Slow things make slow progress
Jun. 3rd, 2013 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceIt is not much to brag about, but I have finally sent the cleaned-up e-version of my novel The Garden to Steve Berman at Lethe Press, for the next stage in its slow resurrection.
An examination of my bank account(s) would suggest that the UK solicitors have paid off the residue of my mortgage, so that's the largest loan of my life finally paid off, eighteen years in. 'Course, I no longer have the house to which it was applied, but hey. Once everything else is paid off there should still be enough money to cover the costs of our wedding and my emigration, so I am at least paying my way. Sort of.
Karen's really not been well these last couple of weeks. Innocently, I had imagined that new drugs would make things better, rather than allowing a reverse; we live and learn. And this week she gets more infusions, which may make a difference. Meanwhile I do what I can, and, y'know. It never feels like enough.
My TENS machine has gone all fluttery on me, as though it were set to pulse in a way which it is not. I frown at it, and hope for better things tomorrow.
I am being as American as I know how, and am smoking ribs for whichever yogi turn up tonight, even if there is no yoga. It is not impossible that I do comfort cooking; there are foolish amounts of food issuing from this kitchen.
It may be an early lesson in American grilling techniques, that one should keep a source of water close at hand; working with marinades and bastes is inherently messy, and coming in to wash with slimy fingers makes the door-handles less than lovely. None of my books seem to address this issue. Have I found an opening?
In otherer newses, I'm a little depressed, but you'd never know it. There's always something. When Karen works from home, as she is at the moment, she has her desktop machine on one desk and her laptop on another, at right angles to each other like some prog-rock virtuosa. I went in this afternoon to find her attempting to satisfy one boy with either hand, where Mac was sprawled on her main desk overlapping the keyboard there, and Barry was set four-square upon the laptop, entirely obscuring all the keys at all.
An examination of my bank account(s) would suggest that the UK solicitors have paid off the residue of my mortgage, so that's the largest loan of my life finally paid off, eighteen years in. 'Course, I no longer have the house to which it was applied, but hey. Once everything else is paid off there should still be enough money to cover the costs of our wedding and my emigration, so I am at least paying my way. Sort of.
Karen's really not been well these last couple of weeks. Innocently, I had imagined that new drugs would make things better, rather than allowing a reverse; we live and learn. And this week she gets more infusions, which may make a difference. Meanwhile I do what I can, and, y'know. It never feels like enough.
My TENS machine has gone all fluttery on me, as though it were set to pulse in a way which it is not. I frown at it, and hope for better things tomorrow.
I am being as American as I know how, and am smoking ribs for whichever yogi turn up tonight, even if there is no yoga. It is not impossible that I do comfort cooking; there are foolish amounts of food issuing from this kitchen.
It may be an early lesson in American grilling techniques, that one should keep a source of water close at hand; working with marinades and bastes is inherently messy, and coming in to wash with slimy fingers makes the door-handles less than lovely. None of my books seem to address this issue. Have I found an opening?
In otherer newses, I'm a little depressed, but you'd never know it. There's always something. When Karen works from home, as she is at the moment, she has her desktop machine on one desk and her laptop on another, at right angles to each other like some prog-rock virtuosa. I went in this afternoon to find her attempting to satisfy one boy with either hand, where Mac was sprawled on her main desk overlapping the keyboard there, and Barry was set four-square upon the laptop, entirely obscuring all the keys at all.