Why, when it is so damned hot outside, does my tea reach a temperature of “stone cold” all the quicker?

As if I hadn�t already learned this year that life is a cycle and things come and go, our family dog has just been diagnosed with cancer of the spleen with internal bleeding. I called my parents right away when the e-mail landed in my inbox this morning. Poor Megan; she�s always had a delicate digestion, and we�ve always known something was wrong, but these x-rays have finally proved it. She�s eleven, and still puppyish, and a goofball; she loves car rides and going to market and new people; but she has her days where she�s listless and has no appetite. Mum and Dad are taking her round on her daily walk this morning, then they�re going to the vet to say goodbye.

I hate not being able to say goodbye to my family pets in person. Our thirteen year old grey kitty Bo�sun had lung cancer and was put down not too long ago as well, and it ate away at me that I couldn�t stroke her and kiss her one last time. Now Megan the Wonder Dog will be missing the next time I go home as well. I know it�s life, and I know that out of death comes life, and I know that death is not final for any kind of energy; my issue is with the difficulty of closure when you lose someone you love unexpectedly. At nineteen one of my best friends died in his sleep of an undetected brain aneurysm, and apart from trying to make head or tails of the death of a young man in excellent health with a promising future, I struggled with the fact that I hadn�t said goodbye to him. Two nights before he died we had been at a birthday party, and when I left he was engrossed in a conversation, so I didn�t want to intrude to tell him I was leaving. I have always regretted that decision, and it became an obsessive thought in the weeks that followed his death: not only had I not said goodbye to him that night, I hadn�t been able to bid him farewell before his death, either, like everyone else. As a result, I always track down my parent�s pets when I depart to give each of them a kiss and a cuddle, because I never know when I might return to an empty chair instead of a warm cat, a quiet front hallway instead of a dog going insane with joy because I�ve walked through that door.

I told my mother to give the Megatronic Dog a kiss and a pat from me this morning. I�ll say goodbye in my own way tonight. She�s been a good friend, lots of fun, and good for my parents as well since they no longer have a child in the house; she will be missed. After her walk and her car ride today, she will have an endless supply of Snausages and rawhide bones with nary an upset tummy to be seen, many geese to chase, and she will duel and dance with the sprinklers of the Summerlands.

So long! Away we go, on the road again�

Well, actually we�re on the way to bed, so we can rest up to be on the road again at three AM.

The weather for our camping weekend in Pennsylvania looks glorious � sunny to partly cloudy, with temperatures in the high twenties and night-time temperatures of mid- to low-teens. Perfect.

Alas, my lap-top has no battery, so I cannot blog whilst away. You will all just have to do without me till Monday afternoon. Which reminds me � I�d better pack a notebook and some pens so that I can work on the Great Canadian Novel, should the whim seize me.

Ciao!

Not only am I bruised, I am now burned.

I made a pot of ginseng green tea. I am notorious for not noticing the passage of time and leaving a cup of tea next to me for hours, so I drink tepid or cool tea a lot. Just now I picked up my mug, assuming it was cool (as it is, nine times out of ten) and took a rather large sip.

Ow.

They probably won’t let me over the border. They’ll look at me and turn me back rather than risk my sudden klutziness spreading.

I’m feeling a little foolish; I caught my forearm in the fridge door as it closed yesterday and it’s all bruised today. You know, you toss it open, catch it with your foot, grab the water jug, pour a glass, lean in to put away the jug and let go of the door with your foot. Most of us do it, or a variation thereof. Normally I’d be fine. I’m still not used to this fridge, though, and the door is rather heavy. It slammed shut quicker than I’d anticipated.

Ow. That will teach me to pay attention when I get a glass of water from now on.

I’m packing for a four-day camping trip in the States today. Evidently for raingear and towels and such, we’ll have to bring an extra duffel bag, since my smallish one is full of a polar fleece sweater, a long-sleeved top, a couple of t-shirts, a pair of extra jeans, a pair of shorts, socks, etc. Camping is such a toss-up when it comes to weather; do you pack light and freeze/swelter, or do you pack sensibly and carry two bags? Being the practical cover-all-bases type, I carry two bags, and end up not using half of what I brought. (If I did use it all it would either mean that the weather was swinging wildly to extremes, or that it was terribly rainy and everything got very wet.)

And am I the only person who brings books when I go camping?

I’ve been trying to figure out why I enjoy making and wearing costumes so much.

I love dressing up. I know it partially comes from a love of things unordinary. I think it also partially originates from my preference of skirts to pants; most of my costumes are dress-based, after all.

The challenge of creating something is part of it, too. One of my triumphs was finding a classic Trek sourcebook with sketches of uniforms, tracing the six-inch-high picture, enlarging it via the grid method, and making a remarkably authentic bright red classic Trek woman’s uniform. (That, I got to wear twice – once at my Hallowe’en party, once a following Hallowe’en at the F/SF bookstore I worked in. Complete with high black boots.) I love putting costumes together because, let’s face it, part of showing up in costume is to feel proud of what you’ve done, to hear other people say, “That’s so cool!”, and with the proper finishing touches, it’s all just so satisfying.

I also enjoy sewing. I’m not patient enough to be perfect, so sewing everyday clothes isn’t really an option. However, sewing a costume means you can get away with little mistakes and shortcuts most of the time.

I don’t think it originates with a desire to be someone else. I like being me, thank you very much. I just particularly enjoy being me in nifty clothes. However, perhaps it has something to do with special occasions. You wouldn’t wear a costume every day; dressing up carries with it an implication of holiday and festivity.

Eh. Whatever. I like costuming. I should just enjoy it, and not question it.

So as I wait for web pages to load as I work I�m flipping through blogs; I hit Ceridwen�s Cauldron, scan it quickly, and say to myself, �No, she hasn�t updated it, this is all familiar.� Then I look at it a little more closely. No, I�m mistaken. She has updated it. It just looks familiar because I lived through it four hours ago with her.

Yes, Ceri had much joy today in shopping vicariously through me. Well, Ceri darling, you can just look forward breathlessly to the days in the not-so-distant future when I call you up and scream that there�s no hope and that the pattern is going to hell. You�ll get the lovely experience of feeling sewing frustration through me, too.

If I had a million dollars, oh, the fabrics I would have bought today. Micro-suede. Jacquard. Printed damask. Silk brocade. Stuff I�d have cut after a stiff drink � immediately after, so I could cut correctly before the alcohol began affecting my system adversely. Just a nip for courage. And I would have looked smashing. (The impressive-in-costume, not the inebriated kind.)

Being financially challenged, however, I am now in possession of fabric that will look just fine, and didn�t cost even a fraction as much as the ones that I coveted. I have to keep reminding myself that only Ceri and I would really appreciate the look and feel of the $65-per-metre fabric. It�s a costume, after all. Like my other costumes, I will look amazing for one night, and then hang it up. I do take them out once in a while and try them on, and stroke them, and feel proud of how well I constructed them, but overall, they see use for about five hours max.

I�m letting myself in for a rough time, too, because I�m kit-bashing. �Kit-bashing?� Ceri inquired today. �Is that the term?� Yes, I say, and it dates back from my model-building days (Aha � something else you didn�t know about me!). Kit-bashing, for those who don�t know, is when you combine two or more model kits to create something new, or use a kit as a basis for something the manufacturer didn�t intend it to be. Never satisfied with doing the things the easy way first, I�m combining two patterns for this year�s Hallowe�en costume. No, I�m not telling you what it is, because then I�ll have to live up to your expectations. Forget it.

I�m giving myself two and a half months, though, so everything should be okay. Right?

It was Lughnassadh this weekend, the first harvest festival, and I baked bread to commemorate it, the way I always do. I got home from the Great Fabric Excursion this afternoon and said, �Ooh! Bread!� I�d forgotten I had a whole other loaf. There�s even Brie in the fridge, and p�t�, too. And the husband won�t be home for dinner tonight. If only The Fellowship of the Ring had been released on DVD today, instead of coming out tomorrow � I�d curl up in front of the TV with bread and cheese and p�t�, and spend all evening convinced that December simply won�t come fast enough.