need to watch your back, silly girl,” called Dalen as they exited the pub after yet another night’s brawl.
“I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but picking a fight with a great bruising idiot like Bramus is not one of your best ideas.”

“Bramus poses about as big a threat to me as you do,” she replied.

Dalen retaliated by taking a swing at her, but it was poorly executed and she easily avoided the blow and ran off, laughing back in his direction.

“At least admit that you got yourself in a bit over your head this evening.”

“No no no. Bramus is a big idiot, and he was dead drunk to boot. He was ready to pitch over any second, I merely assessed his condition and used it to my advantage.” she explained.

“Oh, so you just decided to use the opportunity to elevate your mediocre skills in battle, making you appear more adept than you really are? Oh that is wise indeed. Were you hoping to invite one of the councils own champions to come looking for you next?”
He catches up with her, and she stops, looking dumbly at him.
“Yes, you didn’t think about that part did you?”
They walked the rest of the way back to the compound in silence.


Morwynn sat wide awake on the edge of her bed.
Something Dalen had said that evening would not leave her mind.
He was right.
She was arrogant and foolish.
She would have to take steps to make sure that she did not err in these ways in the future.
She walked through the compound and out to the gardens, to the pool, and stripping off her nightwear she slipped into the cool water. Propping her head against the rim, she gazed thoughtfully up into the starry sky and took stock of her character, while the gaze of Confidante rested on her, from his vantage point across the courtyard.

(Segue back to campfire. The camera orbits around to her other side, cue tear, and wide shot out to reveal desert sands where she is sitting at a small distance from a campfire?)

Character Set up : K’liam and K’lolius
(k –LEE-uhm, k-LOW-lee-uhss)
The “k” is pronounced hard, with a puff of air behind it.)

In his dimly lit chamber, K’liam paced to and fro like a caged animal. The dissention he could sense among the members of The Order was palpable.
He had seen the rift growing. His twin sister, K’lolius had come to him with her visions of impending disaster for them all. She saw the world of their people, and as she watched, its shape changed. The northern pole descended into the southern, creating a hollow, bowl-shaped depression. She heard a voice above her and looked up. Words fell from the sky and filled the depression, and the world-bowl warmed. The voice spoke to her in the vision; “take up the vessel.”
She obediently reached for her world and gingerly lifted it. As she did, more words fell into the world-bowl, filling it, threatening to overflow. “Drink and be filled,” said the voice. She lifted the rim to her lips and drank deeply. Sweet and sour both, filled her mouth and burned her tongue. When she had drained the world bowl, it was taken up, through the ceiling and disappeared. She watched it go, and when she looked back down, her brother was standing before her, smiling. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble and a great chasm opened between them, separating them. His smile became a look of despair and longing. She felt tears running down her face.

When she awoke, she sought out her brother, to tell him.

These things took place in the before time. Before The Order was split and the One became Two: The Masters and The Atenuites.



Morwynn Speaks 3 :

Sand! It permeates every pore.
I see up ahead the entrance to the mountain city.
The City of Refuge.
At last, I will be able to take a breath of air in peace and safety. Now if only I could get out from behind this wretched vegetable wagon!
It bustles and bounces along and with each rut it dances into, it spews more sand upon me which, combined with the insufferable afternoon sun, has begun to chafe and grind beneath my heavy, winter cloak. The neck lace which hangs beneath my tunic, feels like a noose and a branding iron simultaneously.
I am a walking sauna.
Within the hour I will be at the home of my friend K’lolius.
I know she will have the windows all thrown open. The fine linen drapes, having been soaked in chilled waters infused with spices and flowers from her rooftop garden, cool the hot winds that blow in off the desert and fill the rooms with a delicate scent.

The stench of the wagon beasts fills my head and I am seized by fits of coughing.
Passing through the gorge which marks the entrance to the city, I look up and see the insignia of the First Ones, “The Masters” they had called themselves. Carved into the rock face is their three petaled flower. Its elaborate details have been subdued over time, by the blowing sands which assault it daily. I long for the day when its image no longer clouds the minds of the people.
The city was carved into the surrounding mountains and the only access was via the narrow trail through the gorge.
It was a long and tortuous journey to make.
The first inhabitants, who’s origins have long past out of memory, carved the elaborate cave systems which opened out into the small valley. As time passed, the generations following lost the art of tunneling and drilling and built the rest of the city above ground surrounding it with a high wall as protection from invaders, who might foolishly attempt to penetrate the well protected gorge entrance.
The wall, being built into the mountain- sides on the south and west, also served as residential space for the cities 2500+ inhabitants.
The neighborhoods of the wall were divided into four sections ; Near Wall being in the south and closest to the gorge entrance, East Wall, West Wall and at the north end of the city, Far Wall.
The city centre was primarily used for commerce and religious buildings. As our caravan passed through the cleft and into the city proper, I managed to escape from behind the vegetable wagon by darting into the first alley that crossed my path. It was quiet here and cool, being enclosed on both sides by the tall city wall on my left, and some merchant buildings on my right. This peace was short lived, however, as the alley soon opened up into a busy market place. I passed by a clothiers booth and managed to trade my heavy winter cloak for one of the light weight, brightly coloured ones worn by the local people.
I made my way through the rest of the market, purchasing a hunk of roasted bull meat, and then a jar of ale along the way. I stopped to look at some boots at a tattered but tidy little booth and purchased a lovely pair of soft buff coloured boots.

**********(Insert Vanishing Woman segment)

I made my way south through town to Far Wall and came to the home of K’lolius, my friend who greeted me at the door.
She bustled me in, fussing all the way, as would a mother hen. Truthfully, I let her, as it had been a very long time since anyone had made much over me. I permitted myself the luxury of being mothered for a change.
The children crowded about calling,

“Nantie! Nantie’s come! Oh Nantie tell us a story!”

“Children! Let Nantie be until after supper!”

At which point she shooed them all out into the courtyard with their friends. K’lolius retrieved one of the large baskets stashed beneath the stairwell and began to gather an assortment of items. She set the basket next to a large water jar poised between two tunnels leading back into the mountainside from which her home was chiseled. The homes of Far Wall were entered through the man made city wall, but extended far back into the adjacent mountainsides and were often a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers.
K’Lolius passed to me, a stone tumbler filled with cold water infused with an astringent herb of some sort. She motioned for me to follow her up the winding stone staircase. As she did she spoke to me in the sing-song accent of her people.

“Oh it’s been long I’ve waited to see you my friend!
I am so pleased that you have chosen to visit me! The day has been hot, and the evening is nearly upon us. Come, my friend, up to the rooftop. Let us sit in the cool of the evening and listen to the neighborhood chatter as the Wall Dwellers come to life beneath the rising moon. Can you not already smell the roasting meat as the aroma rises upon the breeze this evening?”
We were interrupted by a small voice from behind.
“Mata, there is some one wants a room.”
“Very well Lena, bring them inside and I will come quickly.”
She patted my arm and said, “ I must go and attend a guest. You are family to us. Come and go as you please. My home is yours. Go now, and choose for yourself a pod in which to stay while you are here. When you have settled yourself in, please join us for refreshments up here on the rooftop.”

I followed her back down the stairs.

Sitting on a stool inside the doorway was K’Lolius’ newest guest. A tall, bearded man, he wore his dark hair in a single thick braid which hung down past the middle of his back. He sat leaning against the cool stonewall, his long legs outstretched in front of him, eyes closed as if in sleep. A heavy sword clanked against the stool when, startled by our entrance, he leapt to his feet. He quickly regained his composure and greeted K’lolius in her native language, all the while his great green eyes settled on me. I nodded in his direction, turned and made my way down one of corridors.

As the light from the main entry began to fade I took one of the navi-lumes from a niche, which had been carved into the tunnel wall by some long dead artisan. I briskly rubbed the tiny orb until it came to life and continued my investigation of the corridor.
I made my way along its length as it veered to the right and then opened into another larger tunnel. Along the length of it and evenly spaced at exact intervals were 3 doors, which were inset into the smooth, glistening walls. There were two on the left side and one at the farthest end.

The first one I encounter has a landscape carved into its face. There is a great meadow with a stream flowing through it and above the meadow is a mountain range with a cluster of jewels inset into the carving about 1/3 of the way up the mountainside. There are animals of every kind carved into the doorjambs.

The key grows hotter and blazes in my hand.
The Corridor walls fade from view and are replaced by confusing images of people I have never seen and places I have never visited:

A woman and a man sit in a darkened room.
The woman’s back is toward me, but I can see the man.
Between their feet is a small crack in the floor.
They are talking together as he rhythmically tears pages out of a book sitting on his lap. My head is now pounding and I lean against a wall for support. I can feel sweat run down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I close them. I slide down the wall into a sitting position. The key in my hand begins to cool. I open my eyes once more, to find the darkened hallway and the great door looming before me.


JIDAN AND K'LOLIUS:

“Master Jidan you have been a stranger to my doorstep,” K’lolius chided him. “Surely your studies do not keep you so occupied that you can not share a tumbler of tea and plate of scones with me?” She raised an eyebrow in mock frustration.

Jidan laughed and embraced K’lolius, swinging her round and round.
“Your dwelling place is as a second home to me K’lolius, and this you well know!”
“Well it’s pleased I am to have you beneath my roof. Will you remain with us, and take up your regular pod?”
“I would like to stay for a few days at least if it is not too much trouble for you, K’lolius” he grinned.
“Trouble? Trouble he asks??” She clucked to herself. “Of course you are always welcome! And it is not always that I am blessed with two such dear friends within my wall at the very same time!”
He was quiet for a moment.
K’lolius poured him a tumbler of water and handed it to him.
“Yes, I see you have another visitor. It is the woman, you speak of?”
K’lolius paused, feeling the hair stand up on her neck.
“Yes,” she answered. “Please excuse me Master Jidan, I must see to the evening meal preparations. Lena is growing in her skills but still requires my supervision from time to time. You will find your pod ready for you, and I will leave you to find your way there.” She smiled weakly.

“Yes K’lolius, thank you. Do not let me be a hindrance. I’m sure I can find my way,” he replied.
She hastily excused herself and taking her basket, hurried off down one of the tunnels.
A cloud crossed Jidans face as he pondered K’lolius odd and sudden departure.
He picked up his rucksack and walked into the tunnel on the far left.



MORWYNN FINDS A BOOK:

I can feel sweat run down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I close them. I slide down the wall into a sitting position.
The wall feels cool against my back as I lean against it catching my breath. I let go of the key, which hangs around my neck and the visions fade. I am weak but no longer reeling.
Rising, I go to the door and lift the latch. The wooden door gives off a delicate scent which reminds me of wild oranges. It swings open to reveal a sparsely appointed room. There is a fireplace carved into the wall on my left and a basin and pitcher of water on my right. A tapestry hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room, nearly touching the floor. I enter and study the tapestry. ( Blah blah blah tapestry meaningful description…..)

I step around the tapestry and behind it is a large chair and a pedestal. The pedestal is empty. Its surface is covered in a fine layer of dust, except in the center where it appears an object once rested. There is a dust free space in the shape of a circle. On the seat of the chair is a book with a length of cloth draped across it. Like everything else in the room they are covered with dust. I shake the dust out and swing the length of fabric around my neck, as though it were a shawl, and taking up the book, make my way back across the room. Though I would love to delve into the musty smelling pages, I should probably go and find my room. I can study the book later.




MORWYNN AND JIDAN MEET:

Jidan looked for the navi-lume which typically rested in a niche carved into the tunnel wall.
Unable to locate it, he returned to the entry way, and poked around beneath the stairwell until he found a basket of spare navi-lumes. He briskly rubbed the tiny orb until it came to life.
He walked through the smaller tunnel and turned right into the main passage tunnel.
He stopped and turned, looking at each of the doors. He thought to himself, “Surely I have not been gone so long that I could have forgotten which pod I use?” He considered each of the doors. Trying the nearest one, he found it locked. Retracing his steps, he tried the door he had previously passed by. The latch will not turn for him. A strong sense of having been here before, settled over his mind, distracting him.
Lost in thought, Jidan released the handle, the door suddenly swung open and he found himself confronted by a pair of steely grey eyes. He forced himself to look beyond those eyes into the interior of the room.

“I'm sorry…I was just leaving,” she blurted, quickly pulling the door closed behind her.
“No, please it’s my mistake. I thought this was my room,” he said, hoping to explain why he was caught trying to enter the room.

Just then K’lolius came bustling up out of the darkness.
“Oh I am so pleased to see you two have met!” Morwynn your room is two doors down on this side,” she motioned toward the same side of the corridor as the room she just exited from.


“Yes. Thank you,” Morwynn replied. She suddenly felt exposed in front of this man.

“Jidan, yours is on the opposite side.”

K’lolius went on, “I trust that the both of you can unlock your doors?
And with that she twirled around and strode briskly down the hall.
“Morwynn,” she added without turning around, “I will see you on the roof top?”

“Yes of course, I will freshen up and join you soon.”

“Dinner, Master Jidan, will be at dusk” called K’lolius to him, “join us, if it pleases you.”

K’lolius disappeared around a bend in the tunnel, still humming the bouncy tune that matched her gait.

An awkward moment passed as they faced each other and then a slow grin spread across Jidans face and his eyebrows raised slightly, as he looked questioningly at Morwynn. She pursed her lips and looked away. Jidan chuckled.

They walked side by side down the hall without speaking. Jidan’s room was first with Morwynns about 6 paces farther. He entered his pod and closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and wondered to himself.
“Who is she?”
Where did she come from”
What is her relationship to K’lolius.”





MORWYNN's CHAMBER:

I have not felt such inner turmoil since the night of Fuday’s murder!
I closed the door quickly behind me and leaned up against it as I reached beneath my tunic for the key.
I am so glad he didn’t see it.
Who was he?
And what was he doing entering a room that did not belong to him?
And why do I care, knowing full well that the room does not belong to me?


I open my eyes and removes the scrap of cloth from around the book, tossing them both onto the large canopy bed in the centre of the room.
I would love to sprawl out on it but I dare not for even a minute as I know it would claim
me for the rest of the evening and into the night.

Opening my rucksack I unrolled and spread out my garments.

I went to the basin and took the pitcher of lavender water and the sponge. Pouring the water into the large bowl, fashioned from some metal mined out of the adjacent hills, I wondered further about the identity of the stranger. His circumstances of our meeting bothered me greatly and I could not fathom the reasons why.

If the other room was not his, as K’lolius had pointed out, then why was he attempting to enter it? Was he truly confused, or was there some other reason he wanted in there. I think I must have been the last thing he expected to emerge from that room, for he craned his neck to look past me for something else. I wonder what he was expecting?

Spring comes to the High Cascades

Above:
Spring morning on the way to drop kids off to school.















Above:
Across from the High School and Middle Schools

Ack-Comp woes!

My Ewido alerted me yesterday, that I had picked up a Trojan, so I ran through the hoops:
-Run Trend Micro House Call, Restart.
-Re-Run Ewido, Restart
-Run Windows Online Safety Beta Scanner, Restart
-Run Bit Defender
-Run MS Anti-Spy Beta
-Run Norton, (Which I am deciding has become immeasurably useless of late) Restart.
-Install and Run Zone Alarm, Restart.

After I did the first run with House Call, it picked up on the Trojan again and gave me a message that said it couldn't be cleaned. So I ran it again. The second time it found nothing. All subsequent anti Malware programs found nothing - BUT - my IE is still running...uhm "wrong?" and while I have no Mozilla installed on my computer, I keep getting a message everytime I try to start up IE that "it is not my default browser and would I like to to be?" I have been clicking, "Yes" but each tie I start it it tells me the same thing, so now I am thinking that there is something nefarious still lurking beneath the surface of the keyboard.

I am sorely tempted to dload XP SP2, however, I know it does not "work and play well" with othe machines, but the IT guy at Cascade keeps ranting about how I MUST have it because this Trojan crap wouldn't be happening if I had updated to SP 2.

And yet, I hear those confirming words inside my head, words from :

Michael Kellogg friendly neighborhood Foley Artist and IT guy-Extroardinaire
and
Bryan Seigfreid, Not-so-Local IT Guy Extraordinaire

their words ring inside my head like a siren -"Danger! Danger! Do NOT Load the SP2. Danger! Danger!"

And yet...in a tangled mess of Microsoft foolishness, some how my update - which is configured to only ALERT me of updates and NOT auto update, started an auto update while I was not looking - and you guessed it : it started to dload some xp SP2. I was unable to stop the Dload midway so I just jerked the line outta the wall and that put a stop to it. Funy thing is though...it didn't actually load XP SP2 proper, but only four of the Hotfixes?
Weirdness.
But this is the same time last year, that Windows update did the very same thing to me. It was last May, when Windows update by passed my settings to be alerted and not auto updated and managed to Dload the entire XP SP2 update. I thought at that time, "screw you Bill Gates! I am the one who decides when and what to update, not you." and I prompltly uninstalled XP SP2.
It was like a giant taloned creature (the long arm of Bill Gates?) reached in and dragged out a handful of my computers intrails, leaving a twitching lifeless cadaver in its place. That was a good long telephone call to India, let me tell you!

So I have no desire to repeat it.

But it irks me...aside from my current IE browser issues, that there are four XPSP2 hotfixes in there that I am not sure if I can safely extricate.

Such is Tuesday.

Must teach Art today.
Drive to Portland tomorow to take a friend to her workmans comp evaulation.
Thursday is edit the huge novel for the 7th grade english lit class.
Friday afternoon is drive back to Portland so Blake can go to a Camp Crew Reunion, and drive back home Saturday.

Love to Drive.

Hate to buy gas.

Learn the tune, everyone.

I think we're all going to be singing it sooner and louder than we think.
(Man! I wish my car would run on skim milk.)

A new Game

I was at a neighbors garage sale and they were selling some games. Since Scout is a "Pirata-phone" I decided to grab Sid Meier's : Pirates. Since Scout is away on a retreat at the beach, I thought to myself, "O goody! I will get it all installed and make sure it works and then when she comes home won't she be thrilled!" So I get the thing loading and am blindsided by the obvious: Serial Code.
Duh!
So my first, gut impulse is to email a friend of mine and Firaxis.
"Dude!", I write, "I know this is not your gig, but dang...what do I do now."
Of course... after sending the message I realise that I need to go hunt down my neighbor.
(This sends me into a Flashback-to one of those "Mysterium-Moments-where-Rich-and-Ryan -are-standing-in-my-room-listening-patiently-while-I-rant-about-"some dilemma"-and-they-both-calmly-answer-in-a-single-sentence-and-problems-are-suddenly-solved" kinds of moments, where I completely bypass common sense and make what is simple, convoluted.)

Anyway...
So I got the serial number and got the game loaded, (Dang it took almost as much time to load as Revelation!) and Kenz sits down to play it. She names her character...

"Captain Bellboy."

I have no idea where THAT came from!
But you know that, with a name like "Cap'n Bellboy" this adventurer ain't gonna get too far.

Chansons de les Viris

Ok, Scuttle-butt has it that this virus/set of viri take about 16 days to run it's/their course.
Tomorrow is day 16 for me, and sure enough I am starting to be able to hold my head up again.

I rarely get sick.
Maybe once a year...very light - medium grade cold, or even maybe once every-other-year, but its been years since I was THIS sick.

Honestly, about 10 days into it, I was sure I was never going to be healthy again.
I honestly thought, "this is it, from here on in, its the slow slide toward the grave for me."
I am waiting for death to come...like a friend.

But...

Well today is day 15 and the sun is out and I am SITTING UP!
Ain't THAT something!
I think I may live again to walk outside another day.

French for Raindear

Thank you to Raindear from The One Ring dot Net Chatroom, for correcting my French.
I wuld not get through tomorrows conversation without your help!

You are the best!
Thank you!

"Clariona"

The night before Easter

So MacKenz decides that she would like to be baptized on Easter.
Great!
This is how we ended up doing our kids: we let them decide if and when to be baptized, and so far it seems to have worked well for us.
Anyway, so the night before, she is assembling her "Baptism garb" because at this particular church they do total immerion, as one might find it in one of the 4 Gospels when Jesus went to John the Baptist and he dunked Him all the way under.
Though there are many other acceptable traditions around baptism, such as "sprinkling" etc...total immersion happens to be what we do.

So anyway...she is assembling her garb, and she comes out all frustrated saying,

"Mom! I only have 2 pairs of shin guards and they don't match! AND...I can't find any other of my soccer clothes!"

I respond, "What's in your head, girl! You're not going to be defending a soccer ball from Pastor Tim in the Baptismal tank! You don't NEED the shin guards!"

I swear! This kid...the things that come into her head!

What kinda sickness IS this?

Basic cold last weekend.
Spent 3+ days with 102 fever.
Fever broke and now...?
What the heck is THIS?...
within two hours of the fever breaking, I have hives coming out all over me. Arms, legs, stomach, neck. And my head feels like a lead weight, and I can barely hear.

That was yesterday.
Today I seem to have more hives.

This has been a solid 7 day thang now.
Kinda weird.

Somebody pass the tub of Benedryl Creme?

Well, craziness ensues...

First order of business:

Welcome to the first (and possibly only) meeting of AAA. (Not AA.)
"Approval Addicts Anonymous."
*She rises from her seat and walks forward to address the group.*
"My name is Blog Biscuit and I am an Approval Addict."
*Group claps and says, "Hi blog Biscuit." She steps back down and takes her seat.*

This week proves to be crazy and yet with a special anal-retentive order assigned to the craziness - much like driving a chariot pulled by six horses all trying to go a different direction.

Monday - plan art curriculum for the rest of the school year so that it is easily taught by any one who walks in off the street and not necessarily me.

Tuesday - finish editing Stephen R. Lawhead's Taliesin for English Lit read aloud for the 7th graders. (400 pages to go.)

Wednesday - paint/shoot process art. Double check preparations for the lyst move on Saturday.

Thursday - Music day - Fiddle, Mandolin, Hammered Dulcimer, Irish Whistle practice day.

Friday - Fill-in work at local Mailbox/Shipping/Office Supply store here in town.

Saturday - Move Lysts, Procure and Pre-Prep Easter foods. Clean house and entertain mother-in-law.

Sunday-MacKenz is Baptised at Easter service. Commit Easter Hooplah.

Monday-work at Mailbox Store again.

Tuesday-Teach art in the A.M. Tuesday afternoon (Hears Moody Blues playing that song?) emotional melt down and subsequent collapse.

Wed, Thurs, Fri - prepare for Hammered Dulcimer Festival. (YAY!)
I get to shoot a montage of the whole event and process a gift CD for each member upon departure. I know this sounds like work, and for anybody else, it would be, except that I adore these people, and I adore sitting in front of my loverly computer processing images in Photo Shop. (None of that was said tongue-in-cheek either.)
I know.
I am sick.
One man's heaven is another man's hell I guess.

;o)

A Weird and Cryptic Question Answered.

Did you ever have a moment when there is something you have been thinking about, maybe for a while, and then somebody says something that sets the stage for you to follow through and do it, or say it? It feels like jumping off a cliff with 1000 IRS agents at your back. Its scary, you don'tn know where you are going to land, but you KNOW that it is now the right thing to do.

For about a week or two, there has been something uncomfortable tugging at my heart.
When such…inner promptings occur, it usually means that I should take note, because God is trying to draw my attention to either something good, or something that I need to let Him fix within me.

So I have been mulling and chewing on something, and the more I do, the more it bugs me.
Some people may be freaked out by the word I am about to share, but I know, because of My Friend's background, he will not be weirded out by such a word.

The word is confess.
The confession is mine, in the form of an apology to My Friend.

His oddly timed comment about what occurred to him and his departure from his "volunteer-job" – well, I don’t know about any of the particulars there, but I DO know about my own part before any of that happened.

I did write him a letter.
An inflamed and enraged letter calling him out on the carpet for what appeared to me to be negligent service at the time. I was hurt and dismayed because at the time, I was feeling pressured that the people that took my place needed to do things the way I would.

For that I was wrong and I apologise.

You would think that a sin of that magnitude against a brother would have sat ill with me for a lot longer, but I think that was Gods mercy on me; letting me get to the point where I could deal with the truth, before He forced me to be accountable for it.
But to be honest, it has really bugged me for the last two weeks solidly, and when My Friend suddenly made mention of his own experience after that fact, well, it seemed like I was being given a chance to make good.

Whether he even remembers any of that letter, I do not know. He may be made of tougher stuff, and such a flip-out may have rolled from him like water off a ducks back. For me, it bugs me that I did wrong and I need to be honest and accountable.

I am truly sorry.
And even more to his credit, he has only treated me with complete and utter grace despite my offense. How Godly an example is that?

I am thankful for for his extending such grace to me.

I am truly, and humbly sorry for my behaviour.

*Exhales*

Sounds Gallery created

I combined another site with this one, and have created a perpetual sample gallery, of various sound files. The Sounds Gallery link will reside in the sidebar.

You can access it at:
http://sound-collection.blogspot.com

Right now I might call your attention to some instructional materials there, for some standard jam tunes. There are midi and wav files for the ear-trained learner, as well as each tune's abc file and sheet music, for those who can read music.

There are some samples of some good friend of mine who play Hammered Dulcimer that you may want to check out if you have never heard it before, but the SOUNDS GALLLERY will not be dedicated to the Hammered Dulcimer alone.
You will eventually find all maner of bizarre things there.

Free to Bad Home : Updated

I am cutting the canvas, "Die Die Die, Hateful Thing" from it's frame.
It will have one of two fates:
-Unholy incense rising to above the juniper trees on the beir we shall call "Burn Pile."
-Fold it mercilssly and cram in an envelope and mail it to you. Contact me privately with shipping coordinates.

(I dunno, I wonder if that would then qualify as "Hate Mail?" I can't think of anyone I would want to do that to.)

****Addendum****

It's gone.
:oD

mih-

Feelin' Scrappy

I am thrilled to see my people spreading their wings and branching out into new creativity!

Blue Max is getting back into his 3D work. I know he has some great texture libraries and all manner of fun stuff at his site and locked away in his old bean too. I canna wait to see the body of work that is produced there in the coming year!

And my sister is letting fly with her unedited and freewheeling writing style.
She works so hard all the live long week, and I am SO pleased to see her take another recreational opportunity to write. Write write write! Edit later! (Or in this case, never!)

As for me, well I uploaded two projects into the scraps gallery, both still works in process.
Honestly, I need to do anything to jumprstart some creativity!
So I 'lined them up against the wall and shot them,' then I dragged them over and threw them into the Scrap pile - ehr...scrap gallery.
;o)

More Childlike Ironies

Sure, sure, children are usually sweet, nice things that you're happy to have around until they discover the joy that is appealing to their peer groups, and the attendant familial disassociation whenever the 'groan-ups' are nearby.

Two year- and three year-olds are in a special catagory when they are learning to assert their sense of individualism by pushing boundaries and learning to say "no." Often. Very often. Contrariness becomes their end-all of existence for a period of time... Which is why, during three days of illness that you wouldn't wish upon a committed enemy, let alone your kid... there is an ever-so-slight guilty pleasure in that child wanting to do nothing but sit in your lap and hold you till he/she falls asleep.

I wonder what illness they have to get to put them off of creating miniature death-scene coffins out of violin boxes. Hmmm...

Childlike Amusements

I read Rushings Blog tonight and his situation is so common and yet his response to it was SO uncommon. He sounds like a good guy, simply because of the choices he makes, no matter how uncomfortable to himself. I kind of lump him and Blue Max into the same pile in that they are both dads of this kind.

On a seperate note, my own child has been up to odd things.
Yes, she is 10 and she still holds some regard for a few dollies.
She has one, which she rec'd for Christmas, which is one of the "Bratz Big Babies."
Holding that thought in mind, lets move along...

...today Scout and I rec'd our fiddle-which we purchased off Ebay - and the box was quickly claimed by KenZ, as it resembled an oddly shaped coffin.

So, while some sweet and good little children might construct some loverly diarama or other such tableau type creation, my daughter creates a sarcophagus for her "Bratz Baby."

Interred therein, is the mummified baby (Toilet paper wrappings and shroud) and a seperate "Canopick Jar," containing the dollies brain (having been hand crafted of fimo clay and baked) , and the dollies intestines (shoes laces stolen from some outgrown Converse shoes).

She then went on to adorn the exterior of the sarcophagus with paint, representing the appropriate rank, or "Station" of the occupant in glorious tempera paint.

I can safely state that I had nothing to do with this activity.

I just gave birth to odd little people I guess.

:o)

Don't Mess with Gramma Texas!

An eye witness gives an account of a car accident.
Must have speakers.


Also, for some pointless fun:
Go waste a few minutes clicking and dragging Boneless Girl

Neuroses Revisited, Chapter 3

I am working on a series of architectural abstracts.
I love goemetry.
It is safe.
It is a haven.
It is a safe "Play Pen" in which to experiment.
And yet because of the purest line, I find myslef trying to replicate the perfection that exists within the structure rather than boldly letting the paint fly and represent - or MISrepresent the original piece.

Damned in the doing
Damned in the doing not.

The circles in my mind go round and round and round and round.

Paint this,
Do not paint this...it is wrong.
Do this... do it not, for no one will grok it.
Care not if others grasp, or grasp not; the impetus, the elan.
Just do.
Just be.

Just BE.

Permit yourself to exist.

As you are, right this moment.

And breathe.
Exhale paint.
For so has God apparently ordained you to be in this single moment.

Who then am I, to deny the handi-work of the Almighty?
Do I say "curse this thing that you have made?"

Does the pot say to the potter, "You screwed up, dude?"
(Make that Dude with a Capitol 'D')

Or do I step out in risk, and Be.
Just Be.

The mental/emotional gymnastics make me want to puke.

It is the demonic rollercoaster.
The rollerscoaster from hell.
Aka, "work."
Aka "Art."

Further Boldening

My own personal pet peeve word that people use? "irregardless."

"Regardless" means "without regard." The "ir-" prefix is a variant of "un-," a prefix denoting negation. Therefore "irregardless" parses to "not regardless" or, down to its least common denominator, "with regard", a definition that is likely opposite to the intended meaning of the speaker.

I hear this word and my hackles rise. Perhaps it's just me.

May I Be So Bold...

...as to say that, I believe that what I am about to say is 100% flawlessly correct?
Indisputably correct.
With regard to the correct usage of the word "Anyways" within the confines of the English language,:

well...there is no such word.

"Anyway" is indeed a word.

Anyway(S!) is not.

There is no 's' at the end of any word spelled in this manner: a-n-y-w-a-y.

No Such word.

Today in a production of the play entitled, "The Imaginary Invalid" I heard this particular NON-word transcend it's text based mis-use and enter spoken language.

It was an abomination unto mine ears and a grievous sin, steeped in vileness.

So let me stand atop the mount of all that is linguistically holy, and pray for my bretheren that they may not sin in such a manner again.

May the truth be written upon stone tablets for the future generations to behold:

And therein was the word written:

"Thou shalt not speaketh, or writeth with the hand,-nay verily, even with thine keyboard, the word "anyway" with an 's' upon its ending."

And the heavenly host sang joyously over all the land, for truth had gone forth.

Book of Hesitations, Chapter 5, verse 55.
The Blogbiscuit Paraphrased Edition.

(Inter)National Digressions ?

Oh its 2:30 am! In a fit of insomnia, I say "lets hop on the blabbering rollercoaster to Free-Association Land!"


Today on ALL THINGS IRISH:

Tis a great day to pay hommage to himself, America's own patron Saint of Ireland, "Lucky The Leprechaun," .
(Warning, hideous ad banner, but fascinating and Magically Delicious trivia.


In response to the previous post by Blueness Maximus,
this Canadienne says (on the subject of Seperatist movements) :

"Hey! Mes Freres! You want to be seperate? Go for it, everyone should have their chance to try!" Of course I say that about Scotland too.

And I have also been known to hover between saying:

A : "Screw the Middle East and their oil. Let's take Californian's and put them over there and pick up Israel and transplant it to Southern Cal. Of course that would be contrary to what God did in the bible, I mean, He didn't lead Moses through the desert and across the ocean to California. I mean, truth to tell, it ain't no promised land.

and B : "Screw the Middle East and their oil. Let's just forget about it and use up all of our own resources as fast as we can, have a huge civil war about it, and then the survivors can go back to an agrarian society."

Eeny meeny miney.
;o)

And yet as far as my seperatists sentiments go, I also flop to the practical side where La Belle Quebec is concerned, saying, "Mes cher ami's, you cannot make it on your own Franc. You need your "Loonies" and "Moonies. You need the rest of Canada."
(Said while waving the Blue & White Fleur-de-lis, and shouting "Je me souvien!" Yes, it is a schizophrenic moment.)

Loonies-the $1 coin with a loon on the front.
Moonies-the $1 coin with the Queen in front and a "Bear" behind.
;o)

The Queen?
Queen?
Didn't Freddy Mercury die?
(My Great Grandmother (Quebecoise) kept a portrait of the Queen on her fireplace mantle. When she died, her daughter (My Grandmother) burned it. Of course she also burned a portrait if my great-great-great-great Grandfather...but that is yet another macabre tale worth sharing next Halloween. Or so I have been told.)

English Pig Dogs?

And what is up with that?
A teeny tiny little island of a country, originally populated with troll-like beasties, (genuflect to Peter Street and Tweek,who never read this blog anyway. "Beggin yer pardon, Gentlemen") rose up and subdued the known world, bleeding the wealth off the French for 100 years like a parasite, and carting it back across the sea.
What makes them so ferocious?
So self assured?
Who are the inhabitants of this postage stamp sized nation, who conquered continents?
The proof 's of their global dominations are housed within the confines of the British Museum.
How did this scruffy little people manage it?
Probably by harnessing the Scots. (They were supposed to be a pretty scary bunch.)

Well I don't know, and yeah, I can take a happy-go-lucky swing at the English from time to time, (after all it is my birthright, being French) but you gotta admit, they have everything because they have managed to do everything and when it comes down to it, thats no small feat.
And then they show up on this continent in groups of Fab Four and, when they open their mouths to speak, an odd accent rolls forth melting the brain cells of women from one coast to the other. Multitudes concquered and nary a finger lifted.

Well it's all Greek to me.
(While not actually BEING Greek.)

Ah America.
Sufferers of MHD - Multiple Heritage Disorder.
Isn't familial stuff weird?
Do you ever do any genealogical stuff?
Man, it seems like the further you get into it, the more freaks you find buried in the closet.
You should try it sometime, for the sake of your bairns.

Well after leaping all over the globe, I have managed to bring it back around to the original subject.
That would be a first.
;o)

Redheaded Redux

There are those who are proud of their ancestry and there are people who simply give it a tip o' the hat from time to time, but for whom it means not more than a yearly brouhaha. And that's OK.

Our host here, however, has got a bit of a personality problem. Not that her personality is at fault, or even fault-y; nay forbid the thought. It's just that she's recently coming to terms with a diverse heritage that will be difficult to reconcile between it's various aspects.

Take the long established Canadian portion, and now let's throw in the possible English connection. Now, would this Canadienne be perhaps a bit of the Canadian seperatist? Would this Mihshehl be more likely to spit on Queen Elizabeth or recommend that she be further immorialized by having her portrait on all of the Canuck Cash being spat out of ATMs in downtown Toronto? It boggles the mind.

Then let's consider the French Celt, similarly long established and borne out by the artistic streak and Catholic outlook. Good Lord, should the Teutonic chromosomal vector bear out, would she attempt to simultaneously go to war with her own Gaullic half and also to invite herself to Belgium for an economic conference and a cigarette? Or, God forbid, the German doesn't pan out and we hit the Angle or Jute of the Isles of Great Brittain for a genetic kegger: Would our Mihshehl attempt to throw herself into either side of the English Channel at once, only to meet herself in the middle for a fistfight and a bottle of Port? It boggles the mind.

So, truly, as you read these words, say a prayer for our Mihshehl, as coming to terms with her own existence will either be A) nigh impossible or B) if attained, it could cause a rift in space time causing universal chaos: wars, death, destruction, plausible Democratic foreign policy, lego chicken legs and a reduction in cable television rates.

May God have mercy on her soul.

Red Haired Skeletons in the Closet.

Well it is St. Pats and this day strangely holds new meaning me.
It was only about a month ago that I found "Skeletons" in the family closet.
This is the half of the family that I don't hang with much.
They are far more quirky than I (as hard as THAT is to believe.)
So, having invested my genealogical research throughout the years into the obvious half of my family -the French Canadian/Acadian side, I managed to ignore the other half - writing them off as being "probably" English, (derisive snort!) and calling it done.
Well...how wrong I was.
My grandmother was apparently full of Green-Leprechauny-Goodness.
(She had the maiden name "Ready", which is a bastardization of the name O'Reddy and more formally, O'Rhiada.

I guess, like alot of Irish immigrants, they dropped the 'O'.

I always wondered what the big deal was with St. Patricks day and my mom.

The woman worked for 3 days to turn beef brisket into corned beef with its accomanying cabbage and potatos.
Her simple answer to my query was always, "Thats what we do on St. Patricks day.
Gramma did it, and her gramma before her did it, and I learned from them how to make it."

Poor gramma, She was a saint.
She married an itinerant Hell-Fire-and-Brimstone-Screaming Preacher who dragged her around the hot southwest, making her and the kids do migrant farm work while he preached from town to town. I can remember him kicking her under the table, interupting her conversations when he wanted to speak, and he would say to her, "Shut up Ethel!" and then he would commandeer the conversation.
Nice compassionate man.
He beat his sons when they found some bottle caps in the street and played with them.
He accused them of stealing the bottle caps.
He beat my mom in the face with a jelly ladel when she was 18 because she put on make-up and went to see a movie.
It is the only time that my gramma got in his face.
She grabbed the ladel right outta his hands, and she told him to "stop that this instant!"
As the story goes, apparently he was stunned by her boldness.
In his pause, my mom raced out the door and ran away to Astoria.
She went on to marry a catholic Frenchman and later returned with him and two children, to Oregon.

So there is apparently a fair quantity of Irish in me that I never knew I had.
Somehow I will have to square with that half.


;o)

mih-

Skype and SOUNDS update

SKYPE:
Gotta Love it.
I can transcend the confines of traditional text and send forth the nuances of all my screwy idiosyncratic speech patterns in all their glory. And Lehsa can bounce them back in reciprocal quirkiness and we laff and laff and laff and laff our butts off - while all the time remaining in CC chat and nobody knows what the heck we are going on about.
hehe hee hee hee he.
Ahhh I like Skype!

SOUNDS:
In honour of St. Patricks Day, I loaded a sample of Flogging Molly.
It is a 3.9 MB wma

Enjoy

Updated 3/14/2006: Help with UU

Tuesday March 14th

The boy knows I am neurotic.
My friends have me pegged.
As embarrassing as that may be, it is also a comfort, because I know that they know and there is no fooling. I can't hide the fact that I get...uh...wound up.

So in his grace he writes the following:

Suggestions,

Start by making a nice cup of coffee.

Then turn the computer on... if the computer doesn't respond make sure that the cat didn't eat the power cord.

Then go to this site: http://plasma.cyanworlds.com/getting-started.xml

If you own regular Uru Ages Beyond Myst - use this patch http://plasma.cyanworlds.com/cgi-bin/pick.cgi/patches/until-uru-abm-patch-0.38.9.exe

If you have Complete Chronicles- use this patch http://plasma.cyanworlds.com/cgi-bin/pick.cgi/patches/until-uru-cc-patch-0.38.9.exe

When patching make sure you direct the patch to where your Uru is installed.
Mine is C:\Program Files\Ubi Soft\Cyan Worlds\Uru-Ages Beyond Myst

If you still have problems after all of this, it might be because your firewall ports aren't opened.

If nothing works. Take a walk outside and smell the roses. If the roses aren't out. Smell tree bark.

If tree bark seems funny. Call me

Ryan


Now if that weren't all, I get another phone call from a very good friend (who's Airline and Storm Door Company shall remain nameless) and after only a few minutes he discovers that the first thing to do is to get out of the router and straight into the modem.

Again, I have to say, I have THE best friends.

They put up with me.
They educate me.





SUNDAY MARCH 12th

In the old days, James would have told me, step by step, what to do and what to expect.

I am so THANKFUL that I have Lehsa.

She doesn't make me feel stupid for the asking.
As though I should already know something.

Thank you Lehsa.
:o)

And also, many thanks to Barb, Blue, Walt and Peter.
Just for being knuckleheads.
:o)

What great friends I have!

Brue Matz Have Happy Fliday Menu of Joy Luck

Special Alert:

To BabZ: you must go here now. You will read. You will laff. You will die from laff.
The you must go here and thank Mr. Max for making path to Happy Menu of Joy.

To everyone else:

Go therefore, and do likewise.

yes I am frustrated with UU

But it is ok.
I am quite USED TO it.

It's probably some incompatability issue with some hardware in my computer.
Oh well.
Such is life.

Many many many thanks to my dear friends, namely Walt and Gavin C, Aeronie and Toria who have all been so open with invitations and good advice.
Bless you all, I just canna get the bloody thing to fly.

And most of all, thank to you, DragonBoy. Your patience has gone into the "long suffering" zone.
Thank you for always being my friend.
Even when I am stupid.
EXPECIALLY when I am stupid.

Anyway, I wish you all thebest on your "Cavernsome" adventures.
I do not have the time or skills required to join you.

And some how, it's really ok.
:o)

Weird little Tune

Blake came across this oddball little tune.
I have no idea what its called or who did it.
Or even how old it is.
It was on a mixed CD he got from a friend and forgot about.
It had things from the 70's, it had Sinatra. It had all inds of odd songs.
Anyway, this funky jazz whistling number will remain in the "SOUNDS" link in the side bar for a while.

Its 2.70MB

To answer or NOT to answer, that IS the question.

Since Summer of 2004 I have become a "screener" of phone calls.
Granted, with moments of irregularness, but for the most part, a screener.

Those moments of laxity do often carry profound and reinforcing consequences however.
And so, tonight I crafted my own personal post-it note and stuck it to the front of the cabinet housing my Message Machine.

The Note reads:

The phone is EVIL!
Do NOT ever answer it.
Listen to ALL calls first and NEVER pick up.
You can always call back.

(Exceptions to those rule are the kids. Only the kids.)

Why must I hit myself in the head (as with a hammer) with this message more than once in a lifetime?
Surely it is because I am a stupid, gullible idiot.

Why do I continually think that things and people can change?
Why?
Well, frankly - OMG there it goes AGAIN! The phone is ringing NOW!!!!
Let's see who it is....

(listens...)

It is Stu calling for the kids. Good I am off the hook.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh...

Why do I continually think that things and people can change?
Why?
Well, frankly because they DO.
It's not always for the better, but sometimes it IS, and doesn't everyone deserve a chance?
A second chance?
A third, fourth, fifth chance?
All that "70x 7" crap that Jesus spoke about with regard to forgiveness? Why woud i expect to receive such forgiveness if I am not willing to extend it?
I dunno.
I am danged if I do, and danged if I don't.

But at least I have gone back to not answering the phone!...except... I just did, didn't I?

ugh!

Labour -VS- what EVER!!!!!

Man!
I am SO angry!!!!
I just got off the phone with my friend. (Not Barb)
She was speaking about her job situation and how she was going for a job at the hospital.
No problem.
Its all good.
Then she mentions how her landlord said that there was a job down at the local grocery store, they were looking for checkers.
She said, “Oh! No way! It would be like waitressing! I want SO much MORE for my life than some loser job like THAT.”

This pissed me off on SO many levels and I decided to not back down, but to drive it.
So I pointed out that, if one does not live in a small town (like ours) then there is a Union for Grocery checkers and they make good money AND retirement AND benefits (all of which she does not currently enjoy) She said, “Oh no. If I did THAT job, then I would be ashamed and couldn’t show my face. Not in public”

Now I am filled with a white-hot blinding rage.
So I ask her, “why?”
She says, “Well I want MORE for my life.”
I said, “No. you want different.” You want different challenges in your life. The people who make a career out of union grocery checker jobs want job security and pensions and retirement and health benefits etc. They just have different priorities. So what you want is not “more” or “better” but just “different.”
She did not agree.
I after she went on to further berate the value of service jobs such as grocery tellers and waitressing, I said to her, "I want you to know that I take offense. I know VERY good people who spend their lives working in just such a vocation, serving others and providing for the needs of their families, and what you are saying is that you are judging them.”
She says, “No I am not judging anybody”
I replied, “Well then, is a grocery clerk or waitress job, a “loser” job.
And she said, “well YES!”
And I said then you have misjudged and demeaned valuable people in my life.
She totally did not see this.

I am so pissed.

She says "I am just talking about ME. (me me me, blah blah blah me me me)
I personally would be embarrassed to be seen in any of those jobs.”

I said, “I am not asking you about YOU anymore. We are no longer speaking about YOU.
"I am talking about value and about losers. Do you see people who take those jobs as dead end losers?”

She hemmed and hawed and she would not answer.

Finally after some spluttering, she said, “well, I don’t know how the conversation got there. I was talking about ME.”

And I said, “well I am not talking about YOU. And you have just dissed some VERY good and valuable people I know.”

We hastily ended our phone conversation.

I am pissed at her viewpoint, she seems to think that some one who does a service job is of lesser value than some one who does a media or art job.And she seems to think SHE is more special than somebody else.

Even though she said SHE did not want such a job, she spoke with derision for such jobs and the people who “sink” to doing them.

I am SO offended.

In Gods economy, there is NO job too menial.
There is NO task that is valueless.
And the relegating to the “Loser” category of people who work in service jobs is offensive and unacceptable to me.
Everybody has value!

Greater is he who works hard and supports the needs of his family, than he who earns little for the sake of his/her arrogance.

The poor man/woman is the one who will not give 100% to any task that comes to hand, no matter how small or insignificant it seems to be in the beginning.

And I would love to quote God Almighty here even, by saying, “to the one to whom much is given, is much required.”
“Do your best in all things, as though unto God himself, and much will be given to you.”
That last sentence was the Mih paraphrase)

The point is, EVERY ONE has value and EVERY job has value.
How dare(HOW BLOODY DARE!!!!!!!!!!!) anyone relegate any task or person doing it, to the unwanted or valueless pile.

I am so mad, I can almost vomit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sumus Two

This is an after thought which has come since my writing of this, and my reading of this and responding to it in his comments section.

I was just working on a canvas that has royally ticked me off for quite a few months.
As I was attacking it with more white paint, I was also thinking and pondering the words he said at this blog and my own responses, and it suddenly occurred to me that, to top off everything that I said, it's not even like my art has any identifiable subjects even!

So in summary and up to this point I suppose it can be said based on all that has gone on during this exchange of ideas, that :

A). Being an artist, I am there for not a sentient life form.

B). And the end product of my endeavors as an "Artsist" is not even about anything at all. No nice landscapes or portraits, but uh...nothing...as evidenced here, here, here and here.

Now granted, the majority of this conversation has gone on with a significant Tongue-In-Cheek attitude, yet it is still funny how some things bubble under the surface and while we know they are wrong, we wrestle with them anyway on a deep gut level.

sumus quid sumus

Catalog Successes and Road Blocks:
-part of life I suppose. I thought it would have gone toprint by now, but I forgot about everyone else doing their part. I did my part. I just forgot that they are not as anal as I am and have other things to do besides submit copy and what not. So it has been "Hurry-up-and-Wait." I hate it, but there is not much I can do about it. Just apart of life sometimes.

It freaks me out.
For years people I know, introduce me as "Well this is 'Blog Bicsuit,' she is an artist."
Boy those are awfully hard words that stick in my craw no matter how hard I try to distract or disuade anyone from identifying me with those words, it seems to come back home to roost.
I guess is is finally happening because I find myself purposefully preparing stuff for the gallery.
I have no idea how this happened.
It kinda snuck up on me.
(If 'snuck' is even a word.)

THEM : Hey, some people are thinking of organizing a co-op gallery, why don't you just come and sit in on the meeting.

ME : Huh. What the heck. Why not?

And then it happens. Everybody starts going around the room stating their name and their medium.

FOTO GURU: I am a nature photographer. I am not a "geek" and do no photomanipulation what so ever.

DECOR WOMAN: I do furniture and jewelry.

ME : Uh. My name is "Blog Biscuit." (Scramble, think fast stupid, what are you gonna say?) And I am a total geek and do some digital art/photo manipulation."

(Whew! Safe. I managed to find some acceptable words.)

WENDY (painter extraordinaire) Oh "Blog Biscuit!" You are also a painter too!

ME : Smiles weakly. Becomes invisible. I am now an empty Jacket and levi's sitting here cleverly poised in this chair.

And so...
I find myself needing to somehow come up with something presentable to "submit" (another difficult to fathom, word) to the co-op board - a jury of my peers. Great. a "jury."
They will say that what I do is not art but a crime.
And there it will be.
Spoken aloud, and therefore, fact.

What ever happened to my "just BEing."

They say you are not an artist until you have at least 1000 paintings completed.

I have a long way to go.

Yikes.

Clio Award Winning Commercial from the 1970's

Ah yes, thanks to my friend Amber we can take a journey back in time to the Ads of the 1970's.
This one in partiular will tug at the hearts of all those who are old enough to remember the original airing of this commerical - Scroll down and select "INDIAN IN CANOE".

Catalog Project

So,
a local merchant has hired me to work on a wholesale catalog for their business.
So far they haven't sent me any actual TEXT, so I had to just slap some random words in there in the mean time, under the images where she said she wanted them for page 1 and page 2.
There business is kind of a "Down Home, Americana" product business and so I thought the gingham BG worked, but I am not sure if it isn't still too busy. When I get to putting up pages with multiple products, then I will probably have to scale WAY back n the gingham, unless I just ghost it out even more.
The process is fun though.

I have found heaven on earth

At least as far as design goes.

Were it not for the other valued members of my household, I would gut my house in favour of most of the design options found at the links listed below.


Go Mod

In Mod

Padio

Design Public

Retro Online

Retro Decades

Oh, for unlimited resources and Ultimate Domestic Power!

Albino Squirrel

If you've followed this blog for more than a year, then you probably remember the days when I was at Cascade Station as the building secretary, and you would remember my references to Donna, my supervisor. So Donna was over today and she had some fotos she wanted me to process for her. Inamongst the batch was a great littleshot of something I have not yet seen before. It seems that John, Donna's husand was out on a construction job and he shot a foto of this little Albino Squirrel.

Pretty cool, huh?

Being not me

Cryptic Update for Wednesday, Feb 15th, 2006

Being not me is exhausting and takes 5 other people to do it.
But is worthwhile, even so.

NCASD Co. Soup Line and Movie Terror

NCASD Co. Soup Line: Cajun Chili Gets Funky

So today is Sunday.
I began soaking the beans yesterday, per the receipe provided by Brian.
Ok so, in our small mountain tourist town we don't have "Ham Beenz Cajun" so I am improvising.
Now is the time to be afraid.

So instead of the "provided Spice Packet" I must improvise.
Basil, Fennel, Cayenne, Red Pepper, White pepper, Garlic, onion, Tomato Sauce extraordinaire, scrap the tom paste - ain't got it. Yellow Onion. Red Onion. Purple Onion. Paprika. Red Wine.
Kielbasa, and Chourice. The lemon juice too.

So it has a more northerly, Portuguese-Italian-Cajun slap to it's face.
Instead of Fresh water, I used Bathwater - NO NO ! Just KIDDING!
I made up a batch of beef/onion/vegetable broth on Friday for use in this mess.

I am tempted to throw some okra in there to thicken things, but will restrain myself.
;o)
I will let you know if it ends up edible.
Such is my way in the kitchen.

(Pizza and "normal" cajun food aside, for these things I CAN cook properly - Oh and REAL Chai made the East Indian way.)

Suggested NCASD In Flight Movie: FLIGHT PLAN

Brian!
Have you seen Flight Plan yet???
Now that you have kids, it will make your blood run cold!
Jodie Foster is perfect, as always!

Scorpy-Toddlerpede

Ok, this might give YOU nightmares, but I think it is fabulous!
Go check out this "sculpture" and applaude this wonderful freaky artist.

MST3K

I love it.
So Barb sent me home with her collection that she got for Christmas.
I was used to seeing Joel, but kinda forgot about Pearl, Bobo and Brain Guy.
(I know! How can I forget THEM.)
This morning I put on "Screaming Skull" while I was cleaning the kitchen.
There is a brief Gumby cartoon at the beginning.
I thought I was gonna die, it was too hilarious.

Anyway, this is a good day for MST3K.

Also on the marquee is:

Quest of the Delta Nights, with David Warner playing opposite David Warner and with David Warner in a supporting role.

Soul Takers - With Martin Sheen's "vastly more talented but unappreciated brother" Joe Estevez.

I think for today, 3 is all the 'B' movies I can handle at a time.

if you ever get the chance, you should check out these painful movies with histerical commentary.

Auctions, books, and stuff

Well, I have 4 of the small journals ready to fill with paper. I haven't decided what I will do with the one I was making for Aquila. may use it as the Virtual Attendee Book at the next gathering, if I am unable to sell it for Sharon.
Speaking of the auctions, I may just get my own Ebay store and sell these things so tht the money can go the Sharon.


I already have, ready, A signed EDGE disk from the first Mysterium ever in 2000, a copy of Myst IV:Revelation, and the Hand Bound Journal I was already making for Jame.

I feel like I should follow through even if it doesn't work out for anyone else to do so.
I know there was another lady who had something she wanted to sell, maybe she can sell it on my site with me and we will just funnel the payments in to Sharons PayPal account. Of course, first I will have to learn how to do that.
;o)

Remembering

heh!
I told Barb today about James.
His one and only post as cub-reporter "Zimmy" Zimmerman, to Canker Shores only News paper " The Shore Throat" can be found here at Canker Shores

There were times he made me laff so hard I had to pee!

Delayed reaction

In the beginning there was a flurry of internal panic and a sense of the necessity of the battening down of hatches.
Circling of wagons.
Counting of heads.
FEMA response to disaster relief.

Out of the fog, walked the army.
Out of the depths of the Mysts walked the cavalry.
Prepared and calm, ready and true of heart.

They brought all, they did all.
All I could do was assist, handing the scalpel as they, with a practiced surgical hand, cut away and stitched together the fresh wounds. I swabbed when need arose.

Now that healing is ready to begin, I am reminded, by music, of unspoken things.

There are 3 days.
3 days left to endure.
With the approach of The Day, may I not grown faint in deeds needing to be done.

The answer I prayed for has come in 6 pieces.
3 are the foundation.
3 greet the new day.

Though my heart dares not hope it, I pray that it will always BE so.
Old things are indeed passed and new things can become real.

For the interim, my own crash has arrived.
Unexpected and glorious, in its terrible tempest.
The winds blow and change their direction hourly.
The waves rise and toss and I am as flotsam and jetsam upon such a sea and yet...
there is a haven and an island that is solid and steady.
My feet dangle and twirl in the surf, awaiting contact with it once again,
knowing it will come.

Well I lost Track

*Hangs head in Shame*
It is true.
I lost track of Rushing's Blog...
but now you can link to the new and improved version found in the sidebar at the right.

:o)
Yay!

If you listen to John Kerry...

You might be tempted to think that, as he puts it, we could be eradicate our dependence upon foreign oil within 10 years.
What complete and utter crap.
What an idiotic, self absorbed toad.
I order to achieve his own ends he would insinuate that the government is in coplete control of the auto industry and the individual choice of people.
It just shows how clueless and arrogant John Kerry is.

His statement that "it is not the American people who are addicted to oil, but this administration" is ludicrous. Look at how we plow through, not only oil, but energy as a whole.
I remember a news blurb from a few years back that illustrates the american mentallity on its own comfort. There was a serious heat wave in southern Cal. There were brown outs and what not, and in man-on-the-street interviews, people acknowledged that they needed to cut back, but when pressed with the question "were they going to limit use of their own air conditioners?" almost to a man, they answered, "No way."

The american people are VERY used to their comforts.
Right down to the last man.

So Mr Kerry, you and people like you , need to stop shouting at the American people and engage them instead. You people who watch the news and believe stuff like his statements, out of hand, need to think past the words.

The government can eradicate our dependence upon foreigh oil?
Yes with a HUGE invasive government that bleeds our pockets dry through the taxation needed to support its ponderous weight. And then, you want to hear peopel cry foul at government poking its nose into provate lives, wait till they legislate every singe mile we drive.
No.
But that would be ok with some people, because they have to be combative and have their way, even if their way is worse than what we had to begin with.

Thats my rant and I am sticking to it.

John Kerry is FULL of lies and crap.
George Stephanopoulus (clintin administration) doesn't even have a good word for the guy.

Lonely Vigils, Many Lights.

I spent the hour in vigil.
Afterward I toddled down to the Lake to ponder.
I took out my old journal and flipping to the first page, I rewrote it, knowing that it does one good to be mindful of such things.

The SOUNDS link in the side bar has been updated: Hammered Dulcimer Medley of Snow Blind/Over The Waterfall, courtesy of Peter Ballerstedt, of the NWHDS.

so I am the one standing in the midst...

So I am the one standing in the midst of the hustling, bustling crowd that goes about its daily business.

In the midst of the crowd I stand on a box - a milk crate - and wringing my hands while shouting as though to the world, in a high pitched and quavering voice,

"DO NOT PANIC! EVERYONE REMAIN CALM!"

but everyone IS calm and it is only me that panicked.

I am reminded of something a friend once said jokingly a long time ago about being Chicken Little.

I can relate right about now.

*Takes a deep breath*

Ok...

Show Tunes and Meredith Wilson for better living.

(Quotes from the Famous Play by Meredith Wilson slaved with some miscellaneous observations.)

Marion...
Madam Libraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...
rian.

pick a little, talk a little,
pick a little, talk a little,
chew chew chew talk alot
pick a little more.

I wonder if the library eventually became an albatross?
I wonder why the whole town hated her.
It's not like they really knew her.

But I suppose that's the kind of talk that starts rumours about Travelling Salesmen too.
Well it only stands to reason.
I mean really, it only goes to show that if you just sit down and talk about things....

The problem is, most peoples knees aren't willing to bend.

G'night Zimmy!

My other best friend has passed away.

I still find it hard to fathom though I have known for hours.

I have done the best I could do for our people both on the lysts as well as the NWHDS.
I have procurred your best beloveds to help oversee.

To step away from the keyboard now, is to embrace a day that tells me you have gone where I cannot yet follow. For you it is a glorious day. Filled with reunions too numerous to count.

I will remain and find a way.

You are my best friend.
I haven't told Barb yet.
Maybe we'll go out for a beer in your honour.
Thanks also for your writing inspiration!
(Now I know that Canker Shores must NOT die and Patsy and Patrick must have their day.)

I am going to go and take a nap now.
The hatches are battened down, and I can step away.

I wish you were here Zimmy!


little m-

2Young 2 B Old and Revelation

Dang!
It's true!
Oh the crime of it all!
To be a 20 year old trappend inside an ... uhm ... older-than-20-year-old body!
When I am 90, I am sure I will feel the same.
Such is the way of things.

Let not youth be wasted, oh you who are young.


More Myst 4 Revelation in the comments section.

One Thing Leads to Another

SO after writing that last Angerful blogpost, I found myself visiting the following sites which sure cheered me up, and reminded me of what a great place America has been.
(hee hee hee hee)

The faint of heart should not visit these sights.
Only the wry, dry sense of humour will survive.

One of my favorite Greeting Products designers:
Anne Taintor:
Here, here, here and here.

And James Lileks:
Here, here, a sample from his latest book "Interior Desecrations,"
a sample from his previous book "Gallery of Regrettable Foods".

SO angry I could SPIT!

(*Carries ladder in and places it against a box of Tide(tm) Detergent.
Climbs onto soap box. Clears throat and adjusts Kevlar(tm) lined jacket.*)

I am NOT going to apologise for being an American.

Do you apologise for being French or Canadian or English or Brazilian or Japanese, or Israeli or what ever?

NO of course you don't. That would never enter your head.

It has become far too easy for the entire world (including Americans themselves???)
to blame everything on "Americans" right now.
Screw that.
Its crap.
I am NOT going to own it.
You don't find the rest of the world apologizing for their nationality, or worrying about offending the U.S. or any body else by being born some place?
You don't find the rest of the globe's citizen travelling around being contrite when they enter a country with the attitude, "Yes I know what my passport says. I am sorry you have to lay eyes on me, a foul American, today."

Not everything in the world is America's fault.

Humanity is what it is.
The earths citizens are to blame for the earths problems, both with regard to war and the environment.

It has always been so.
And guess what, it's not going to change because people are people.
There is NOTHING NEW under the sun.
NOTHING NEW!
NOTHING!

Rome rose and Fell.
So did Babylon.
World powers come and go.
Why?
Because they are populated with imperfect humanity.

When somebody comes along saying, "Entire Global Peace can be had for all people now!" then you will know beyond doubt that they are either a complete idiot, or the devil himself.

I am not blind.
Our country has some REAL problems.
But the shape the modern world and its trials and tribulations are not entirely our fault, and for us to go around apologizing for being Americans is WRONG.

On the contrary, who is it that rushes aid where its needed, even to potential enemies?
Huh?

*Adjusts ladder and climbs down off of Tide Detergent Box*

There it is.

Get over it.

Man, am I MAD!

Boys will be Boys

My son is the new internet laughing stock for today, Jan 15th, 2006.

Lovely.

I give you:
http://www.funny-videos.co.uk/videodryIce.html

Myst IV: Revelation and Elbow

not uch to say tonight except that my elbow is killing me. I got Xrays today. No bone chips but I have an injured Bursa, which tends to get "Rice Grain" textured scar tissue whihc is VERY painful and gets caught in all the wrong places in there and takes MONTHS to heal.
Of course.
Why not.

I did play Revelation again tonight.
See comments for spoilery commentary on that.
;o)

one armed again...

one handed typing again.
remember that elbow I injured last month when I slipped and fell on the ice?
it has bothered me off-and-on since then. I just assumed I had hit a nerve or something.
it locked up on me tonight and, first I couldn't straighten it out - then i couldn't then i managed to manipulate it out straight, and now I cam't bend it. I iced it but still couldn't bend it to 45degrees, so I just splinted it straight and hope it is better in the morning. Stu thinks its a nerve or muscle spasm. I don't know. I am wondering if it might be a bone chip.
stupid ice!
stupid arm!
good thing I only need one good hand to play Myst IV:Revelation!
:o)

More on that in the Comment Section - spoilers - beware?

Stuff and Revelation

Ok so...after another night in Tomahna...well, now I see.
In order not to spoil the game play for any one who has not yet played Myst IV: Revelation, I will confine my blogging about it to the comments section. SO if you don't want to see any spoilers, don't look at the comments.
:o)

It appears that Mysterium will be held inSPokane this year.
Yay! A place I can drive to.
This means I can take "mo betta stuff."
This means I can make another road-trip up into wheat land to shoot soem fun photos.
Maybe I can convince Lehsa to go along?
I can fit 3 comfortably in my car, so it would be fun to take an extra day, either thursday or Monday (Sunday?) and just make a day-trip to shoot images.

Fun to think about.

I Broke Tomahna, and Kids Become Cats

I Broke Tomahna.
I dunno what I did.
I am not playing Myst IV: Revelation for more than an hour and I already manage to "Break Tomahna." I did what the man said. I started the water wheel. Fortunately the little girl ran across to the safe side just before I broke everything.

Maybe I will try powering up a different section of the place tonight.


WHEN CHILDREN TURN INTO CATS
By Adair Lara
From : Northshore School District Newsletter, Connections, Junior Ed, Nov. 1996, v. 8, no. 2

I just realized that while children are dogs, loyal and affectionate, teenagers are cats.

It’s so easy to be the owner of a dog. You feed it, train it, boss it around and it puts its heads on your knee and gazes at you as if you were a Rembrandt painting. It follows you around, chews the dust covers off the Great Literature series if you stay too long at the party and bounds inside with enthusiasm when you call it in from the yard.

Then, one day around age 13, your adoring little puppy turns into a big old cat. When you tell it to come inside, it looks amazed, as if wondering who died and made you emperor. Instead of dogging your footsteps, it disappears. You won’t see it again until it gets hungry, when it pauses on its sprint through the kitchen long enough to turn its nose up at whatever you’re serving. When you reach out to ruffle its head, in that old affectionate gesture, it twists away from you, then gives you a blank stare, as if trying to remember where it has seen you before.

It sometimes conks out right after breakfast. It might steel itself to the communication necessary to get the back door opened or the car keys handed to it, but even that amount of dependence is disagreeable to it now.

Stunned, more than a little hurt, you have two choices. The first – and the one chosen by many parents – is that you can continue to behave like a dog owner. After all, your heart still swells when you look at your dog, you still want its company, and naturally when you tell it to stop digging up the rose bushes, you still expect it to obey you, pronto. IT PAYS NO attention now, of course, being a cat. So you toss it onto the back porch, telling it it can stay there and think about things, mister, and it glares at you, not deigning to reply. It wants you to recognize that it has a new nature now, and it must reel independent or it will die.

You, not realizing that the dog is now a cat, think something must be desperately wrong with it. It seems so anti-social, so distant, so sort of depressed. It won’t go on family outings.

Since you’re the one who raised it, taught it to fetch and stay and sit on command, naturally you assume that whatever is wrong with it is something you did, or left undone. Flooded with guilt and fear, you redouble your efforts to make your pet behave.

Only now, you’re dealing with a cat, so everything that worked before now produces exactly the opposite of the desired result. Call it, and it runs away. Tell it to sit, and it jumps on the counter. The more you go toward it, wringing your hands, the more it moves away.

Your second choice is to do the necessary reading, and learn to behave like a cat owner. Put a dish of food near the door, and let it come to you. If you must issue commands, find out what it wants to do, and command it to do it. BUT REMEMBER THAT a cat needs affection, too, and your help. Sit still, and it will come, seeking that warm, comforting lap it has not entirely forgotten. Be there to open the door for it.

Realize that all dog owners go through this, and few find it easy. My glance used to travel from my cat Mike looking regal and aloof on the fence to a foolish German shepherd on the sidewalk across the street, jumping for joy simply because he was getting to go outside. Now I miss the little boy who insisted I watch “Full House” with him, and who has now sealed him into a bedroom with a stereo and TV. The little girl who wrote me mash notes and is now peeling rubber in the driveway.

The only consolation is that if you do it right, let them go, be cool as a cat yourself, one day they will walk into the kitchen and give you a big kiss and say, you’ve been on your feet all day, let me get those dishes for you – and you’ll realize they’re dogs again.

Brief check in

Twirling a stick as bait, the mighty hunters prepare to enter the wilderness in search of the perfect "Non-Religion Specific, Yuletide, Winter Solstice Holiday Tree."

Of course we ALL KNOW what it really is. ;o)



Scout is more successful at creating Snow Angels than Helga is, but Helga does her best anyway.






The girls and Helga (black lump in back) frolic in the snow.








Down the trail I go, with the fish-eye lens.
(Don't try this on your own kids. I am a trained professional.)


















This is my best friend of 22 years, Barb, leading the way out into the wintery Wilderness to slay the elusive Christmas tree. She is notorious for selecting a 12 foot tree and requiring us to saw off the bottom 4-5 feet. She is what we embarrassingly refer to as a "tree-topper."

Even after lopping off the botton 3 feet, she still got home and it was too big, requiring another amputation of the bottom 4 feet. This left the tree at about 6.5 feet tall.

She is a crazy woman.

A visit from the Trojans...

Insures that my frequent web presence will diminish for a little while.

I will catch you all later.

mih-

2nd Annual Christmas Greeting

Stop me if you've heard this one before...

From me to you, with all the heartfelt sentiment I can muster.

;o)

Actually, this is my telephone answering machine recording at the moment.
;o)

I am trying not to be whiney.

But four freaking days before Christmas and they decide that now is the right time to tear the remainder of my kitchen apart in order to lay tile?
Now?
Furniture is redistributed through out the rest of the house and in the kids bedrooms, making them a cramped mess.
The refridgerator is parked in the family room.

For the next 3+ days, my kitchen, the laundry room, Scouts bathroom and her bedroom will be nearly inaccessible.

I am kinda pissed about the timing of this.
but you see, I can't be pissed.
Stu is shooting a marketing video for the flooring company and the materials distributor, so the flooring job is almost free.

Still, it is kind of a bummer.
The kids are out of school on break.
They are bored out of their skulls because of the freezing rain, they can't really go any place.
Now they are jammed into tighter quarters.

I still have Christmas shopping and presents to wrap.
I have no idea now, how I will get in there to defrost the turkey for Christmas Eve dinner.
There can be nothing out on the counters or any dishes out because it is a shooting set as well as a construction site.

I am trying not to whine.
I am trying to remember that this floor job is waaaaaaay over due and now we are getting it for mere pennies.

I just wish that it wasn't happening now.

Another Installment of Christmas Tune Cavalcade

ok, so...
All I can say is about this weeks "Christmas Tune Cavalcade" selection is:

Yes, this guy is totally serious.
No, I am not going to tell his name.
(Poor kid-and hey, it's NOT one of mine!)

The title of the song is :

"Christmas Time is Here."
(And we could also say, "don't we all just want to die?")

In fair warning, I should mention that I was not actually able to listen to this song the whole way through the first time I heard it.
I had to digest it in snippets.
The magnitude of this boy's sincerity is both pityable and terrifying.

Hope he has a good year this year.

N A R N I A

Well, I was unprepared.
Unprepared for my own internal response.
Having read the entire collection, many times over, ever since I was 12 years of age, I found myself weeping.
And now for the confession:
not merely weeping at the proper, poignant parts of the story, but weeping from the very beginning.
"What?" you ask, "You mean as they were setting up the story, before the kids ever arrived in Narnia?"

Earlier than that, for I am uber-pathetic.

I found my eyes grow damp, during the Opening Credits!

Am I stupid or what?

Tumnus was perfect.
The Queen was perfectly chilling.

I blubbered my way through the whole freakin film.

After all the years of reading these works, and often finding metaphorical applications for my every day life, I guess I sould have expected as much.

I was unprepared.

Watch the ending credits too.You may see some familiar names.

POCCNR Freakin' Christmas Deer!

Well, I don't have Cyrillic loaded into my computer.
As many of you know, Stu recently spent a month in Siberia acquiring interesting images and even a nifty souvenir in the form of arrest papers and a signed confession. Among some of the other neato souvenirs, were some lovely Christmas cards.
Now if I had a Cyrillic font, I would just type out Russian Christmas Cards in the proper way, but since I don't you are stuck with:

POCCNR
(For fun, I am choosing to prounounce it "Paw-K-nrrrrr.")

So, in the Spirit of Christmas I give you
Merry POCCNR Christmas!

And also in the Spirit of the Season I have uploaded my first Christmas song selection for this year. It is "Merry Freakin' Christmas" by Calibretto 13.
It is a 2MB wma, and will end up on the SOUNDS link, in the sidebar at the right.

We have had decent snow in the last week or so, and now we also have freezing fog, which some may find annoying, however I find it so lovely that I don't even mind the dumb deer so much.
I had fun using my first Apophysis render as part of the back ground. :o)

Apophysis Fun and Thot 4 the Day

So I downloaded Apophysis last night and messed about with it for a while today.
I can see how, once I get a handle on it, it could be really fun!
Fun program.
Even for a sufferer for Math Anxiety such as myself.
;o)

As I ponder things and people it occurred to me that when we become obsessed with the utter destruction of a thing/idea/person/company we hate, far too often we end up becoming a carbon copy of that thing we hate.

Funny that.

Actually, it's not funny.
It's scary.

Tune, Snow pics

And Now: Snow

The snows have finally come!
See what comes of leaving your toys outside?

More snow
in the front yard,
here and here.






A Christmas Song For You (tm)

In honour of Decembers first friday, I give you a lovely Christmas tune to start your weekend.
Check out a selection from the soon-to-be-holiday-classic:

Star Wars - Christmas In The Stars
Scroll down about half way and just below the terrible photo you will find the link to the song.