Reader, if you are the adventurous kind, you recognize that picture. You’ve seen it before as window-dressing for one of only five short stories I’ve posted on this site suitable for, and indeed intended for children, “Georgina and the One-eyed Cat.” That’s Gracie. Her picture caught my eye while I considered two new YA stories in need of a little wrapping-up. Sorting-out, you see, if I wanted to once again run away from completing “Finder” and “Midas County” to finish and post those new YA works.
Gracie majored in psychology at USC. Her practice suffered after she stood for PhD orals because most humans don’t speak cat. In that picture Gracie appears to be working with one eye. Not so, though it fit in with the YA story. Gracie had some interesting quirks, which stands to reason, putting up with the Boss and me. Me especially. Gracie would often close one eye, squinty-like, as if taking aim at me. If you read my post of July 13th, you know we lost Gracie several years ago.
Here’s to you, Gracie. Thanks for putting up with me and taking time to teach me a thing or two.
Not always looking for an excuse to focus on new work, excuses seem to find me and convince me to reorder priorities. It’s a rare day I ignore these volunteer excuses and put nose to grindstone. I’m a pushover. When it comes to focus, I have the strength of wet tissue paper. Perseverance, I have. Well-ordered priorities I do not.
A righteous rant over the circumstances of the explosion in downtown Nashville wants attention. Examination of the sick people who feel terrorism excusable, reminiscent of the A.P. Murrah explosion twenty-five years ago. No comparison in scale. Certainly, the same depravity. I must stop here before an NSFW alert is required. So many places to go with that one, so much needs to be said, so many people to irritate.
Then there are the “holidays.” Most of us are done with Christmas, a holiday fairly-well converted from an honest mid-to-late December celebration1 into a two-month mercenary macabre burlesque. This year maniacally festooned with COVID-garland. Upcoming New Year’s celebrations will be doubly welcomed: 2020 will be symbolically retired2 and it’s a rocking good excuse to get blitzed out of your mind.
Working a happier note, I could suggest there are so many ills and evils right now, we cannot help but improve many situations purely due to juxtaposition of blind luck and improbable combination. Several “for example, imagine” scenarios vie for consideration right now. Speculative fiction, alien visitor Sci-Fi, good old farce, and semi-scientific what-ifs.
But not today.
Excuses lose today
One more “chore” this evening. We’ve probably harvested the last of this year’s kale. Those hardy plants are still showing new leaves in the crown. Temps down to thirty tonight. The last two weeks, despite temps down to twenty-two and snow Christmas Eve, with a double blanket and waterproof top over that, the kale has flourished. We’ll continue “tenting” the next several nights. If we get another warm spell of two or three days, we might manage one more harvest. Not bad for city farmers.
Now, if you will excuse me, please. I’m off to serious work on “Finder.”
1 With or without religion. Yes, I know, and you can argue the case well. But we have Hanukkah, Pancha Ganapati, Kwanzaa, Palden Lhamo Festival, Boxer Day, Omisoka, and even if you care to consider them, Festivus, and the like. Don’t forget National Fruitcake Day, which seems to have special significance this year. And No, I’m not going into an aside in politics. That’s been beaten to death. Or should be beaten to death, politics.
2 Symbolically retired. If you think January 1 will magically transform dark into light, obsolesce PPE, resolve a thoroughly confused election, sedate violent radicals worldwide, reduce the price of a dozen eggs, (for you egg farmers, that would be: “increase the profit margin on egg production), or temper any gender-chauvinists, you probably should slow-down on the little white pills. Or, if you’re inclined, up your dose. I know what works for me.