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He appears pink and vigorous--

Poor little mite. Creche or no, not very warm.

At least the real stable was warm, and the real Jesus had a mom to hold him, and feed him, and smell his wonderful new-baby smell, and count perfect his little toes...


Do you guys know this one?

Conscientious Objector
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself: I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much, I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living, that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city are safe with me; never through me
Shall you be overcome.


What a rotten night. I have nothing intelligent or new to say about the parts of the world where the hurts are, where what should be safe is not.

I wish you could all share my little apartment with me. We could have a big international sleepover. It would not matter where anyone was from. But my apartment is too small to keep everyone in. (Let us be honest, it is a NYC apartment, it is actually to small for 4 people.)

So I can only wish you well, out beyond my dark window.

Sleep well world, sleep safe.

Update to my last

Heading home early in the morning after all. Things well in hand with younger brothers wife, who is local.

Also I do not know who Simone is. Meant to write 'someone' my phone is weird.

When you're making other plans

Spending the next few days in Connecticutt. My MIL has had a sudden heart attack. As far as can be determined she had 3 valves occluded and now fixed with stents.

She is well enough to be fractious, but will be a few days in hospital yet.

Her husband is a nice old gent who cannot make his own food or work the coffee pot.

I am to stay at least until she comes home.

I have brought books and my phone and such things. Her internet is peculiar and I don't want to count on it.

It is all made awkward. Y the fact that they don't really want me there. But I think they will need the help. Just having Simone to make sandwiches and walk the dog, and drive will help.
I have hopes of writing while I am detained. No telling. But I will stay in touch.

Cow has got her horn out

Sometimes I think it is laziness, or more properly fear of work. I hate hard work. (Ask anyone.) But the thing about writing is--if you don't do it, it sits there staring at you, with reproach.

So today I have jumped off the cliff. I am writing something that seems to be a Dark Materials/Hornblower pre-canon thingie.

Early early yet. But it feels like it may work. I am putting this up to keep me honest.

Let me know if this is something you guys would like to read. Any bright ideas for what could be included? I hope to have fun with it.
I am sitting down to write about real life, because fiction is not cooperating.

How not good has fiction been?

Picture Fiction as a big angry cow with her horns stuck in a fence, and one dirty tail to hit with, and one free foot to kick you with. Fiction is is a man who shouts that he does not need directions while driving in the wrong direction. Fiction is chipping the ice off of a hunk of frozen chicken because small angry children need to eat, and you had no time to pull it out of the freezer before. Fiction is pantyhose on, a flat tire in the driveway, and no money in the bank.

Fiction is me, starting paragraphs, and deleting them. Fiction is me worrying that maybe the stories are gone, and the lake is dry. Maybe it is all the hype from NANO. I am not doing NANO. I never have. I am no good in the sprint. But all these people are getting so much done. And they are so happy. I hope some things will get posted on LJ-- I miss the fiction being here.

I have gotten other things done. I managed to fix the whole 'Nonerable' disaster. Our pay is back where it should be.

I signed up for the Perfect Duet Christmas fiction exchange. So I have a little deadline there-- but plenty of time. That one always seems to gel at the last minute. Maybe because I only look at it indirectly, that edge-of-the-eye looking that sometimes allows you to see what you otherwise would not. Not sure why I cannot seem to apply that more broadly.

Well. That was more whiny than I intended. Thank you all for listening.

A Sentence Chain meme!

Originally posted by wellinghall at A Sentence Chain meme!
From curiouswombat

Grab the nearest book. Find the 5th sentence on page 23. Append it to the paragraph below. Append your name to the list below of people who have contributed to the paragraph. Post the result to your LJ, and wonder if Oscar Wilde (see userpic) could possibly have written this.

They also talk of our being guilty of injustice, and their being the victims of an unjustifiable war. Brandy, and Tom got increasingly close-mouthed and sour. Although a certain sense of tripartite society survived down to Christian times, the three classes described in the Eddic poem "Rigdthula" bear little resemblance to Dumezil's three. It is often argued, and still oftener thought, that none but bad men would desire to weaken these salutary beliefs; and there can be nothing wrong, it is thought, in restraining bad men, and prohibiting what only such men would wish to practice.

At its nearest point the wall was little more than one league from the City, and that was south-eastward. When he saw Jack Hare jump towards the fire, and the Practical Man brandishing the toasting-fork, Sir Isaac grabbed the strings of gravitational force that bound Jack to his destiny and PULLED--- That's a seventy-four gun privateer, besides. To honour a group of British nobles, treacherously slain at a conference by Hengist's guards, Aurelius decides to erect a great monument near Amesbury. That being so, he did not chortle when he went upstairs. Let stand. This ensures that when the garbage collector runs, it has complete access to the memory in the heap and can perform its tasks safely without the threat of being preempted by another thread. And then you may begin to laugh. The data are stored in Column 1 and renamed "Age."

Pull your hand back. I don't remember that any secrets were revealed to me, nor do I remember any avid curiosity on my part to learn something I wasn't supposed to--perhaps I was too young to know what to listen for. You don't remember how awful it is being normal. Highlight the desired state tax table and press Enter. Abraham had now reached a ripe old age, and the LORD had blessed him in every way. The third lieutenant started, then said a little weakly, "Huzzah for Captain Riley."

"Oh," said Pooh. In fact White had carelessly placed the team in Nip without realising it.

Henry, the eldest son from Thomas's second marriage (his first marriage was childless), became the 2nd Earl of Rutland.

Watt and Stephenson whispered in the ear of mankind their secret, that a half-ounce of coal will draw two tons a mile, and coal carries coal, by mail and by boat, to make Canada as warm as Calcutta: and with its comfort brings industrial power.

1) Ranger Rick - 2) Rialian - 3) Elenbarathi - 4) Starsandfishes - 5) Echthros - 6) Doltaghey - 7) Ebonhost - 8) Tibicina 9) Browngirl - 10) ceo - 11) roozle - 12) quietann - 13) Dale (achinhibitor) - 14) tigerbright - 15) autographedcat - 16) kitanzi - 17) annonynous - 18) thnidu - 19) singinglark - 20) curiouswombat - 21) wellinghall
22) Eglantine_br

Ironsides letter

Check this out-- really cool. The part about being frugal with ammunition amuses me. Seems to be a theme in AOS.



Oct. 21st, 2015

This was on Tumblr. I am putting it up here so it does not get missed. In and among all the Trafalgar feels, I am thinking again about how sailors and Navies have always had more in common with each other than they do with the rest of us.

I miss the Navy word. I miss seeing sailors every day.It was like a big weird club, complete with silly hats and secret hand gestures. Even though I was just a wife, I felt part of it all. When I came onto the ship everyone was kind and helpful to me. I miss the smell of it. It smelled of coffee and machine grease, and heat. It was always warm inside. I had follow Mike closely as we went through passageways and down ladders, and up ladders, and around corners.Her always knew where he was going, but it all looked the same to me. I particularly love the first scene on Justinian, where Archie has that long speech-- because that is what it is like, (without the farm animals and the fiddle music,) Archie knows exactly where to go, and Horatio is just so overwhelmed and confused.

When C was very small she asked why Mike had to go to sea, why he could not just stay home like the dads on TV. He told her he had to sail around to make sure that the ocean did not get filled up with pirates! And it is actually not untrue. (Although perhaps not the whole truth.)

Anyway, here is this:

Age of Sail nerds might be enjoying the Battle of Trafalgar anniversary today, but it’s also my ship’s birthday! She’s in dry dock for regularly scheduled maintenance now, but normally the USS Constitution is the oldest commissioned naval vessel afloat (sorry, HMS Victory). And since the USS Simpson was decommissioned earlier this month, she’s now the only commissioned warship in the US Navy that has sunk an enemy ship in battle. Not bad, Old Ironsides, not bad at all.

(Image source: USS Constitution official Facebook page)