Author Archives: Autumn

In Which She Talks About Things Other Than Spinning Wheels

Yesterday Ceri and I knocked about various places, and it was a most enjoyable day. We had a late breakfast and then headed out to Daisy Antiques, a place my mother and I used to visit regularly when I was a kid. Not much has changed, and certainly not Daisy herself; she looks exactly the same way she did when I last saw her twenty years ago.

Ceri and I had great fun climbing all over the multi-floor shop with its never-ending series of rooms filled with lovely things. We saved the wraparound porch for last, because that’s where the antique spinning wheels were. (The porch was always the best part when I was a kid, too.) And with a bit of poking and jury-rigging we dragged them out and tested all four (well, one wasn’t testable beyond treadling because the spindle was broken) and found them all in remarkably decent shape. They’d all need work before they could be used, of course; proper drive bands made for them, sanding down or filling in of gashes on bobbins, oiling and replacing of the bands or cups holding the spindle assembly, tensioning knobs replaced, flyer hooks straightened or replaced, and so forth. But they were all pretty solid. And the price was attractive, too; Daisy said they were all around $350, but she’d sell them for two.

Then I paid for a 1927 copy of Kipling’s Puck of Pook’s Hill I’d found on a shelf upstairs; I couldn’t pass it up because when I picked it up it fell open to the page with “A Tree Song” on it (and somehow I haven’t managed to read it, and it occurs to me that I don’t think I actually own any Kipling, how odd). Daisy began talking to us about books and she took us into a locked room where she had some gorgeous little books dating from the late 17th century. Ceri and I petted them and cooed over them. And as Ceri was wearing her Great Sax t-shirt, Daisy asked if she played, and the conversation turned to music. It seems that Daisy’s son is a pro sax player.

The things one learns, really.

Daisy also talked to us about estate sales. I think she’d seen and heard us being appreciative of the things we saw and the history they held as we wandered around the shop “Have you ever been to one?” she asked. No, we hadn’t we said, and she said, “Oh, they’re great fun.” A great way to pick up housewares and furniture and books at very good prices, she said, because the point of the sale is to clear the house, not to get the best price one can for them. She has one coming up in my borough in the next couple of weeks, so she gave us her card and told us to watch her website. It sounds like fun; we’ll see if we’re in town for it.

After heading out to Ariadne we had lunch together in the little tea shop behind the quilting store in Pointe-Claire village, and then I had to flee in order to try to get the day’s work finished. The service at lunch was very slow, which didn’t help.

Over lunch, Ceri and I talked about Worldcon (she’s not going either, which relieves me and makes me feel less guilty about choosing to miss it), and we touched on different things about writing and process and general approach. And I thought of two ways I could start Orchestrated, and Ceri suggested a different spin for one of them, so after the boy was in bed and I’d had a bath I curled up in bed with my notebook and wrote out two possible openings for it. Reading Graham Swift’s Making an Elephant was inspirational, too. There were a couple of turns of phrase in it that sent my mind off in new directions and pulled the what-if along a different route. It was nice to be interested in it again.

And now, out for lunch and groceries and bank and stuff.

And It Is All (Mostly) Ceri’s Fault (Okay, Not Really, But She Didn’t Stop Me)

I ordered my Louet S15 wheel today from Ariadne, my crack dealer local yarn store. I went in with Ceri, who needed to pick up a bunch of yarn for various projects, and then when she was done I followed up on the spinning session I’d gone in for last week. It was kind of, “Talk to me about the models; what’s the difference, how’s the pricing, blah blah blah.” And then it was being pleasantly surprised at the prices and making notes. And then it was me turning the business card that I’d written all the info down on over and over in my hands, hesitating, then making my decision, and saying, “Oh, hell, why not. Let’s just order it now.” Because I realized that all I was doing was trying to Do The Right Thing and wait a week before coming back and ordering it anyway. And if I waited a week, Ariadne would be closed for their summer break, and the week after that I would be in NS, and this way I can pick it up when I get home.

At least I had the moral fortitude to resist starting a roving stash until the wheel comes in.

I suppose that in a way, it was inevitable. I was outbid on the S10 on eBay this morning, and Ceri and I tested antique wheels when we went out which were all functional but I’d have to have new bobbins made and they were all Saxony models for which I have no room, and the prices of the new Louets were much, much more reasonable than I had been led to believe by looking online. Even if the price list we were working from was a wee bit out of date, the price increase isn’t going to be that dramatic. Buying new means that I know everything’s going to be okay and there’s no iffiness about buying someone else’s problem, and if there is a problem, Louet will replace it or help work it out. I originally ordered the S17, but Molly Ann pointed out that a skein winder is around a hundred dollars, and the S15 was being sold with a free winder because it’s a Louet anniversary year and for the hundred dollar increase between the 17 and the 15 I’d get a sturdier wheel and the winder I’d eventually need anyway, so the S15 it was. I put two hundred dollars down which didn’t even feel like my money because MLG handed it to me Sunday night, the final payment for the 4/4 cello I sold to him. ( “So it’s Marc’s fault,” Ceri said. “If he hadn’t paid you, you wouldn’t have ordered the wheel today.”) And I’ve supported my independent LYS, which I am very pleased to do.

Let me tell you, it was hard not buying three huge floofy twists of fibre I saw there. Gorgeous colours. And that was before I put the down payment on the wheel.

Okay, must buckle down to work. I have another few pages to edit before I head out to collect the boy. Just wanted to share the news.

Stuff; Or, What I Did Today

The boy’s 49-months-old post is up and backdated. Thanks to Debra, I have a better idea how to use iPhoto and Preview, and so I could actually provide photos for the post. (I’ll get there, Mac.)

I’m currently editing a PhD thesis proposal for a biochemical engineering student whose native language is not English. It’s required me to look into the world of scientific style manuals, as opposed to the humanities style manuals I’ve absorbed over the years. Very interesting, though, and quite enjoyable. This is only one brief section of others that will come, too.

The boy left Blackie the bunny at home this morning, so I seized the opportunity that he has denied us for months and said, “INTO THE WASH, you innocent, horribly bedraggled thing!” Even soaking wet, I could see how clean Blackie was as I transferred him from washer to dryer. Four months of preschool grime really adds up on a best-buddy stuffed pal. When I took him out of the dryer, Blackie looked practically new. Aside from the four months of aggressive love that have marked him eternally, that is. I hope the boy is happy to see Blackie all shiny and clean and recognizes that he has survived the experience with cheer and aplomb, although part of me expects tears because I threw the rabbit in the wash without the boy’s permission.

Ceri and I were supposed to go antiquing and then to Ariadne this afternoon, but she was felled by a visit from the evil Migraine Fairy. I ended up messing with Garageband on my lunch break instead, and discovered that the Mac Mini doesn’t have a microphone jack. You need something like the iMic USB connector through which to run your microphone. So no sound clips of the 7/8 cello for you, Gentle Readers. I re-ripped a couple more albums and practiced the cello this afternoon instead. And I discovered that the Bibliotheque nationale downtown has tonnes of books on spinning, books that I’d otherwise have to buy. I’ll head down there either this week or next and get a library card, then take a pile of them home.

I really hope HRH is in the mood for Rock Band tonight.

In Which She Makes A Regretful Discovery

So this past week, I remembered that hey, wow, Worldcon is coming up! And the only reason I remembered was because we realized that the trip to Nova Scotia is rapidly approaching, and Worldcon starts the day before we come back. This tells me something important.

Now, we didn’t buy our memberships ahead of time; money was tight, and since we were going to miss at least a day we figured we’d buy weekend or day passes. And then we waited because I wanted to see what the schedule would be like, so I’d be sure to buy the pass for the day I wanted most. And the schedules were only recently finalized, which drove me nuts, although I’ve participated in large-event organization before and I know how hard it is to pin this stuff down early.

Except now the time’s almost upon us, and I’m slowly realizing something. The only reasons I want to go to Worldcon are:

1. The biggest damn F/SF industry party is going to be IN MY TOWN and to miss it would be just stupid. I’m never going to get to travel to one anywhere else.

2. I want to attend signings of a handful of authors.

And really, that’s it. And can I really afford to pay for passes when I’m not going to really do anything? (Really.)

I was much more excited about Worldcon last year. The excitement has really faded until now, a couple of weeks before the convention itself, I’m at the point where I can’t be bothered about it. And I feel guilty about it, because, well, see item 1 above.

As a corollary, I present opposing arguments:

1. I hate large gatherings of people, with a biting, burning passion.

1a. I hate meeting new people.

2. We have no friends coming into town for the event that we’d be wanting to spend time with there.

3. My areas of writing have moved out of F/SF and into mainstream, specifically YA mainstream. (Okay, there’s the Pandora book which is urban fantasy, but it’s the exception that proves the rule.)

It’s kind of telling when the workshops/panels/ sessions that interest me the most are two or three of the signings, the knitting circle and the spinning workshop, the bookbinding/conservation workshop, and a panel on YA or folklore or music here and there. I don’t absolutely need to go to these; I’d be going to them because they’re being offered and I’d need to do something because I’d paid to get in. That’s the wrong reason entirely.

It’s a lot of money for something I’m not passionate or excited about. And it’s hard on the heels of driving home from NS, too. I know what my decision is going to be, unless something major happens to change it.

Let’s Try Again

Lost an entire post just now. That hasn’t happened in quite some time.

Five loads of laundry yesterday. Five. That’s significant, right?

Apart from that, I managed to edit a whole eight pages of Orchestrated despite having the file open for hours. I’ve hit Part Two, wherein I’ve left myself notes in the text like [write dinner scene here] because I was intent on getting the damn skeleton of the story down and done with. This means my light edits/rewrites are turning into more substantial rewrites, meaning my already slow pace is about to turn into the speed boasted of by turtles. The fibro-fog isn’t helping; I have little focus.

Yesterday I also began re-ripping the missing albums that iTunes can’t/won’t find. Turns out a few of my CDs were originally ripped into .wma format, and iTunes on the Mac doesn’t have an import/convert .wma function. Not a big deal, really. It’s just that I’m trying to find where iTunes is ripping them to, and I can’t. All the logical places I look haven’t turned anything up. (The Mac: “Just trust me. Everything’s going to be fine.” Me: “I know, I know, it’s magic, but even when doing magic I like to know what the ultimate destination for my energy is, thank you very much.”) I want all my music in one place so that I can back it all up at once.

Speaking of the Mac, it doesn’t have a formal name yet. My PCs all had names drawn from Norse mythology — Freyja, Valhalla, Bifrost, the Dell laptop is Nehelennia — but I suspect the Mac has energy that’s more Egyptian in nature. The Wii is named Isis; I think perhaps this is Nephthys, although Ma’at is tempting. I’ll think about it some more. (The Touch may be Nephthys, actually, making this one Ma’at. Hrm.)

Pursuant to the spinning obsession, I found a used Louet S15 on eBay that was listed at a $50 opening bid and comes with a bulky flyer included, so I calculated shipping, looked at my budget, and bid on it. I’m currently winning, but if someone tops my highest bid within the next five days I can still add another twenty dollars before I hit my self-imposed max total of $200. Seeing as how a new wheel would cost me $400 at the least for the very basic entry-level models, $200 including shipping is decent indeed. If I win the damn thing my brain could give over the RAM it’s currently devoting to wheel research and reviews to things that need it, like planning dinner and actual work, instead of constantly returning to the wheel thing when it ought to be thinking of other issues. Actual spinning would be more relaxing and have tangible yield for the time invested than obsessive wheel research online (actual yield = time missing, nothing concrete accomplished, lots of info buzzing in the brain, irritation at the to-do list not diminishing). I know that realistically if I win the wheel, the Obsessive Research slot will be assigned to fibre. But I’m doing that already as part of the overall wheel research thing, so I am being optimistic about the possibility of some leftover RAM.

Huh. There is a ladybug on my office wall. I saw something crawling and did that hiccup of panic, thinking it was a spider, before I looked and saw that it was in fact a Coccinellid. She’s now crawling up the copper deer painting HRH did for me five years ago, and settling down in the knotwork:

Right. I need some Excedrin for this headache, and then it’s back to Orchestrated.

Today Started Out So Well; Or, A Vague Weekend Roundup

No, really. The weather is nice, I had an okay weekend, I slept decently, I was looking forward to working.

Then a couple of stupid things happened that got under my skin, things that would have rolled off my back on most other days. The latest was condescending communication from someone whose classified ad I queried about this morning. (You may never speak to me again, but didn’t your mother teach you that you should be polite to people anyway as a rule? Also, reading non-present intent into my very clear query and shutting me down by answering something I didn’t ask was rather insulting, as was telling me you’d already made the sale to someone less fussy because your item was priced so inexpensively.)

We have a clothesline again, thank gods. On the other hand, the boy is now big enough that the clothesline can only hold half a regular load of his laundry. Also on that other hand, I can’t find the little brace that holds the upper and lower parts of the line together, and half our clothespegs have disappeared. I’ll add them to the ongoing list of household things to pick up. (Hey, we only just succeeded in picking up rechargeable batteries that were put on the list a month ago, and the clothesline that broke late last fall.)

We enjoyed a lovely belated birthday dinner of ribs at my inlaws’ house on Saturday, before which HRH and the boy played in the pool. The boy got to the point where he was jumping off the side of the pool into HRH’s arms and going for rides around the shallow to mid-deep areas. Much progress made from the nervous boy he was in pools at the beginning of the summer; very good.

The weekend consisted of grocery shopping, a haircut for the boy, going to the bookstore, more grocery shopping, working in the vegetable garden, and a game on Sunday night. The boy and I messed about with our cellos on Sunday, too, and he conducted me as I played Twinkle. This was amusing because he was beating very slowly in two, and would get distracted in the middle and stop, then wonder why I wasn’t playing.

HRH has promised to finish the inserts for my modified cello case today so I can cover them and get the cello back into the hard case in the corner, instead of having both the hard case there and the cello in the soft case on my office floor. I’m increasingly nervous about the boy and the insane cats going in and out of my room.

Must release the crankiness. Must work.

Cello Blog Heads-Up

Cellists, check out Emily Wright’s excellent photo post on bow grips! (I meant to post this last week and forgot, but checked it out again this morning, so here you are.)

Actually, if you’re a cellist and you’re reading my journal but not Emily’s thoroughly delightful and educational Stark Raving Cello Blog, (a) why?, and (b) get thee hence to bookmark it. She’s got a book coming out later this year, the purchase link to which many of us are poised to click as soon as it goes live.