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[personal profile] sine_nomine
Today I learned something important. To wit, many times people think others are being passive-aggressive because of their own baggage. They do not believe that facts laid out in a direct and straightforward manner do not come with hidden agenda.

I have a new Phone of Smart. I hate the phone. For many reasons. Uh oh... here comes a rant. )

Phones of Smart are not tactile. Their buttons are not tangible. Everything is very visual and, worse, very graphically oriented. That is not an environment in which I will flourish. It's just not. I learn through a combination of factors but feeling what I'm doing plays a critical part in that. More importantly, I am enormously words-based and have serious deficits in my visual processing ability (so much so that being in a visually-stimulating enviroment like MoMA can leave me unable to think or speak because the processing centers are getting so hammered). So yes, I hate the phone. But I can't change the fact that I really have to have one for a stack of reasons. So I have to learn how to live with it.

(no subject)

Sep. 1st, 2015 11:53 am
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[personal profile] ysobel

bowels decided to threaten to explode (assplode?) in agony ... *after* morning aide left

(and I don't just mean urgency, we're talking sobbing-and-hyperventilating agony on top of urgency, like there's a bowling ball in there)

of the aides that live close, one "almost cut my finger off last night, i can come do it one-handed, or if (other aide) can do it i should probably go get stitches if it's not too late"


other aide is at IHSS orientation so she can get paid

stepmom is driving me to an appointment today, so I asked if she could come early

"earliest I could do is noon but 12:15 would be better"

that's when we need to leave

"oh right"


and some people think "woe I can't walk" is the worst part of being disabled and in a wheelchair ...

Learning to Nurture My Alien Baby

Sep. 1st, 2015 11:45 am
jesse_the_k: Photo of baby wearing huge black glasses  (eyeglasses baby)
[personal profile] jesse_the_k
Alien spore entered my body when I was young. In my teens, it blossomed, crawled out and sunk its pincers into my shoulders. I've been carrying it ever since. This "alien baby"[1] may be easier to recognize as my atypical bodymind, where the goulash of pain and limitation resides.alien psych insights )

Bean: Belly-up on the Bed

Sep. 1st, 2015 08:50 am
[syndicated profile] ittybittykitty_feed

Posted by Laurie Cinotto

How's Bean doing? Our girl is doing great! She's happy, she's relaxed.  She's glad that all of the summer heat is (hopefully) behind us!  She tends to retreat when temperatures rise and will nap in dark spots, deep inside closets, and under things. It's good to see more of her again!

It's especially good when we get to see her belly.  Bean has the best belly floof.




Today marks the end of quarantine for our Mittenflosses, so soon they'll be romping about the house and mingling with the big cats. DMH Tabby boys are her absolute favorite kitten flavor, so I know Charlene will be thrilled to meet dear Bart.  I'm guessing that many baths are in his future!  I'm sure she'll love dear Fielding, too. He looks equally delicious! Those kitten cheeks!


We slipped out of town for the weekend, and while we were away, the kittens had a growth spurt.  They looked huge when we returned and the scale confirmed they did grow.  Each gained four ounces!  Their little bellies are nice and plump and their legs are looking much longer.

Way to grow, kittens. Way to grow!

twistedchick: sunshine artwork: 'here comes the sun' (Default)
[personal profile] twistedchick
The word 'martyr' literally means witness -- one who saw something and can give legal testimony about it reliably. The word is nearly unchanged from Latin and Greek. In more recent times, it means someone who stands up for truth and, because of that, dies violently -- stoned, crucified, beheaded, stabbed, etc.. That's the 'red' martyrdom; the 'white' martyrdom does not involve a violent death. St. Therese of Lisieux, who suffered from tuberculosis and died slowly of it over several years while managing to stay patient and kind to others, could be an example of white martyrdom. (Though I think it takes a saint to stay patient in such circumstances.)

And then we come to Kim Davis of Kentucky, who says her Christian beliefs won't let her issue a marriage license to two men, even though she has been ordered to do so by everyone up the food chain from her. The Supreme Court refused to hear her case, which means that the ruling of the lower court -- that she has to do her job as clerk and issue the license or be held in contempt -- is in effect. She appears to be trying to set herself up as a self-proclaimed martyr for ... what?

For what is she a witness? To what do her actions testify?

She is not acting as a witness for Jesus, who never turned anyone away, who healed the servant -- and some say lover -- of a Roman centurion with a word. She is not acting as a witness for the saints, like John, who said, "Wherever love is, God is. God is love."

To what is she a witness? Whatever it is, it must be clear and obvious to everyone for it to be a martyrdom. What do Kim Davis's actions proclaim?

Bigotry. Homophobia. Ignorance. Refusal to do the job for the people, to which she was elected by the people. Stubborn recalcitrance in the face of legal requirement.

The best she could testify to is being a bad example of so many things. Including a lack of comprehension of the meaning of "separation of church and state."

And we are all the witnesses of that.

Slow Motion

Sep. 1st, 2015 09:04 am
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[personal profile] oracne
Due to the gym being excessively crowded last night, I ended up on a treadmill instead of my preferred elliptical. I did a half-hour slow jog, with warmup of five minutes and cooldown of ten, so I could get in a full two miles (I did say slow!). It's been a really long time since I've jogged, since I'm heavy enough that it can't be good for my knees and ankles.

It did not feel that difficult, though I expected it would be. I was tired, sure, but since I didn't do any weights, I felt like my brain was still working a bit when I was done. This morning, my thighs are a bit sore in a way that clearly appreciates the break from Seated Leg Press.

I have theories on why it seemed easy. 1) I took two Aleve (naproxen) in the morning for my tendonitis, and so there was less pain, though the pills ought to have been wearing off by then; 2) it's been a while, so my legs went numb sooner in my equivalent of runner's high; 3) I went slower (like, 2.5-2.7 MPH as opposed to 3.0, like I did in the month I worked on treadmill; 4) doing intervals once or twice a week for the last few weeks made a difference.

I dunno. Back to weight-bearing exercise on Wednesday.

today's overview

Sep. 1st, 2015 08:39 am
sine_nomine: (Default)
[personal profile] sine_nomine
Because I have to have somewhere to put this... and it's going to be changing lots as I remember details:

For my information only in stream of consciousness order )

There are not enough hours in the day. And yet...

Mr MacD- enjoys pursuing mysteries

Sep. 1st, 2015 09:11 am
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[personal profile] the_comfortable_courtesan

The weather has turn'd extreme horrid, with sleetish rain battering at the windows. We are snug inside but yet I feel a little melancholick. Sure I had not realised that I was so vain of my looks until catching sight of myself unawares in a mirror and observing that none would mark me as the exquisite Madame C- at present. I console myself that there are those that love me no matter what, and indeed that Mr F- displayed great delight in my present shape.

(I do so miss my darlings.)

As I cannot suppose that Sandy will brave the elements to take a morning cigar on the terrace as he is wont, I daresay I shall find him in the trophy-room which also serves as a smoaking-parlour for gentlemen.

I do indeed find him there contemplating the General's fine collection of Hindoo curios. I am sure, say I, that there are those that would appreciate these as they ought to be, and that it is a shame that they should be kept here where none may see them. Is there not an East India Museum in the City? - Sandy replies that indeed that is so. - There are a few things I should like to keep as mementoes of the dear General, such as the painting of his bibi, and the little statuette of the lady that rides upon a tiger - I believe that to be one of their goddesses, tho' I have not made a particular study of the Hindoo religion. - but do you think they would accept them? If I made the donation quite anonymous?

Since I am given to understand that you have been of great service to the Hon Company's diplomacy, if the tale about your rubies be true, why should they spurn so fine a gift did it come from you?

Sure I will never fully understand the unwritten laws of society, but I prefer not to test them. I sit down in the armchair. But to other matters, do you yet find what is ado with Prue?

Sandy leans against the billiard table. I am not yet confirmed in my suppositions but I go about finding occasion to lead into conversations with members of your household. Did you, he asks, note that Prue did not venture upon playing snapdragon?

I sigh. No doubt she considers it a heathenish superstitious practice, or mayhap symbolickal of hellfire.

Mayhap, but I am not persuaded. Phoebe tells me that she has noted a certain clumsiness, which has fortunately not resulted in any particular bad breakages, but she attributes that to Prue having reached that gawky time of life.

He pauses and says, he hopes I do not mind, but he thinks that at dinner today we shall be served with a certain Scottish dish as he needed some excuse to talk to Seraphine -

Pray reassure me 'tis not haggis, say I, for I could never like the sound of it.

No, 'tis a sweet dish of oatmeal and cream and a little whisky, very delicious and entirely wholesome. Euphemia I had already had a chance to talk to through her being requir'd to make apologies to me. Similarly with Tibby.

My dear, I say with a smile, you do greatly love searching into mysteries, do you not?

He blushes and admits that 'tis so, whether it be the authorship of a scurrilous libel or why a fountain fails to play as it should, there is something he finds most congenial about sounding out the matter.

'Tis a talent, say I, that I have found of great service.

It is indeed a pleasure. I also find out much that is not, perhaps, particularly pertinent to the matter in hand.

Anything, say I, that I should know concerning the household (wondering if, perhaps, Seraphine may have disclos'd some matter of her feelings towards Roberts)? - that is, that you would not feel it indiscreet to communicate?

I am sure it is not news to you that all heartily detest Mr G- -

He does not go about to make himself beloved, or even respected, I reply -

- and they only wish that the F-s were nearer at hand, though Hector has explained to me with great approbation the excellent contrivance with the pigeons -

Pigeons? I say.

Did you not know? Perhaps there was some concern that you might endeavour to climb into the loft, out of curiosity.

But what contrivance is this, I continue, are they to serve at table?

He looks at me. I see that I have reveal'd something that was being kept from you - they are carrier pigeons that can reach Mr F- far quicker than the post, particularly in winter, in case any emergency should arise.

O, I say, that is so like Mr F-, so sensible and practical, tho' I could wish that he had inform'd me of the plan. Indeed I should greatly like to look upon them but I do not think I am presently in any condition to climb into lofts.

(Also, I think, 'tis a terrible temptation to me to have this means of summoning my darlings so close to hand, tho' I do entirely understand that it is only intended for matters of extremity.)

Indeed, says Sandy, it is a great reassurance to your friends to think that Mr F- has such care for you and is altogether so responsible.

(Sure, I think, this makes him sound much like Mr N-, tho' he could hardly be more different.)

Especially, I reply, as I am but a weak and incompetent woman.

Sandy pauses to give me one of his looks. You may persuade Mr G- of that, because that is what he expects to see, but none that know you think it. Mr F- certainly does not suppose you weak and incompetent - if he did I am sure he would have undertaken prudent measures of protection, such as a reliable companion - but one that may be in a situation that requires help.

I sigh. You are indeed a very excellent friend to me. Indeed it is merely that I find myself in some lowness of spirits that renders me contrary. Also, I do very greatly miss Mr F-'s company (I do not think I can reveal, even to Sandy, quite how much I miss both my darlings), however reassur'd I am about his care over me.

That is very understandable. But I should not have kept you lingering in this chilly room, for I see you start to shiver: you should go at once and sit by the fire in your parlour.

Gillian Bradshaw: Island of Ghosts

Aug. 31st, 2015 11:52 pm
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[personal profile] bibliogramma

Gillian Bradshaw's Island of Ghosts is a complex and entertaining tale, set in Roman Britain during the reign of Emperor Marcus Aurelius. The narrative thread of the novel is played out against the story of the Sarmatian auxiliary forces taken into the Roman army and posted to Britain after the Empire's victory over the their people. Little is known of the fate of the Sarmatians - a nomadic people, known as formidable mounted fighters, who had migrated from Central Asia into Eastern Europe - once they arrived in Britain, but Bradshaw has taken what is known about them, and about the much better documented history of the Roman occupation of Britain, and created a story of romance and political intrigue.

Bradshaw paints a picture of colonial Britain that puts considerable emphasis on the diversity of cultures, and the issues of cultural clashes beyween them - the imperial military culture of the conquering Romans, the unassimilated Sarmatian warriors, the varied British tribes and their different histories with the Empire, the Christian underground, the hidden remnants of the druidic order - as well as on the different political factions within these groups.

Navigating these complexities is Ariantes, the commander of one of the first three Sarmatian dragons (a unit of 500 soldiers) to arrive in Britain. Weary of wars fought for glory, emotionally devastated by the death of his wife and children during the wars with Rome, determined to take care of his men and honour his vow to serve the Empire, Ariantes is caught between Romans who distrust the "barbarians" they assume the Sarmatians to be, Britons who hope for freedom and a return to the old ways, and his fellow Sarmatians who are unwilling to make the changes necessary to live in the new land they have come to.

A well-researched and thoroughly engaging historical novel.

There are always handholds.

Aug. 31st, 2015 10:19 pm
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[personal profile] ofearthandstars
"The thing I think we have to remember is that there is no finish line with depression, anxiety, or any other sort of mental illness. We’re on this path, and the path is constantly changing. Sometimes it’s flat and well-marked, and we can see all the way to the horizon....Other times, it’s so heavily shrouded in fog and mist, we can’t even see past our fingertips and we need someone to show us where the path is. And sometimes, we come to a wall that we don’t think we’ll ever get over. I’ve been staring at the base of that wall for weeks, and just now you helped me remember that there are always handholds to get up and over it."

-Tears in Rain, from

(no subject)

Aug. 31st, 2015 08:25 pm
twistedchick: sunshine artwork: 'here comes the sun' (Default)
[personal profile] twistedchick
Behind the scenes in the new Cinderella. Posted because my friend Richard is one of the extras; he is dancing with a woman in a dark gold gown. He said it was exhilarating and exhausting and memorable.

Short Fiction #3

Aug. 31st, 2015 07:47 pm
bibliogramma: (Default)
[personal profile] bibliogramma

More short stories and novelettes from around the net.

"The Shape of My Name," Nino Cipri, March 15, 2015,

This was an amazing story about creating one's own identity. The narrator is part of a multi-generational time-travelling family whose members have access to gene-coded time capsules enabling them to travel into any time between 1905, the year that the mysterious Moses Stone built the machine for the family matriarch, and August 3, 2321 - the significance of that date is unknown to the characters, but my guess is that it's the date from which Moses travelled back in time to build the machine that would allow forward travel. But that's not part of the story, really. The story is about creating identity and finding freedom from ingrained expectations.

"When It Ends, He Catches Her," Eugie Foster, September 26, 2014, Daily Science Fiction

One of the short stories that would have been on the Hugo ballot this year had the Puppies not done their thing, and Foster's last story, published just before she died. A poignant and evocative story of love, art and death, two dancers rekindling the memories of their greatest achievement in the midst of the ruins of civilisation.

"Litany of Earth," Ruthanna Emrys, May 14, 2014,

Another piece that might have been nominated fir a Hugo if not for the puppies, Emrys' novelette is a majestic and powerful reworking of the Cthulhu mythos, ever mindful of the fact that the winners not only write the history books, they demonise the ones who lose. Emrys presents the people of Innsmouth and other such communities as a race of immortal others among us, with a faith and a knowledge no more evil than any other, persecuted, incarcerated, experimented on and killed for their difference. A must-read for those who once loved Lovecraft but lament his casual racism.

"Seven Commentaries on an Imperfect Land," by Ruthanna Emrys, August 20, 2014,

I was sufficiently blown away by Emrys' "Litany of Earth" to want to read more. And I was not disappointed in doing so. "Seven Commentaries" is a perfect pearl. Told in seven vignettes filled with glorious detail, it is about communities of the heart and soul, the perseverance of imagination and hope, the healing and binding power of story, and seeing the spirit of your sister in a stranger's eyes.

"Kin, Painted," by Penny Stirling, July 29, 2015, Lackington's Magazine

Lackington's specifies that they are specifically interested in publishing stylised speculative prose, and I must admit to enjoying stylised prose (when well-done, of course), but more than just being stylised, this piece by Penny Stirling was a beautiful thing to read. An extended metaphor on growing up and making personal choices, notable for its references to persons of many genders and preferences.

(no subject)

Aug. 31st, 2015 03:52 pm
twistedchick: mountains, Jackson Brown quote: You do what you can to keep your love alive -- try not to confuse this with what you do  (love alive)
[personal profile] twistedchick
I saw Denali from a parking garage in Anchorage. I can't tell you how far away it was, but it was big enough to be seen from there -- the visibility problem was that Denali makes its own weather. It's that big. It has its own clouds, its own snowstorms, its own ground frost. It is more than 100 miles long, nearly that wide -- 90,000 square kilometers, 34,749 square miles. In comparison, Rhode Island is 1,212 square miles. It is, in fact, larger than Maine and just a bit smaller than Indiana. It is a home to bears, moose, eagles, otters, foxes, ravens and many more creatures.

And now it has its own name back.


The Great One has its name again.

... the icon is not Denali. Denali cannot be captured in an icon.

(no subject)

Aug. 31st, 2015 02:46 pm
twistedchick: mountains, Jackson Brown quote: You do what you can to keep your love alive -- try not to confuse this with what you do  (love alive)
[personal profile] twistedchick
I'm not sure it would be possible to set aside half the earth for rewilding. What about those of us who don't really like living in cities? And where would the food come from?

Religion, racism and the consequences of Republican policies in vivid graphs and maps.

An easy Daily Kos guide to the conservatives in one handy chart.

Oliver Sacks, the doctor.

When Bobby Kennedy was shot at the Ambassador Hotel, where he had just finished making a speech, he walked into the kitchen to greet the people who had cooked the food. He reached out to shake hands with a 17-year-old busboy -- and collapsed into his arms. It has taken decades for Juan Romero to come to terms with holding his dying hero in his arms.

What happened to investigative journalism? It morphed.


Aug. 31st, 2015 09:01 am
oracne: turtle (Default)
[personal profile] oracne
This weekend, I succeeded in visiting the hospital, writing a review, and doing laundry. Go me.

Reinventing the Wheel

Aug. 31st, 2015 07:11 am
[syndicated profile] ittybittykitty_feed

Posted by Laurie Cinotto

Bartholomew "Bart" Mittenfloss is one clever kitten.  Most cats look a this trackball game and think it's just an awesome toy.   But Bart realized that when this toy is upside-down, it makes the coziest spot for a kitten to cuddle into.  





Very smart, Bart, but I want to play trackball. 



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Dee Burris Blakley

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