Wordless Wednesday

October 2023 One Second Everyday

It's My Birthday!

On my birthday, we went to Little Rey for brunch.

I got pancakes and tacos. No regrets.

Then, we went to the movies and watched Taylor Swift.

We watched the OSU game at the alumni party at Hudson Grille.

Freshman Homecoming

Nettle & Bone

First Line:

The trees were full of crows and the woods were full of madmen. The pit was full of bones and her hands were full of wires.

* * *

"He made harp pegs of her fingers fair," Marra sang softly, tunelessly, under her breath. "And strung the bones with her golden hair. . . "

The crows called to each other from the trees in solemn voices. She wondered about the harper in the song, and what he had thought when he was building the harp of a dead woman's bones. He was probably the only person in the world who would understand what she was doing.

Assuming he even existed in the first place. And if he did, what kind of life do you lead where you find yourself building a harp out of corpses?

For that matter, what kind of life do you lead where you find yourself building a dog out of bones?

* * *

She scowled. He was a good dog. He had excellent bones and even if she had used too much wire and gotten it a bit muddled around the toes and one of the bones of the tail, she'd think that a decent person would stop and admire the craftsmanship before they screamed and ran away.

"No accounting for taste," she muttered.

* * *

She went to her room and curled into a ball of misery and decided that she would die of a broken heart. Minstrels would write sad songs about how she had turned her face to the wall and died of the false-heartedness of men.

She could not quite make up her mind whether she wanted to be a ghost who would haunt the convent or not. It would be very satisfying to be a sad-eyed, beautiful ghost who drifted through the halls, gazing up at the moon and weeping silently, as a warning to other young women. On the other hand, she was still short and round-faced and sturdy, and there were very few ghost stories about short, sturdy women. Marra had not managed to be pale and willowy and consumptive at any point in eighteen years of life and did not think she could achieve it before she died. Possibly it would be better to just have songs made about her.

* * *

It had occurred to her about an hour earlier that she did not know how the minstrels would find out that she existed in order to write the sad songs in the first place, and her mind was somewhat occupied with this problem. Did you write them letters?

* * *

The flat stones made for uneven footing. She set her feet carefully. If she had to run, she would risk breaking an ankle or worse. They rattled and slid underfoot, talking to each other in stone language, saying all the words they had been saving up until the next time a human walked across them.

* * *

He didn't say anything, but his eyebrows were eloquent.

* * *

Marra jammed her elbow into his side, which was rather like elbowing a stone wall. He grunted, possibly to be polite.

* * *

The other room had two narrow beds with a small table and basin between them and a shuttered window. Marra collapsed onto one with a groan and put her head in her hands.

"Are you all right?" asked Fenris.

"Horrible puppet," she said, "demon chicken, fairy godmother." 

"And it's a fool's errand and we're all going to die," said Fenris. He patted her shoulder. "Still, I have to admit I didn't see the chicken or the puppet coming."

* * *

He looked astonished, as if this was not something he had ever considered, as if the sun had risen in the west and then fallen from the sky.

What Moves the Dead

This is a re-imagined version of Edgar Allen Poe's Fall of the House of Usher by one of my favorite authors, T. Kingfisher.

First Line:

The mushroom's gills were the deep-red color of severed muscle, the almost-violet shade that contrasts so dreadfully with the pale pink of viscera. I had seen it any number of times in dead deer and dying soldiers, but it startled me to see it here.

Favorite Parts:

It is a cliche to say that a building's windows look like eyes because humans will find faces in anything and of course the windows would be the eyes. The house of Usher had dozens of eyes, so either it was a great many faces lined up together or it was the face of some creature belonging to a different order of life - a spider, perhaps, with rows of eyes along its head.

* * *

Given that lack of imagination, perhaps you will forgive me when I say that the whole place felt like a hangover.

* * *

Granted, the plants all looked dead or dying. Granted, the windows of the house stared down like eye sockets in a row of skulls, yes, but so what? Actual rows of skulls wouldn't affect me so strongly. I knew a collector in Paris...well, never mind the details. He was the gentlest of souls, though he did collect rather odd things. But he used to put festive hats on his skulls depending on the season, and they all looked rather jolly.

Usher's house was going to require more than festive hats.

* * *

Very few ancient crypts have plump shepherdesses and gamboling sheep on the walls. I consider this an oversight.

* * *

Sometimes it's hard to know if someone is insulting or just an American.

* * *

Roderick started in with a story of a fellow we served with who was shot in the family jewels and went on to have three children. It's a good story. Denton winced in the appropriate places and we drank and sat by the fire and told war stories as if everything was completely normal and no one in the house was dying.

* * *

"They say mushrooms spring up where the Devil walks," said Angus sourly. "And where fairies dance."

"Do you think they ever get the two confused? The Devil shows up to a fairy ball, or finds himself mobbed with elven ingenues?"

He gave me a look from under his eyebrows. "You shouldn't joke about fairies. Sir."

"Oh, very well. As long as I can still joke about the Devil."

* * *

I had passed through the village, but hadn't thought much about it. It didn't look bad. It didn't look good. It was a village. It looked like every other small village in Ruravia, which also look pretty much like every small village in Gallacia, although they carve flowers on their shutters here and we carve turnips. (That is a general we. I have never carved a turnip in my life.)

Happy Birthday to Lex!

Happy 14th Birthday!

In Which I Made Buckeyes for Lex's Birthday

Wordless Wednesday: School Photos Edition

September 2023 One Second Everyday

Blue Stone Arts & Music Festival

This weekend was the Blue Stone Arts & Music Festival, and we went both days. It was a fantastic collection of food trucks, art vendors, and live music on two stages. 

There was also a huge kids carnival with inflatables, slides, and spinning rides.

We got to see live performances by both The Verve Pipe and Soul Asylum. 

The Queen's Rising Duology

When I met Rebecca Ross at a book event, she was promoting her newest book, but I decided to read her first series first. It was a fantastic sweet little fantasy.

Opening:

Magnalia House was the sort of establishment where only wealthy, talented girls mastered their passion. It wasn't designed for girls who were lacking, for girls who were illegitimate daughters, and certainly not for girls who defied kings. I, of course, happen to be all three of those things.

* * * * *

It was nice to read a set of books that was already finished, and I didn't have to wait at all to see what happens to the characters next.

Sushi Nami

I got to take Connor out for a nice sushi lunch today.

Cheesy White Bean Tomato Bake

I have made this recipe twice now, and it is a hit. It tastes a lot like lasagna or any other baked pasta dish, but it doesn't have any noodles in it, so it's lower in carbs. Well, until you load it onto a piece of thick crusty bread like I do, but that's a personal choice.

Ingredients:

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

5 or 6 fat garlic cloves, thinly sliced

3 TBSP tomato paste

2 cans of cannellini beans (15 oz) drained and rinsed

1/2 cup boiling water

Salt, Pepper, Italian Seasoning

8 oz shredded mozzarella cheese

1. Preheat oven to 475 degrees

2. Heat oil in a 10-inch cast iron skillet and fry the garlic until golden. 

3. Add tomato paste and boiling water. Mix.

4. Add beans and seasonings. Mix.

5. Cover with cheese.

6. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes, and broil for a minute to brown cheese on top, if necessary.

The Oracle of Maracoor

This is the second book in the trilogy about Elphaba's granddaughter, Rain.

When I saw it on the new releases bookshelf at the library, I grabbed it.

The beginning of the book is a little bit different from most books.

The first chapter is only one page long, and it reads something like poetry.

Same with the second chapter.

It's not until you get to the third chapter that the novel begins to read like a traditional book of fiction.

I kind of really dig that.

The third book about Rain is going to be called The Witch of Maracoor.

Book of Night

Opening lines:

Any child can be chased by their shadow. All they need to do is run straight towards the sun on a lazy afternoon. As long as they keep moving to chase it, but no matter how fast their chubby legs pump, their shadow will always be a little bit out of reach.

Not so with this child.

* * * * * *

This is the second book I have read recently that began with musings about shadows. Camp Damascus also began with a bit about shadows, but the book was about something else.

This book was about using shadows to do magic, and it was fantastic. I loved the main character, who couldn't help but get herself into trouble. There is going to be a second book, and when it comes out, I will definitely read it. 

Trader Vic's

Trader Vic's serves Polynesian Cuisine, and the ambiance and decor are delightful.

This drink is called The Zombie.

I got Volcano Chicken and it was very yummy!