Hyacinth Speaks

Having dealt with my insipid sister Catherine for a time and a time I next turned my attention to Stephanie and her fluffy little cat, too.

Stephanie was easy. I teased her by supplying a copy of Farscape: The Peacekeeper Wars in her Christmas bounty, a long-awaited and desired conclusion to a cliffhanger ending in the series almost worthy of myself. Though my patience was tested sorely by her inability to play it at that woman's home in Hastings, I was rewarded by following Little Stephanie to her domicile perched precariously on a hill in earthquake country, in Tara's Big Harbour. Using my arts of persuasion, I maneuvred the girl into playing her beloved new DVD. All was well, or so she thought, the cliff-hanger was resolved, events of import and magnitude were proceeding nicely in her visual story until-

Yes, until.

Until the the story ended on a cliffhanger with the credits rolling.

O my, you should have seen her howl. I wouldn't recommend listening to her howl, for that noise tested even my superior aural faculties.

Alas, in time it was revealed that the DVD was not a movie (as she had anticipated), but a packaging of a two part episode. My disappointment that she would see the last of her precious Farscape was ameliorated by the knowledge that the girl had made a mockery of herself for no good reason at all. The best defeats are those that the victims make themselves. A he. A hehehehe. Hee hee.

And the cat? The cat that has plumped around my sister's house in smug delight that she has a person for company again? Little does that cat (the dear cat) know that soon, soon Stephanie must dash away, dash to Tamaki of a Hundred Lovers and leave her institutionalised. Well do I know the horrors of such a place.

It has been a very merry Christmas.

Aheh.

Aheeeeehabwahaahahahahahahahahahahahahaha...

Guessing Game IV

Because the last round was ended prematurely by Stephanie using telepathy (details in the comments section), I'm starting another one.

I'm thinking of a short story; it's science fiction; it's a classic, and if you haven't read it you should be ashamed of yourselves.

Stephane has been banned.

That's all.

Guessing Game (Part III)

Having won Stephanie's guessing game, it behooves me to start the next one, I guess, so here goes:

I'm thinking of a book; you've probably read it; it's a fantasy novel.

You may ask yes/no questions ("Are there elves in it?" - "No") or multiple choicers. If your question as framed makes my answers ambiguous, I will either tell you so, or ignore you blissfully.

The answers to Steph's initial questions are as follows:

Are there elves? They aren't called that, but yes.

It does not feature one predominant hero, with or without backing group - there is an ensemble cast.

There is a quest to save the world.

There is more than one reality/plane/area of existence - in fairness, I have to say that this was a bit tricky to answer.

None of the action is set on 'Earth'.

'Earth' is not one of the realities/planes/areas of existence.

Religion is an important part of the setting and plot.

She also took a potshot at Daggerspell by Katharine Kerr, but I reminded her about the Elf question.

And now, I will admit that I'm on-line on Christmas Day by publishing this. Merry Christmas!

I Had A Dream

In which I was in a garden. Some of the trees were real, but some had been made with great effort and technical skill. In fact, we'd just upgraded so that we could fiddle with the controls and make them rustle in the wind. I was playing around with this, and then I realised that the birdsong was fading, and I couldn't work out the control thingummy in my hand to bring it back...

Well, it ain't a flying dream, and it definitely isn't cool, but it seemed worth recording for posterity.

Hey Ho, Nobody Home

My ability to read the weather is shocking.

Having left my jacket behind this morning (because it was very sunny), I managed to get thoroughly soaked around half ten. I mean, soaked. In five minutes. There was heavy thunder in the distance, brooding clouds overhead, and rising winds. After a certain amount of rush so that I could finish my row and then cower somewhere, I gave it up and hid in another thinner's car.

Then the rain thinned out a good deal, so I went back to thinning, while soaked, and got through the last few tops, even helping another kid on his row. Yay me!

Then we headed to another orchard. Still being soaked, and in addition nursing a touch of a sore throat (not enough to stay away from work, normally), I expressed a desire to go home. The person giving me a ride said that he had things to sort out elsewhere, and would be back soon. I gritted my teeth, and made a start on the new row, because cold and soggy is worse when you aren't moving and I might as well do something useful with my time.

Then it turned very sunny, and I spread some of my damp clothing out and took an early lunch break in the warmth, thinking, This ain't so bad, eh?

Then it started to rain again.

I went home.

I'm writing this in my pyjamas, after a nice hot bath. It's very sunny out there...

Christmas Shopping: Never Apologise, Never Explain. Or Something.

I think I've finally done it.

(I hurt.)

Now all I have to do is wrap things and post things. I suspect that the posted things won't arrive to their intended destinations until after the big day, so I hope that these people will forgive me.

I feel great guilt, both in spending too much money on nice things for myself (I think I'll be forwarding a couple to my birthday, as an attempt at retrospective budgeting - they'll keep), and at missing some people out. I would like to give the world a present, or at least, all of my friends, but I cannot afford to do this. If you don't get a pressie from me this year, please forgive me. I may well manage one next year instead.

This is an incredibly depressing Christmas post. Sorry about that.

And a very merry birthday of Our Saviour. Or Mithras. Or figurehead of an oppresive patriarchal religion/bunch of sappy do-gooders. Or culturally agreed on time for getting in touch with family and friends and sharing out warm fuzzies...

(And Happy Hanukkah, David.)

Zen and the Art of Holding One's Bladder

It's a serious issue. On a given orchard, there is generally one approved place of expellation and hygiene, and that place is often very far away from your current place of work (and possibly a long-drop :-() Walking out to it takes time when you could be working (and earning)or resting.

Often, I don't want to take that time.

However, I have engaged in a course of toughening myself up, and am now perfectly capable of measuring my drinks, drinking only hot fluids before lunchtime, and storing the excess in the aforementioned bladder, with only a little discomfort at the end of the day, though I will take a short walk to the approved place of expellation and hygiene if I happen to be close by at my lunch break.

All that said, I was asked to create a poem about apple-thinning today, so I did:

The orchard is hot -
A good place for a sinner.
Though the apples grow round
I only grow thinner

Speaking of zen, the sheer incongruity of singing "Wouldn't It Be Luverly" (from My Fair Lady) with lines like "Warm face, warm 'ands, warm feet" while engaging in my current occupation should have triggered a zen moment of enlightenment if nothing else would.

I am clearly not philosophical material!

The Lion's Toupe and Other Stories

If nothing else, see it for Mr Tumnus who is utterly wonderful.

Other comments: the movie looks good. Nice scenery, interesting interplay between the characters, amazing expression and gesture on the animated figures. I managed to scream like a little girl in one of the early scenes (I was surprised, okay? It could happen to anyone.) The crucifixion - er, sacrifice on the Stone Table - scene is seriously unpleasant in a way that makes film-makers feel proud.

The White Witch should have won. In the final battle, there is a big duel scene between her and Peter. What that means is a half-grown whelpling flailing away with his sword and swinging his shield out and away from the body in, I dunno, some pitiful belief that it makes his blows stronger (or perhaps he lost his balance) vs. a lady with style. She had two swords and time to pose. She was graceful; she was dashing; she would have won if it wasn't for that darn kitty.

The only blood is on Edmund's split lip. It felt wrong. Given, the movie is directed at little kids, but, in many ways, the movie is trying to scare us and tell us that war is horrible. I'm not particularly fond of scarlet gushers, but to remove all traces of wounds is like saying, "Oh no, it's all right really, we were just playing pretend..." Like I said, it felt wrong.

Gotta love Liam Neeson as the voice of Aslan.

**

Oh, the toupe. The comment arose as we were waiting for the theatre to open and observed a very depressed lion couchant on a drinks dispenser. He had a two-tone mane and we were speculating about high-lighting, fashion-conscious felines, and other hair enhancers. That's all. Honest.

The Thing About Hastings

Is there's nothing open. Leastways, nothing open at six on a Wednesday evening except for the supermarket (Countdown) and a very open supermarket it was, too.

There was a Sally Army brass band outside, and lots and lots of shoppers inside, and children singing carols over the PA, and many friendly people giving out fruitcake. It was frenetic, but very cheering.

My feet still hurt.

I Saw A Bird

Well, actually it was a very small, very fast flash of brown and grey whirring through my field of vision, but I'm pretty sure it awas a bird. You don't often get small, fast flying potatoes, for instance.

For various reasons, I started work early and ended work late, and I am very tired.

My hands are turning a pleasant shade of brown (I wear a long-sleeved shirt in the orchard, so my arms are still nicely pasty).

My feet hurt.

Oh yes, and I've just made up an LJ account with the sober username of cat_i_th_adage, if anyone's interested. I'm only going to be using it so I can comment on other people's blogs, so don't expect any wonderful posts from it (they come here :-) ). Just, if you see a strange person commenting, that's me. :-)

Grace Notes

Well, if you've been apple thinning, you know what it's like. If you haven't, it's reasonably hard work, but not so hard as picking. What you're doing is hoping for a happy medium between stinking hot-and-sunny and cold-and-wet. Oh, and climbing ladders, and nipping baby apples off the tree and that.

But here are the nice bits:

The tiny little flowers I could see in the greenery underfoot in my last row: blue-and-white, and red, and yellow.

Hearing the birds sing.

Standing at the very top of the ladder and feeling a cool breeze.

Seeing the foreman walk past with the orchard-owner and hearing him say: "That's Cathy. She's one of the good workers..."

Lunchtime and cracking the thermos for a hot drink. ('Cause I likes my hot drinks!)