March 31st, 2014

Everybody loves a landlord

But not in NYC.

I have a ceiling light in my kitchen. It is made to take two bulbs and be covered by one of those glass bows that hang down and are held in by a nut. Only one bulb ever worked. that was ok. One day the glass thing had it's nut give way and it fell and broke. We carried on. I mean who looks directly at a ceiling light anyway. It made more light without the cover-- and since it was down a bulb anyway that was an advantage.

Finally, this week, after 7 years of daily use the remaining light gave out. I figured it was the bulb-- but sometimes it flickered back on for a while, randomly. So, not the bulb. Some sort of short.

I discovered that by prodding the light-bulb with a broomstick you could make it light up. But it went out after a while. So I moved from gently prodding to gently whacking. Short term fix. Now even striking the light with a good thwack does no good. Probably what happened is that this light, like the one in the bathroom, got corrupted by the leak from upstairs. (That seems to have subsided now, after years of intermittent leaking.)

Have moved desk lamp and standing lamp into the kitchen. Kitchen is tiny. This is both bad and good. Light goes further, but standing room greatly reduced.

I already have my flashlight in the kitchen for looking into the pantry. I may have to just wear a headlamp for cooking!

Brave In That New World

Title: Brave, in that New World

Author Eglantine_br

Rating G

Word Count 390



Brave in that New World


Higher and higher, the dazzle on his nearly closed eyes. His hands did not hesitate. He could feel his lungs deep and clear, drawing the clean day all the way down. Now, leaning back, taking his weight on his arms, pushing down with his feet. The world around him, and above, an overturned bowl, blue and blue, and white . His arms pushed, and he was up and over. Here was the scrape on his soft belly skin as he passed the futtock shrouds.


There was a midshipman, sitting half in shadow. He looked up at William, open mouthed, snuffling with adenoidal curiosity.


“Shove off,” William said.


“Aye, Sir.”


The boy did not question. He gave a brief reflexive smile, and a salute that he was certainly unaware of. Then he he descended away down, easy himself, rapid as an ape.


Alone, William pulled his knees up under his chin. He rested his chin on the declivity formed by the edge of his right kneecap.


On Renown he had tried to take up as much room as he could. Space, once ceded was never regained. He had learned to swagger, to extend his legs. He had only curled up at night, curled around unease, then sorrow, then horror. He knew others did the same. He wept, when he had to do so, in silence. It was a contemptible need of the body. He dealt with it briskly, as he did other needs. Doing so in silence was a Naval skill, like knowing signals or standing rigging.


But here, now, there was nobody near. The Indy was running with the wind. On his face, therefore, he only felt the frisking breeze she created herself. There were no human sounds at all, so high. Just the slap and creak of a healthy ship working. Not the sound of what could not be said. Not the sound of cannon-balls rolling in the night. Slap and creak, and quiet order below. And that was like the sounds of heart, of breath and gut. When all was well they did not signify.


He wiped his face on his sleeve. All was well on Indefatigable. A man would have to be far stupider than Will Bush to miss that.

In other news

My Victorian pendulum clock has started working spontaneously, after being silent and unwound for years. I did not touch it, I did not wind it. It has commenced keeping perfect time also. It is one of those with carved wood, and cherubs and all sorts of doodly parts. It always sat on my mom's mantel. It was the least-best clock. (She had some early Seth Thomas ones that went with our house.) But the cherubs appealed to me as a kid, so this was always to be my my clock. If you could see my apartment, you would see why it looks kind of funny.

So. Bong! Bong! I have moved it to the hall. Hazel is distressed.