Sunday, December 1, 2013


Appropriately enough, I would take the title from the late, great Peggy Lee. A haunting song to me even as a 13-year old, named “Is That All There Is?” wherein she sings about “breaking out the booze and having a ball,” with a minor undercurrent in the trumpets in a far away background, almost a melancholy waltz and something Klezmer and Eastern European folk music and Russian music in general, does so well. It is an existential song, verging on nihilism, which I understood even at age 13 and took to heart for far too many years, but I'm still here, maybe minus a few parts and a couple of senses, those of the touch, taste, smell, hear, and see variety, and some would say the common sort, but I'm a clever fox, for all that, and still present, when others are not.

I have indeed finished my #NaNoWriMo challenge and guess what? It's a hot mess! Wow, who'd a thunk it? As my late mother would have said. She would be bursting her buttons right now, just for the finish, clocking in at 50,971 words in thirty days. It is a mad scramble of aliens, ghosts, gamers, musicians, scientist, fly-boys and spies. Shit I know about. The rest of it is made up. 

Some names changed along the way. Carl became Bryan at one point and Masha turned into Freebird. People died, but I resisted Dave Berry's admonition to just slap on the helpful advice of “then they all got run over by a truck” as an ending. There were no trucks, but Nic Cage also made an appearance with an important message from the Mother Ship, in his inimitable Nic Cage style; he folded up into one of those theater pop-corn boxes, after delivering his message of warning and made the protagonist prop him up in his seat, so he could watch “Wicker Man”. His great grand-uncle, Maestro Anton, will be proud.

So, as you can see, lots of editing to be done just to make something resembling coherence out of the whole mashup.

There it is, in glorious 8-bit pixels. Why? Because we're serious geeks. We all love NyanCat. 

In the meantime, hauling all of the crap out of the closet for another Christmas extravaganza, Dollar Store style! I'll be sure and take pictures. For now, I can't just sit back and rest on my laurels. Until tomorrow. There is editing to be done, viola playing to catch up on, and my 58th birthday is in two weeks. My health is excellent. I've reached the point where I can walk two miles and not be affected by my COPD until the last 1/4 mile or so and even then it's so slight, I don't notice it. Well, I do, but it's a clinical notice, as in "check that; it's better than last week". I've gained 40 pounds since my low of 79 lbs in 2010; a right Rubenesque 112 pounds, I am. I just need to get my teeth fixed from all of the heart-and-lung medication

So, the risk of sounding persistent, my ex-step-grandaughter's birthday is the same day as mine. She will be eight years old. The baby, I was not invited to be present at the birth for – a friend (woman) had treated me to a Birthday dinner, earlier that evening, knowing that Bill was shunning me – I was in the house when his daughter called, and he just. . . left. Lest he think I were drunk, or impaired, I was not; I remember EVERYTHING, as does he. No one in Bill Nunnally's family, nor in John Holley's, nor in the Blanton family ever questioned my gradual disappearance at least to my knowledge, so God knows what lies he was feeding them. I had been a presence in their lives for 10 years, and had even driven down from Charlotte, NC a day early to watch his youngest daughter in a Swim Meet, when I was still honoring viola playing commitments in Tampa, Fl. I was happy to do so. I loved that girl as if she were my own. I was being systematically shut out by my ex-husband and sequestered, which is what spousal abusers do. Dr. Shay West reminded me of that, yesterday in relating her horror story. She went through her own holocaust and was relating her anger. In answering and thinking back, I got mad all over again. Figures. At least I'm okay with the rest of the world. 

My questions remain. What did he tell them? That I was drunk and running around? That I was sick and had some communicable disease? So many questions, but here is the most important one. As much as I've trashed that man in this blog, and he knows that I have a tendency to “remember” birthdays, as I “remembered” his, and my mother's, and I will "remember" mine and the baby I never got to know, why has not a single member of his family or associates, stepped forward to defend him? Hmmm? Think about it.

Sunday check in for #ROW80 and please God, let me remember the wonderful Alex J. Cavanaugh's #IWSG, this Wednesday, the first Wednesday of every month. 

There is a lot of nap-taking as you can see, by JC's feet. I'm the restless sleeper.

Here is a new picture of Mama, our kitty rescue, that JC adopted. She just comes in and makes herself at home. Last night, while gaming with my Clan, during a God Wars run, she laid on my mouse hand and things got spastic for a while. At least I didn't die and re-spawn having lost all of my expensive armor and weaponry in Fally square. A miracle. She's another hot mess, but a dear one.
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