in the one place you'd think a girl would be safe
Apr. 13th, 2026 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
musesfool
Today's poem:
Eurydice
by Carol Ann Duffy
Girls, I was dead and down
in the Underworld, a shade,
a shadow of my former self, nowhen.
It was a place where language stopped,
a black full stop, a black hole
Where the words had to come to an end.
And end they did there,
last words,
famous or not.
It suited me down to the ground.
So imagine me there,
unavailable,
out of this world,
then picture my face in that place
of Eternal Repose,
in the one place you'd think a girl would be safe
from the kind of a man
who follows her round
writing poems,
hovers about
while she reads them,
calls her His Muse,
and once sulked for a night and a day
because she remarked on his weakness for abstract nouns.
Just picture my face
when I heard –
Ye Gods –
a familiar knock-knock at Death's door.
Him.
Big O.
Larger than life.
With his lyre
and a poem to pitch, with me as the prize.
Things were different back then.
For the men, verse-wise,
Big O was the boy. Legendary.
The blurb on the back of his books claimed
that animals,
aardvark to zebra,
flocked to his side when he sang,
fish leapt in their shoals
at the sound of his voice,
even the mute, sullen stones at his feet
wept wee, silver tears.
Bollocks. (I'd done all the typing myself,
I should know.)
And given my time all over again,
rest assured that I'd rather speak for myself
than be Dearest, Beloved, Dark Lady, White Goddess etc., etc.
In fact girls, I'd rather be dead.
But the Gods are like publishers,
usually male,
and what you doubtless know of my tale
is the deal.
Orpheus strutted his stuff.
The bloodless ghosts were in tears.
Sisyphus sat on his rock for the first time in years.
Tantalus was permitted a couple of beers.
The woman in question could scarcely believe her ears.
Like it or not,
I must follow him back to our life –
Eurydice, Orpheus' wife –
to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes,
octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets,
elegies, limericks, villanelles,
histories, myths...
He'd been told that he mustn't look back
or turn round,
but walk steadily upwards,
myself right behind him,
out of the Underworld
into the upper air that for me was the past.
He'd been warned
that one look would lose me
for ever and ever.
So we walked, we walked.
Nobody talked.
Girls, forget what you've read.
It happened like this –
I did everything in my power
to make him look back.
What did I have to do, I said,
to make him see we were through?
I was dead. Deceased.
I was Resting in Peace. Passé. Late.
Past my sell-by date...
I stretched out my hand
to touch him once
on the back of the neck.
Please let me stay.
But already the light had saddened from purple to grey.
It was an uphill schlep
from death to life
and with every step
I willed him to turn.
I was thinking of filching the poem
out of his cloak,
when inspiration finally struck.
I stopped, thrilled.
He was a yard in front.
My voice shook when I spoke –
Orpheus, your poem's a masterpiece.
I'd love to hear it again…
He was smiling modestly,
when he turned,
when he turned and he looked at me.
What else?
I noticed he hadn't shaved.
I waved once and was gone.
The dead are so talented.
The living walk by the edge of a vast lake
near, the wise, drowned silence of the dead.
*
Eurydice
by Carol Ann Duffy
Girls, I was dead and down
in the Underworld, a shade,
a shadow of my former self, nowhen.
It was a place where language stopped,
a black full stop, a black hole
Where the words had to come to an end.
And end they did there,
last words,
famous or not.
It suited me down to the ground.
So imagine me there,
unavailable,
out of this world,
then picture my face in that place
of Eternal Repose,
in the one place you'd think a girl would be safe
from the kind of a man
who follows her round
writing poems,
hovers about
while she reads them,
calls her His Muse,
and once sulked for a night and a day
because she remarked on his weakness for abstract nouns.
Just picture my face
when I heard –
Ye Gods –
a familiar knock-knock at Death's door.
Him.
Big O.
Larger than life.
With his lyre
and a poem to pitch, with me as the prize.
Things were different back then.
For the men, verse-wise,
Big O was the boy. Legendary.
The blurb on the back of his books claimed
that animals,
aardvark to zebra,
flocked to his side when he sang,
fish leapt in their shoals
at the sound of his voice,
even the mute, sullen stones at his feet
wept wee, silver tears.
Bollocks. (I'd done all the typing myself,
I should know.)
And given my time all over again,
rest assured that I'd rather speak for myself
than be Dearest, Beloved, Dark Lady, White Goddess etc., etc.
In fact girls, I'd rather be dead.
But the Gods are like publishers,
usually male,
and what you doubtless know of my tale
is the deal.
Orpheus strutted his stuff.
The bloodless ghosts were in tears.
Sisyphus sat on his rock for the first time in years.
Tantalus was permitted a couple of beers.
The woman in question could scarcely believe her ears.
Like it or not,
I must follow him back to our life –
Eurydice, Orpheus' wife –
to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes,
octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets,
elegies, limericks, villanelles,
histories, myths...
He'd been told that he mustn't look back
or turn round,
but walk steadily upwards,
myself right behind him,
out of the Underworld
into the upper air that for me was the past.
He'd been warned
that one look would lose me
for ever and ever.
So we walked, we walked.
Nobody talked.
Girls, forget what you've read.
It happened like this –
I did everything in my power
to make him look back.
What did I have to do, I said,
to make him see we were through?
I was dead. Deceased.
I was Resting in Peace. Passé. Late.
Past my sell-by date...
I stretched out my hand
to touch him once
on the back of the neck.
Please let me stay.
But already the light had saddened from purple to grey.
It was an uphill schlep
from death to life
and with every step
I willed him to turn.
I was thinking of filching the poem
out of his cloak,
when inspiration finally struck.
I stopped, thrilled.
He was a yard in front.
My voice shook when I spoke –
Orpheus, your poem's a masterpiece.
I'd love to hear it again…
He was smiling modestly,
when he turned,
when he turned and he looked at me.
What else?
I noticed he hadn't shaved.
I waved once and was gone.
The dead are so talented.
The living walk by the edge of a vast lake
near, the wise, drowned silence of the dead.
*
alert! all hands!
Apr. 12th, 2026 08:51 pmwaterswordTHERE ARE AT LEAST THREE (3) TINY ASPARAGUS SPEARS POKING THEIR HEADS UP IN MY GARDEN!!!
I went up to grimly continue tearing out the god damn creeping charlie, and there were actual tiny asparagus stalks emerging! They aren't dead!
And the rhubarb is continuing to grow!
I am so pleased.
Pride's Solace
Apr. 12th, 2026 04:28 pmsettiai
Pride's Solace, a Dragon Age exchange focusing on Solas, when live a little while ago. I ended up getting not one but two lovely gifts from it!
First up is a fleeting moment, focusing on Lucanis & Solas & Spite post-Tearstone Island in DA:V.
Then there's Garden of Statues, focusing on Solas & Tarquin with Tarquin meeting Solas sometime pre-DA:V. There's also a lovely bit with Ashur towards the end.
First up is a fleeting moment, focusing on Lucanis & Solas & Spite post-Tearstone Island in DA:V.
Then there's Garden of Statues, focusing on Solas & Tarquin with Tarquin meeting Solas sometime pre-DA:V. There's also a lovely bit with Ashur towards the end.
Garden pre-PRE(?)-planning. Or something.
Apr. 12th, 2026 04:52 pmumadoshi
Our impending new raised planter is still showing as scheduled to arrive tomorrow while we're both home/not working, so here's hoping!
We just spent a while sifting through some seed listings on the Halifax Seed website (and I mostly kept myself from looking at tomato seeds, since we are not growing any tomatoes from seed*).
*I really wish there were some indication of what tomato varieties will be offered as seedlings, and also wish I knew if the different plant nurseries tend to offer similar varieties of tomato seedlings or not. (ALSO-also, we need to decide whether to focus on trying a few different types to see how we like them vs. focusing on a few determinate plants with the intention of just processing most/all of the fruit into sauce.)
(The seedling sale from a relatively nearby nonprofit that I'm hoping to make it to does offer a short list of potential varieties of things, with the caveat of "These are all the options that we have intended to grow but as all farmers and gardeners know, not every crop pans out. We apologize in advance if some of these options are unavailable, or not ready." For tomatoes, it says "Roma, Brandywine, Scotia +more! / Tropical Sunset, Sungold, Red Torch +more!")
But as noted yesterday, we don't plan to put tomatoes in the actual planter anyway. Thoughts for the actual planter so far: ( thoughts + variety notes )
We just spent a while sifting through some seed listings on the Halifax Seed website (and I mostly kept myself from looking at tomato seeds, since we are not growing any tomatoes from seed*).
*I really wish there were some indication of what tomato varieties will be offered as seedlings, and also wish I knew if the different plant nurseries tend to offer similar varieties of tomato seedlings or not. (ALSO-also, we need to decide whether to focus on trying a few different types to see how we like them vs. focusing on a few determinate plants with the intention of just processing most/all of the fruit into sauce.)
(The seedling sale from a relatively nearby nonprofit that I'm hoping to make it to does offer a short list of potential varieties of things, with the caveat of "These are all the options that we have intended to grow but as all farmers and gardeners know, not every crop pans out. We apologize in advance if some of these options are unavailable, or not ready." For tomatoes, it says "Roma, Brandywine, Scotia +more! / Tropical Sunset, Sungold, Red Torch +more!")
But as noted yesterday, we don't plan to put tomatoes in the actual planter anyway. Thoughts for the actual planter so far: ( thoughts + variety notes )
When the game is over, I won't walk out the loser*
Apr. 12th, 2026 02:45 pmmusesfool
I feel like I've probably oversold this post as well-put-together meta when it is mostly a lot of bullet points with me going "WTF? WTF?," which I guess is basically the Dungeon Crawler Carl experience in a nutshell. Anyway! It's a month until Parade of Horribles comes out, so I figured I'd better post before the post was obsolete. *g*
This is mostly stuff that I've picked up on in reading/rereading and am wondering what will be resolved (and when, given that there's supposedly 3 more books, and ( spoiler ) I also wanted to do a little speculation about endings. Because despite people on reddit being very vocal about Dinniman being a horror writer and how it's not going to end happily and everyone will die, I don't believe that to be the case, necessarily, based on my reading of the books. (I mean, is it likely? Sure. Do I want that ending? Nope!)
The first, less salient, point in my favor is that the books open with Carl telling the story in a way that sounds like he's looking back on it, that he's been through it and lived to tell the tale. This is typical in novels written in first person past tense; however, ( spoilers )
The second, more important, point, to me, is the theme of the story that's being told – one of resistance and revolution, anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism – and having that be snuffed out in favor of late stage capitalism and status quo antebellum being restored is just...I don't see it (especially not now). I guess even if everyone dies, the changes Carl et al. have forced on the galaxy will linger, at least for a while, but I am not sure anymore that even Carl dies at the end (I would have said 98% yes he does, but I read some interesting meta on tumblr that made me wonder if he will in fact survive and why, rooted in his own past trauma to make it make sense).
I do think a lot of our favorites will die, probably horribly, but I also think Donut will make it out alive. I cannot imagine killing the cat at this point. It would be interesting and somewhat surprising to make Carl live in the new world too. (I am not just saying this because he's my blorbo, but that might be a major factor in it.) Though how – given his primal race – could be as something new and different (or its own horror, given the givens), which might as well be death in some ways? Metamorphosis, at least. Idk.
Anyway, I've wrestled with how to organize this – by character? by theme? – and decided to go with *drumroll* location! It seemed to make the most sense to me, anyway.
There's spoilers for all 7 books (I am not a member of the Patreon so I haven't read any excerpts from book 8 or the extra material from the print versions of the books) from here on out.
We'll start wide with ( the galaxy )
Which brings us to ( earth's surface )
And then, the most important location, ( the dungeon )
I'm sure there are things I've forgotten/missed/am making too much or too little of, but there is just so much going on that I needed to track it all somehow, and so here we are. If you've read the books, what do you think?
*I said this on tumblr, but I do hope someone makes a Carl vid to Springsteen's Trapped - it's definitely #1 on the Carl playlist I did not actually make but which lives in my head while I contemplate inchoate fic ideas I will never write.
***
This is mostly stuff that I've picked up on in reading/rereading and am wondering what will be resolved (and when, given that there's supposedly 3 more books, and ( spoiler ) I also wanted to do a little speculation about endings. Because despite people on reddit being very vocal about Dinniman being a horror writer and how it's not going to end happily and everyone will die, I don't believe that to be the case, necessarily, based on my reading of the books. (I mean, is it likely? Sure. Do I want that ending? Nope!)
The first, less salient, point in my favor is that the books open with Carl telling the story in a way that sounds like he's looking back on it, that he's been through it and lived to tell the tale. This is typical in novels written in first person past tense; however, ( spoilers )
The second, more important, point, to me, is the theme of the story that's being told – one of resistance and revolution, anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism – and having that be snuffed out in favor of late stage capitalism and status quo antebellum being restored is just...I don't see it (especially not now). I guess even if everyone dies, the changes Carl et al. have forced on the galaxy will linger, at least for a while, but I am not sure anymore that even Carl dies at the end (I would have said 98% yes he does, but I read some interesting meta on tumblr that made me wonder if he will in fact survive and why, rooted in his own past trauma to make it make sense).
I do think a lot of our favorites will die, probably horribly, but I also think Donut will make it out alive. I cannot imagine killing the cat at this point. It would be interesting and somewhat surprising to make Carl live in the new world too. (I am not just saying this because he's my blorbo, but that might be a major factor in it.) Though how – given his primal race – could be as something new and different (or its own horror, given the givens), which might as well be death in some ways? Metamorphosis, at least. Idk.
Anyway, I've wrestled with how to organize this – by character? by theme? – and decided to go with *drumroll* location! It seemed to make the most sense to me, anyway.
There's spoilers for all 7 books (I am not a member of the Patreon so I haven't read any excerpts from book 8 or the extra material from the print versions of the books) from here on out.
We'll start wide with ( the galaxy )
Which brings us to ( earth's surface )
And then, the most important location, ( the dungeon )
I'm sure there are things I've forgotten/missed/am making too much or too little of, but there is just so much going on that I needed to track it all somehow, and so here we are. If you've read the books, what do you think?
*I said this on tumblr, but I do hope someone makes a Carl vid to Springsteen's Trapped - it's definitely #1 on the Carl playlist I did not actually make but which lives in my head while I contemplate inchoate fic ideas I will never write.
***
the salt we'd suck off our fingers
Apr. 12th, 2026 11:05 ammusesfool
Today's poem:
July
Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz
The figs we ate wrapped in bacon.
The gelato we consumed greedily:
coconut milk, clove, fresh pear.
How we'd dump hot espresso on it
just to watch it melt, licking our spoons
clean. The potatoes fried in duck fat,
the salt we'd suck off our fingers,
the eggs we'd watch get beaten
'til they were a dizzying bright yellow,
how their edges crisped in the pan.
The pink salt blossom of prosciutto
we pulled apart with our hands, melted
on our eager tongues. The green herbs
with goat cheese, the aged brie paired
with a small pot of strawberry jam,
the final sour cherry we kept politely
pushing onto each other's plate, saying,
No, you. But it's so good. No, it's yours.
How I finally put an end to it, plucked it
from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth.
How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart.
How good it felt: to want something and
pretend you don't, and to get it anyway.
***
I caught up on Abbott Elementary last night and ( spoilers )
***
July
Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz
The figs we ate wrapped in bacon.
The gelato we consumed greedily:
coconut milk, clove, fresh pear.
How we'd dump hot espresso on it
just to watch it melt, licking our spoons
clean. The potatoes fried in duck fat,
the salt we'd suck off our fingers,
the eggs we'd watch get beaten
'til they were a dizzying bright yellow,
how their edges crisped in the pan.
The pink salt blossom of prosciutto
we pulled apart with our hands, melted
on our eager tongues. The green herbs
with goat cheese, the aged brie paired
with a small pot of strawberry jam,
the final sour cherry we kept politely
pushing onto each other's plate, saying,
No, you. But it's so good. No, it's yours.
How I finally put an end to it, plucked it
from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth.
How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart.
How good it felt: to want something and
pretend you don't, and to get it anyway.
***
I caught up on Abbott Elementary last night and ( spoilers )
***
Episode 2764: Shifty Panel Trap
Apr. 12th, 2026 09:11 am![[syndicated profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/feed.png){kind=small}
darths_and_droids_feed
Academia can be an interesting setting for a game. For full-on fantasy academia, look at Unseen University from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, the Strixhaven setting from the card game Magic: the Gathering, or Morgrave University from the Eberron Dungeons & Dragons setting. For modern day fantasy, there's of course Harry Potter, or Brakebills Universityfrom Lev Grossman's The Magicians series, or Camp Half-Blood from Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson series, among others.
In science fiction we have Star Trek's Starfleet Academy, Star Wars's Jedi Academy, or the Bene Gesserit Schools of Dune.
Any of these or the many other examples in established fiction would make a great setting for roleplaying. In fact some of them have existing roleplaying games where you can do just that. You can also invent your own academic institution and have students or teachers engage in investigation, conflict, discovery, and other shenanigans. It's very fertile ground for interesting adventures, as you can see by the number of examples that already exist.
aurilee writes:
Commentary by memnarch (who has not seen the movie)
And here's another life event come to interrupt the game. Unfortunately, it's another bad event. I guess once you've found a job you like, there's not a lot of surprise messages from the job that'd be good news. Hopefully nothing comes from the misconduct panel that'd cause more trouble for Jim.
Anyway, looks like the red stuff in the transit isn't causing trouble for the Resistance fleet. I wonder if we'll see the craziness of that comet escape near the start of the movie again at this point. There's not going to be much in the way of opportunity for ships to hyper-jump once the fight starts. This'll end up being the last major space battle, whatever happens, I think. We're in Episode IX at this point, this feels like set-up for the final fight, and yet another an escape would hardly lead to a good outcome. Even if it feels rather impossible at the moment.
Transcript
The case of the missing notifications
Apr. 11th, 2026 11:58 pm![[staff profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user_staff.png){kind=small}
denise posting in ![[site community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/comm_staff.png){kind=small}
dw_maintenanceI keep forgetting to post about this: we've been troubleshooting the "missing notifications" problem for the past few days. (Well, I say "we", really I mean Mark and Robby; I'm just the amanuensis.) It's been one of those annoying loops of "find a logical explanation for what could be causing the problem, fix that thing, observe that the problem gets better for some people but doesn't go away completely, go back to step one and start again", sigh.
Mark is hauling out the heavy debugging ordinance to try to find the root cause. Once he's done building all the extra logging tools he needs, he'll comment to this entry. After he does, if you find a comment that should have gone to your inbox and sent an email notification but didn't, leave him a link to the comment that should have sent the notification, as long as the comment itself was made after Mark says he's collecting them. (I'd wait and post this after he gets the debug code in but I need to go to sleep and he's not sure how long it will take!)
We're sorry about the hassle! Irregular/sporadic issues like this are really hard to troubleshoot because it's impossible to know if they're fixed or if they're just not happening while you're looking. With luck, this will give us enough information to figure out the root cause for real this time.
AO3
Apr. 11th, 2026 09:24 pmsettiai
Nothing makes you feel old like looking at your AO3 profile, glancing at your user ID, and suddenly remembering that it's a really fucking small number because you technically joined before they were even in open beta. By, like, a day. But still. I remember the length of the queues back then.
Seriously, I was still living in Tennessee when I made that account. That's terrifying.
Seriously, I was still living in Tennessee when I made that account. That's terrifying.
I'm vilifying you, for God's sake — pay attention!
Apr. 11th, 2026 08:37 pmwaterswordOkay, dream cast, The Lion in Winter, Broadway/West End. Important caveat: must be currently working actors (no Marlon Brando, no Philip Seymour Hoffman, no Bette Davis).
Go!
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down
Apr. 11th, 2026 05:55 pmmusesfoolYesterday, after I logged off work, I made these banana blueberry muffins, which used up the last of all the fruit that I got last week in the wrong grocery order (well, the raspberries got moldy before I could use them, so they just got thrown out, but I used the strawbs, the bluebs, and the bananas in the end). They're good!
Then this afternoon, I tried out this vanilla cupcake recipe, which I had originally planned to make for Easter. As written, it makes 40 mini cupcakes, so if I make it next weekend to take to work on Tuesday, which is what I am thinking, I will double it. And make that KAB whipped ganache frosting. I might do that tomorrow, just because I can, once the last of the ground meat I received last weekend is thawed and used to make meatballs. I have ravioli in the freezer so I can free up even more space (I used the frozen tortellini last night). Anyway, I want to see if these vanilla cupcakes really do stay moist for a few days. I already replaced vanilla with funfetti for Christmas, but I feel like you should always have a good vanilla cupcake recipe in your back pocket, and the one I like for cake was never the best for cupcakes.
Now I've got a chicken roasting in the oven and it smells so good.
Anyway, here's today's poem:
Hurry
by Marie Howe
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.
Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?
Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry—
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.
And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.
***
Then this afternoon, I tried out this vanilla cupcake recipe, which I had originally planned to make for Easter. As written, it makes 40 mini cupcakes, so if I make it next weekend to take to work on Tuesday, which is what I am thinking, I will double it. And make that KAB whipped ganache frosting. I might do that tomorrow, just because I can, once the last of the ground meat I received last weekend is thawed and used to make meatballs. I have ravioli in the freezer so I can free up even more space (I used the frozen tortellini last night). Anyway, I want to see if these vanilla cupcakes really do stay moist for a few days. I already replaced vanilla with funfetti for Christmas, but I feel like you should always have a good vanilla cupcake recipe in your back pocket, and the one I like for cake was never the best for cupcakes.
Now I've got a chicken roasting in the oven and it smells so good.
Anyway, here's today's poem:
Hurry
by Marie Howe
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.
Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?
Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry—
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.
And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.
***
Weekly proof of life: less-crunchy days ahead | media | Korean BBQ | initial gardening thoughts
Apr. 11th, 2026 02:47 pmumadoshi
Seasonal crunch is over! Feels like freedom, if you ignore the part where I still have, y'know, a job + freelance stuff. Increased freedom. We'll go with that.
My day off yesterday entailed such thrilling things as sleeping in and then taking ages to get up because Jinksy came to snuggle*; finishing my breakfast and tea by around noon; getting some banking done; washing my hair; vacuuming the two main levels of the house; spending several full hours being a cat-lap for Sinha; and starting in on a new novel for the first time since March Break or so.
*When I textedscruloose to say good morning, they said, "When my first alarm went, it was competing with Jinksy over on your other side rumble-purring so hard I swear the mattress was reverberating with it."
Reading: A couple more chapters of Braiding Sweetgrass, and I've finished Praisesong for the Kitchen Ghosts: Stories and Recipes from Five Generations of Black Country Cooks, which has a fair number of recipes but is, as the title indicates, more of a family history than a cookbook.
And last night I didn't want to spend much mental energy on choosing what fiction to read, so I decided to just go with Tough Guy, the third Game Changers novel. I imagine in the not-too-distant future I'll pick up the ebook "box set" of books 4-6 just to have them on hand.
Watching: We're caught up on The Pitt and have seen five episodes of One Piece season 2, and I imagine we'll finish the latter before backtracking for the last couple-few episodes of Frieren. (I've also made note of this elsewhere, but to reinforce it in my brain: after The Pitt finishes, I need to remember to cancel our Crave subscription again.)
Eating: After the crunch ended on Thursday,scruloose and I ordered from a new (?) Korean BBQ place (bb.q Chicken) that a stranger in the local Bluesky feed had mentioned was good. We tried the bone-in Classic Fried Chicken (very minimal spicing, but very solid) and the boneless Golden Fried Chicken, the description of which didn't indicate any particular spiciness, but it turned out to be right on the edge of my comfort level...but also a really delicious seasoning to go with the heat, so I'm counting that as a definite win. The place offers a whole array of flavor options, so I imagine we'll be trying it again.
Weathering/Growing: Yesterday was sunny and relatively warm, and now we're back to a slightly-chilly rainy/damp stretch, but a few days in the forecast will theoretically get back up into the double digits.
At my instigation, we're going to take another stab at Doing Garden Stuff this year. ( VERY preliminary notes )
My day off yesterday entailed such thrilling things as sleeping in and then taking ages to get up because Jinksy came to snuggle*; finishing my breakfast and tea by around noon; getting some banking done; washing my hair; vacuuming the two main levels of the house; spending several full hours being a cat-lap for Sinha; and starting in on a new novel for the first time since March Break or so.
*When I texted
scruloose to say good morning, they said, "When my first alarm went, it was competing with Jinksy over on your other side rumble-purring so hard I swear the mattress was reverberating with it."Reading: A couple more chapters of Braiding Sweetgrass, and I've finished Praisesong for the Kitchen Ghosts: Stories and Recipes from Five Generations of Black Country Cooks, which has a fair number of recipes but is, as the title indicates, more of a family history than a cookbook.
And last night I didn't want to spend much mental energy on choosing what fiction to read, so I decided to just go with Tough Guy, the third Game Changers novel. I imagine in the not-too-distant future I'll pick up the ebook "box set" of books 4-6 just to have them on hand.
Watching: We're caught up on The Pitt and have seen five episodes of One Piece season 2, and I imagine we'll finish the latter before backtracking for the last couple-few episodes of Frieren. (I've also made note of this elsewhere, but to reinforce it in my brain: after The Pitt finishes, I need to remember to cancel our Crave subscription again.)
Eating: After the crunch ended on Thursday,
scruloose and I ordered from a new (?) Korean BBQ place (bb.q Chicken) that a stranger in the local Bluesky feed had mentioned was good. We tried the bone-in Classic Fried Chicken (very minimal spicing, but very solid) and the boneless Golden Fried Chicken, the description of which didn't indicate any particular spiciness, but it turned out to be right on the edge of my comfort level...but also a really delicious seasoning to go with the heat, so I'm counting that as a definite win. The place offers a whole array of flavor options, so I imagine we'll be trying it again.Weathering/Growing: Yesterday was sunny and relatively warm, and now we're back to a slightly-chilly rainy/damp stretch, but a few days in the forecast will theoretically get back up into the double digits.
At my instigation, we're going to take another stab at Doing Garden Stuff this year. ( VERY preliminary notes )
she's wind through wild thyme
Apr. 10th, 2026 07:02 pmmusesfool
Today's poem:
The Other Woman
as I picture her
she has no basil
no cumin
no sun-hardened hyssop
nor sage around her eyes
she never catnips
but laughs comfrey
tansy with a primula smile
as I think of her
she's angelica
foxglove and jasmine
somewhat peppermint
not letting you see
all her saffron at once
one day I’ll meet her
that rue woman
that wild indigo teasel
somewhere neutral
free of woodruff and of dropwort
some summer savory
she's the nose
set to lavender
eye full of sesame
ear ringing rosemary
she's wind
through wild thyme
--Twyla M. Hansen
*
The Other Woman
as I picture her
she has no basil
no cumin
no sun-hardened hyssop
nor sage around her eyes
she never catnips
but laughs comfrey
tansy with a primula smile
as I think of her
she's angelica
foxglove and jasmine
somewhat peppermint
not letting you see
all her saffron at once
one day I’ll meet her
that rue woman
that wild indigo teasel
somewhere neutral
free of woodruff and of dropwort
some summer savory
she's the nose
set to lavender
eye full of sesame
ear ringing rosemary
she's wind
through wild thyme
--Twyla M. Hansen
*
fic: The sort of beauty that's called human (Will/Bran, G for now, 5/?)
Apr. 9th, 2026 10:24 pmlotesseThe sort of beauty that's called human (5727 words) by lotesse
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Bran Davies/Will Stanton
Characters: Bran Davies, Will Stanton (Dark is Rising), Owen Davies, Herne the Hunter (Dark is Rising)
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Loss of Parent(s), Immortality
Series: Part 4 of Wherein was bound a child
Summary:
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Bran Davies/Will Stanton
Characters: Bran Davies, Will Stanton (Dark is Rising), Owen Davies, Herne the Hunter (Dark is Rising)
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Loss of Parent(s), Immortality
Series: Part 4 of Wherein was bound a child
Summary:
“We have to go,” Bran said, his voice coming out hoarser than he’d expected. “Rhys called. Trouble with my da. A stroke.”
No more needed to be said aloud. They were going back to Wales.
fic: Not time’s fool, Narnia, Caspian/Lucy, 8/?
Apr. 9th, 2026 09:51 pmlotesseNot time’s fool (13040 words) by lotesse
Chapters: 8/?
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Caspian/Lucy Pevensie
Characters: Lucy Pevensie, Caspian (Narnia), Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil, Edmund Pevensie, Peter Pevensie, Polly Plummer, Digory Kirke, Eustace Scrubb, Lord Rhoop (Narnia)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Romance, Sailing, Prophecy
Series: Part 3 of An ever-fixèd mark
Summary:
Chapters: 8/?
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Caspian/Lucy Pevensie
Characters: Lucy Pevensie, Caspian (Narnia), Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil, Edmund Pevensie, Peter Pevensie, Polly Plummer, Digory Kirke, Eustace Scrubb, Lord Rhoop (Narnia)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Romance, Sailing, Prophecy
Series: Part 3 of An ever-fixèd mark
Summary:
By remaining in Narnia, and not going home again, Lucy had purposefully thrown herself in the path of fate, making herself the obstacle to derail the terrible train of events from its determined track, which had the prophesied end of all Narnia at its end, and her own premature death in a ruined railway carriage. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She had made of herself a lodestone, pulling fate out of its accustomed course. Inevitably, she would leave change in her wake. She meant it to be so, for the preservation of all.
you do the math, you expect the trouble
Apr. 9th, 2026 05:50 pmmusesfool
Today's poem, for which I had to turn on the rich text editor and still couldn't get the spacing quite right sigh:
Seaside Improvisation
by Richard Siken
I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don't
want them, so I take them back
and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists. The yard is dark,
the tomatoes are next to the whitewashed wall,
the book on the table is about Spain,
the windows are painted shut.
Tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns
of snow and I stare at you like I'm looking through a window,
counting birds.
You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
but tell me
you love this, tell me you're not miserable.
You do the math, you expect the trouble.
The seaside town. The electric fence.
Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone
of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.
A stone on the path means the tea's not ready,
a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside you still
hasn't hit bottom.
*
Seaside Improvisation
by Richard Siken
I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don't
want them, so I take them back
and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists. The yard is dark,
the tomatoes are next to the whitewashed wall,
the book on the table is about Spain,
the windows are painted shut.
Tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns
of snow and I stare at you like I'm looking through a window,
counting birds.
You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
but tell me
you love this, tell me you're not miserable.
You do the math, you expect the trouble.
The seaside town. The electric fence.
Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone
of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.
A stone on the path means the tea's not ready,
a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside you still
hasn't hit bottom.
*