Happy Friday the 13th! I’m about to say something that makes people either hate me, or feel my forehead for fever. I love Friday the 13th. Seriously. I always seem to have good luck. Now, I don’t mean the day just moseys along relatively quietly, though that is fine and good too. I mean, I almost always have some piece of exceptionally good fortune on that day! I’m not a big believer in ‘luck’ anyhow, but it amuses me that this occurrence has become so consistent that I actually look for it. And yes, yes it has happened today!
I got up this morning and meandered downstairs to start my day as I usually do: feed cats, open shades, turn off outside lights, eat breakfast, get paper, clean up and get dressed, et cetera et cetera. When I opened the front windows, I could see right across the street into my neighbors’ yard, and there, sitting on the curb, was a dining room table and four chairs.
You have to understand, I have a perfectly good table for eating, located in the family room, as my house does not have a dedicated dining room. However, I only have two chairs for that table that are safe to sit in. The others are rickety and broken down and generally unsafe for anybody’s butt. So the sight of those chairs, on a bright sunny morning with, believe it or not, no rain predicted, made me squee!
I raced through my morning routine, tossed some clothes on and hustled across the street, tape measure in my pocket, to check them out. Not only were they just the right height and width, three of the four felt solid as a rock. Only one was even slightly wibbly, and I figured it could sit by the wall, a perch of last resort. Four round trips later, they were gathered around my side door. I hauled the busted-up ones out the back door and stacked them on the patio to be hauled off (eventually) and brought the new ones in.
The seats could use a little spot cleaning, but nothing stinks and I have tie-on seat cushions to cover them till I have time to. Yay!
In other news, no bad word from mom this week. This is her last week of therapy, and she is going onto long-term care after that. That means we have to start paying, until we get her signed up for Medicaid and approved. We’ll last a while though, and she doesn’t have to move; the room she’s been in while getting her rehab treatment is actually a long-term care room, so that’s one less disruption for her, thank heavens.
With mom just about settled, I’m getting serious about finding a job again. Might be speech, might not. ‘m past the halfway point in final revision on Song for the Seacrossing. AND, as I think I alluded to a couple of weeks back, I’m starting to have new story ideas! I can’t tell you how exciting it is to get that part of my life, in particular, back. I love to create, I just can’t stop myself sometimes, but lately it’s been mostly just crafts. Not that crafts are bad, but I really missed the words. It tore at me when I would make actual effort to think of an idea, and nothing would come. If I hadn’t been writing articles for that online gig, I would have felt like the words had deserted me forever. Now, though…I had an idea I started to develop for a short story, then it kept growing, and then the main character started talking to me (don’t laugh, they do that. It’s a writer thing and I’m so happy to hear that again!) and in no time I had 11,000 words of just notes! For like, 6 or 7 connected stories! Yeah, it’s just fanfic, but hey, I’m creating again! Fanfic is kind of like training wheels, in my mind, that let you practice your skills and then turn them loose on all-original stuff. Plus, it’s fun playing in somebody else’s sandbox, and it becomes like working a massive puzzle, especially if the fandom you’re working in has things you don’t like. Then, sometimes, you find your brain manufacturing ways to fix those things in a logical storyline, which is a hoot.
In a related vein: last Saturday I got to do something I’ve wanted to do for ages and never been able to. I spent all day at the sci-fi con I mentioned a couple of posts back! It was a blast. I watched lightsaber training classes, chatted with fellow writers, admired geeky jewelry and nail polish and corsets, and nerded out over some amazing cosplayers. Cosplay, in case you don’t know, is when you go to a con dressed up as a character. People put an incredible amount of time and effort into making costumes, and I’ve never really gotten to spend any time appreciating them in the flesh.
To be honest, the few times I’ve been able to attend things like a book release party or celeb appearance, I’ve always had to allow for my parents. When I was younger, my parents had to take me, they got bored fast, and that was all I got. By the time I was old enough to take myself, they were old enough to start needing some care, so thirty minutes after I got anywhere, I knew they were expecting me home already (and with the rise of cell phones, that’s about when mine would start ringing with somebody on the other end who could not understand what so interested me that I’d rather be there than home cooking supper or whatever.)
Last Saturday, though, I answered to nobody but myself. I guess that sounds selfish, but it felt so good. I hung out for a couple of hours, sat out on a bench and ate my sandwich and read, then went back to a couple of activities. There was a yarning get-together planned for an hour; my new friends and I were having such a good time, when they kicked us out of the room, we adjourned to a table in the lobby and sat and knitted and crocheted and talked for another hour, before more panels and shopping and visiting. I didn't make it home till almost bedtime.
(I swear, it’s got me wondering if I could sneak off to Atlanta over Labor Day weekend for the huge con down there…)