Category Archives: Rants

Telephony

So.

I had a business meeting by phone scheduled for this morning. A meeting that I’ve been waiting for for some time now.

The phone rings. I pick it up. “Hi, it’s –”

And the phones cuts out.

I am not ashamed to say I threw the phone, I was so mad at it. (I threw it at something soft, and took the time to turn so that I aimed properly, but I threw it.)

I’m on my way out to buy (a) a replacement battery for the damn thing, and (b) a real phone with a cord that actually works to serve as backup.

It’s six years old. It’s done its time, both on the cradle and off. And it’s been sending us feeble “I don’t feel well” signals lately. But dying as soon as it’s taken off the cradle? Swan song.

UPDATE, 12:40 PM: New battery now charging. The salesman was surprised our battery lasted six years; he said they have a life of approximately three years. But the cord phone I bought? Only has a USB plug. Has to be exchanged for a Real Phone so I can actually use the damn thing as a backup phone on the main phone line, because of course there aren’t USB to phone jack adaptors that don’t cost more than the ruddy phone did. So it’s back out to the shops after Liam’s nap, so that we actually have a phone we can use before tomorrow.

::headdesk::

Brick Wall

So. I’ve been tense lately, and here’s part of the reason why.

Things are difficult over here. Liam’s been doing the waking up in the middle of the night thing, and the resisting naps thing. Sometimes he naps a full nap with no problem. Other times he doesn’t; the nap doesn’t happen at all, or he wakes up after the first twenty-minute cycle. Every now and again he sleeps through the night, a full twelve hours, and we rejoice; then he’s back to the waking up for an hour to an hour and a half in the middle of the night. He’s having what professionals call disturbed sleep, and we’ve been trying trying trying to teach him to self-soothe so that if he wakes up from bed or nap he doesn’t spring all the way awake and go ballistic for someone to be there with him. It’s not his teeth. We’ve determined this. He just likes company.

This morning I’d had enough, and I started to play hardball. Nap time? Well, after your regular nursing session, you go into the crib and you stay there for the duration of what should be your nap. Whether you sleep or not is up to you. I can’t hold you while you lightly doze for an hour or more, trying over and over to slip you into your crib without you figuring out what’s going on and waking up to cry. You weigh too much, and you need to be able to fall asleep on your own as the rest of the world does. You’re eleven months old, kid, and you have to acquire this skill.

He’s now passed out after a bottle, because he was so exhausted and so worked up that I knew he wouldn’t sit for solid food. He spent the time he should have been taking his morning nap standing and screaming in his crib, because I couldn’t take him screaming in my arms any more; he was resisting the soothing as much as he was resisting the sleep.

It’s frustrating for everyone. It’s reached a point where nothing works: if we let him fall asleep in our arms, he wakes up crying; if we leave him to fall asleep on his own, he cries. We’ve tried various methods of soothing at intervals, adjusting bed/nap times, scheduled nap times, the responding-to-cues nap times, the works. If all it’s going to take is a week of this, then we’ll do it. No one’s going to be happy, but it will happen. And once he can fall asleep on his own, then he won’t be so exhausted that he can’t sleep.

It’s so very upsetting that to do the right thing — namely, to teach someone how to fall asleep on their own (of course with aids such as music, loveys, etc) — it has to hurt all three people involved so much.

Please note: I’m venting, not asking for advice. In fact, I’m going to turn comments off because I don’t want to get into arguments about parenting techniques. I’m writing out some of my stress in my journal, and that’s that. If I’ve been short with you lately, chalk it up to the lack of unbroken sleep and the fraying of nerves.

Criticise This

It occurred to me on the way home from dropping Liam off to play with his Auntie Pasley that my inner critic has been taking over my brain for the past three weeks. It’s been scraping away at my spirituality (why do I bother?), my writing (I have a book coming out in a month, so of course now I’m waking up at night desperately wishing I’d left something out, or included something else, or said something differently), and my music (I’ve been tame in how I’ve expressed myself here over the past few days to protect audience and fellow bandmates from my self-loathing). I’m surprised it hasn’t told me that I’m a bad mother yet, because Liam’s not napping as long as he should and waking up at night.

But you know what? My inner critic can go take a long walk off a short pier.

We now return me to my regular scheduled programming. I’m passably good at some of what I do, really good at most of it, and I enjoy myself. So my inner critic can just go hang out with the bottom feeders in the cold murky muddy depths of the seaway.

Sink Woes

Well, the advanced DIY efforts yielded nothing, so a professional plumber came in this morning. He had a power snake, which impressed HRH a lot.

The crap with which they’d plugged the drain broke the snake.

Eventually, with a high-powered water jet machine that had it own major compressor, the plumber punched through the crap. He flushed the pipe clean for about half an hour. We now have a kitchen sink again.

Adieu, And You Get What You Give

I’ve had a couple of off-journal inquiries about the situation regarding the exodus of the Elephant Family upstairs, so I thought I’d address them all at once here. Beware; this is rather a rant. It’s calmer that it would have been had I journaled it on the day, though.

They’ve gone.

But they have left a little bit of themselves in the form of about six weeks’ worth of annoyance.

The annoyance began last Thursday night — no. It began the Thursday before that, when their aquarium leaked yet again, causing twice as much damage to our ceiling as the first time. The only good thing about the event is that they’d moved the tank to another corner, so the ceiling leaked over our hallway, not a bookcase.

This past Thursday night, they started moving furniture at 9.30. They repeated this performance on Friday, when they woke Liam up by dropping things on the floor above his room. I was not impressed. First of all, noise is supposed to stop at 9 PM, and who the hell moves at night unless they’re doing a midnight flit? Being aware of this possibility, we called the landlord the first night who came over immediately (you may remember, gentle readers, that the tenants who lived in our flat before us did a midnight flit of their own, so he’s a wee bit sensitive to this sort of thing). They assured him that they were actually moving out on Sunday April 2.

Well, after three nights of moving (and we’re talking till midnight) and no sightings (or hearings) of them on Saturday, we thought they were gone for good.

Until we came back from a short trip out on Sunday afternoon to find a moving truck parked across our driveway, so we couldn’t pull in.

So HRH rolled down his window and told them to move the truck.

The language that issued from their mouths had nothing to do with civility. They screamed at him, threatened him, riled him up intentionally, and refused to move it. The neighbours were all watching, praying silently that HRH wouldn’t clock the guy even though he sorely deserved it, because the jail time’s not worth the trouble. All of this was of course exacerbated by the fact that when we moved in, we couldn’t use the driveway because these people had left their SUV in it when they went on vacation, even though they’d been told the driveway wasn’t theirs and that it had to be gone by a certain date. Both the man and the woman were abusing HRH verbally at the top of their lungs, and and all of this was in front of their kids, which just further confirms them as the classless people who think the world owes them something we had suspected them to be.

We eased the car into the drive by going in at a severe angle through the neighbour’s half, between their van and the nose of the moving truck. Then, on their next trip, they blocked the driveway again.

Whatever. Just get out, was the general mood in our house. HRH had some serious calming down to do over the rest of the afternoon. And frankly, I was afraid they’d physically attack the next one of us they saw. One of the things they screamed at HRH was an accusation that we got them kicked out. This is amusing because as much as we disliked them, and wished they’d leave, and commiserated with the landlord about the problems he had with them, we never did anything of the sort.

See, in my world, people are civil to one another; you treat other people as you wish to be treated. These people have no respect for anyone, not even themselves, because when HRH and the poor landlord went upstairs after they’d gone for good, they found damage far beyond what the landlord had originally seen. They’ve gone out of their way to be bastards. They broke lights. They took light fixtures with them. They left piles and piles of garbage on the floor instead of bagging it and taking it out.

On top of that, their kitchen sink was blocked. Well, fine; HRH and the landlord unblocked it last night. And all the sour disgusting swamp from their pipes just fell down and bubbled up into our sink instead, and nothing any of us did could unblock it. Turns out they emptied that damned aquarium down the kitchen sink, and all the sand and gravel plugged the pipes. The problem’s being worked on now.

But they’re gone, they’re gone, and the locks have all been changed. HRH is bartering renovation work for part of the rent payment, so he’s already cleaned the place top to bottom and it’s incredible how much of a difference it’s made. Over the next month there will be some major renovations done to bring it up to the standard of our place. And then we will have neighbours we can trust, neighbours whose presence we actually enjoy!

You get what you give, and the crap they’ve put our landlord through over the past few months is being handed back to them in the form of him taking them to court. They gave him ten days’ notice about their move, and the property damage is unreal. What you do comes back to you.

Advanced Witchcraft, Devolving Production Values

After a coven discussion yesterday afternoon on the power of words and how form affects the content, I came across this spelling/editing error in Advanced Witchcraft: Go Deeper, Reach Further, Fly Higher, a book that I’m reading for review:

“He sites the example of […].”

(This, coveners, is what made me throw the book across the room yesterday evening and sit down to write that lengthy e-mail about form and content. Blame the author, Edain McCoy (who ought to have caught these in revision), and her editor, Rebecca Zins, for my mood.)

Siting an example would be surveying the surrounding land and establishing a latitude and longitude for it. If you quote something, you cite it. It’s not the same thing.

Gods! Errors such as these in published material are unforgivable! Gritting my teeth, I moved beyond it. I bristled, but I knew what the author meant. (Just to add fuel to the flame, she was referring to Jean Markale. My indignance on his behalf knows no bounds.)

Apart from this textual slip, the labels on the chart of elemental symbols were scrambled, so that the symbol for Air is identified as Water, the symbol for Fire is identified as Air, the symbol for Earth is identified as Fire, and the symbol for Water is identified as Earth. Errors like this make me mistrust a text identified as “Advanced Witchcraft.” I know they’re layout problems, but still; a production team can make or break a book, and the production team allowing spelling errors and chart errors is doing nothing to support the content of the text. My ultimate review will reflect this.

Apart from this, the book’s not bad. It’s about walking the walk, and talking the talk. It admits that what we did in our first two or three years is nothing like what we do now; in fact, lots of the info we wrote down back then no longer is part of our practice. It compares making magic with spirituality, the way of life that magic becomes as you progress in practice and study. Lots of philosophical musing; not many exercises, which of course is one of the things advanced practitioners are looking for. I’m only halfway through. I’ve yet to find new information that I don’t already know, or have come up with on my own. (That’s one of my standard measures: Does this book tell me something new? Or does it re-state something I already know in a better fashion?)

Today I get to go into the bookstore for a meeting. The newly-arrived four-volume set of Grimm’s Teutonic Mythology, unavailable for years, a price of over $200, and a must for anyone who studies a Nordic path, is there, and I don’t know if I possess the self-control to ignore it until my next cheque comes in. Perhaps I’ll distract myself with the 8×10 colour posters that my publishing company sent out to promote the new series I’m editing. They have a picture of me and the first two books being released this fall on them. I’m glad I was warned, otherwise when I stopped in on Friday night for a workshop I might have seen them, panicked, then turned and run away. Mentioning this to the editor of the local Pagan journal, she kindly told me that the same info was in the books & publishing section of the issue that had just hit the newsstands. I have good friends. They know that I love what I do, but they also know that the whole using me to promote the series thing is still freaky to me.

I think I’ll go downtown early and poke about the dressmaker’s supply shop.

Plagiarism

For everyone who’s outraged in general, and worried about the extent of the plagiarism in the rituals book in particular, including Bev and Margie (what a lovely surprise to hear from you, Margie!): in-house editors are indeed further combing the manuscript for suspicious material other than the chunk I caught. The author may have plagiarised from his own work, but one never knows about the rest.

I poked about the fabric district with Ceri this afternoon. So many ideas, so little time and money. Besides, I had to buy a motherboard instead of a new sewing machine.

I’m off to orchestra. I might have a new computer when I get back. I’m not counting my chicks, but I’m being optimistic.