Playing on the iPod: Some track with a French-sounding name from Masters of the Renaissance Lute
Meters swum today: 2000
Kilometers swum in July, Swim for Distance Month: 13.5
Good news, gang - I'm closing in on the century mark for miles swum in 2008. 95 miles as of this morning. I wanted to hit 100 before July started, so I could make a big leap during July and coast the rest of the year, but that didn't happen. Oh well. I had a great swim this morning. I felt strong and could have kept going. I may try to do two miles on Friday if I feel this good.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The Funerary Belly Plate Scene
Playing in the background: "Tougher in Alaska" on the History Channel
Meters swum today: None. See below re: overslept.
Kilometers swum in July, Swim for Distance Month: 7.7 of 40.2
Good news, everybody. Despite my failure to find a malleable female with an available belly for sugar cube counting, I've finished the scene with the Egyptian funerary belly plate that caused such chaos and disruption earlier. Here's the relevant snippet from Spellbinder.
...
He picks up the briefcase, which is small but oddly heavy for its size. It’s a good thing he hasn’t ordered breakfast because there’s barely room on the table to perch the thing on the edge. He expects it to be locked but it opens on the first try. Inside, the case is lined with black velvet, a drape over the center portion. He pulls back the drape and raises his eyebrows. A square plate of what looks to be solid gold, about the size of a hardback book and covered with Egyptian hieroglyphs, glints in the dim light. “I didn’t think you collected Egyptian stuff.”
“I don’t. I’m Greek, Minoan and a little Chinese. But I, ah, happened onto this one piece, you might say.”
“You might say,” he agrees, tapping the plate with an experimental finger. Definitely gold, and a high purity from the softness. “What is it?”
“It’s the funerary plaque from the tomb of Princess Ankhneferaten,” she says. “Amarna dynasty. She was King Tut’s great-aunt.”
Don Cristobal lets out an appreciative whistle. “Looks like she had a few bucks. What’s it for?”
“They stuck it over the incision, on the stomach, where they took out the guts. When they were making the mummies.”
He pulls his hand back. “I hope it’s been cleaned since then.”
She smiles, though it’s not a friendly smile. “It’s three thousand years old. I imagine it’s been cleaned a few times.”
He looks back into the briefcase. The eye of Horus winks up at him. “I guess you could melt it down,” he says. “Sell it for the gold.”
Iliana does a pretty good job of suppressing a shudder at the idea of somebody melting down a piece of Egyptian art. “I wouldn’t. It’s pretty rare. There’s only six in the world.”
“Yeah? Why’s that? Curses? Ancient magic?”
“No, because it’s made of gold. And it’s small. And portable. Tomb robbers couldn't resist them.”
Don Cristobal grunts. “Well, it’s awful nice of you, ma’am,” he says in a bad John Wayne, “but I don’t reckon I know what I’d do with–”
“You’d take it to Morocco,” Iliana says, tossing a business card on the table. “And you’d call that guy.”
“Fariq Al-Saud, Dealer in Antiquities,” he reads. “Ten Charles de Gaulle Way, Marrakesh.” He looks up. “Why him?”
“Because that’s who I stole it from,” she says, shaking her head at his denseness. “And he’ll be very happy to see it again. I’m sure he’ll make you an acceptable offer.”
“Well, it’s nice,” he admits, “but I’m kind of not in the market for an Egyptian funerary belly plate at the moment, so–”
“I’m not selling it,” she retorts. “I’m giving it to you.”
He frowns. "What are you doing that for?”
“I asked you to leave the kid alone,” Iliana says, and smiles sweetly. “This is just my way of saying pretty please.”
...
Thanks, again, Tammy, for making me sound like I know what I'm talking about -- always a challenge in this business.
Meters swum today: None. See below re: overslept.
Kilometers swum in July, Swim for Distance Month: 7.7 of 40.2
Good news, everybody. Despite my failure to find a malleable female with an available belly for sugar cube counting, I've finished the scene with the Egyptian funerary belly plate that caused such chaos and disruption earlier. Here's the relevant snippet from Spellbinder.
...
He picks up the briefcase, which is small but oddly heavy for its size. It’s a good thing he hasn’t ordered breakfast because there’s barely room on the table to perch the thing on the edge. He expects it to be locked but it opens on the first try. Inside, the case is lined with black velvet, a drape over the center portion. He pulls back the drape and raises his eyebrows. A square plate of what looks to be solid gold, about the size of a hardback book and covered with Egyptian hieroglyphs, glints in the dim light. “I didn’t think you collected Egyptian stuff.”
“I don’t. I’m Greek, Minoan and a little Chinese. But I, ah, happened onto this one piece, you might say.”
“You might say,” he agrees, tapping the plate with an experimental finger. Definitely gold, and a high purity from the softness. “What is it?”
“It’s the funerary plaque from the tomb of Princess Ankhneferaten,” she says. “Amarna dynasty. She was King Tut’s great-aunt.”
Don Cristobal lets out an appreciative whistle. “Looks like she had a few bucks. What’s it for?”
“They stuck it over the incision, on the stomach, where they took out the guts. When they were making the mummies.”
He pulls his hand back. “I hope it’s been cleaned since then.”
She smiles, though it’s not a friendly smile. “It’s three thousand years old. I imagine it’s been cleaned a few times.”
He looks back into the briefcase. The eye of Horus winks up at him. “I guess you could melt it down,” he says. “Sell it for the gold.”
Iliana does a pretty good job of suppressing a shudder at the idea of somebody melting down a piece of Egyptian art. “I wouldn’t. It’s pretty rare. There’s only six in the world.”
“Yeah? Why’s that? Curses? Ancient magic?”
“No, because it’s made of gold. And it’s small. And portable. Tomb robbers couldn't resist them.”
Don Cristobal grunts. “Well, it’s awful nice of you, ma’am,” he says in a bad John Wayne, “but I don’t reckon I know what I’d do with–”
“You’d take it to Morocco,” Iliana says, tossing a business card on the table. “And you’d call that guy.”
“Fariq Al-Saud, Dealer in Antiquities,” he reads. “Ten Charles de Gaulle Way, Marrakesh.” He looks up. “Why him?”
“Because that’s who I stole it from,” she says, shaking her head at his denseness. “And he’ll be very happy to see it again. I’m sure he’ll make you an acceptable offer.”
“Well, it’s nice,” he admits, “but I’m kind of not in the market for an Egyptian funerary belly plate at the moment, so–”
“I’m not selling it,” she retorts. “I’m giving it to you.”
He frowns. "What are you doing that for?”
“I asked you to leave the kid alone,” Iliana says, and smiles sweetly. “This is just my way of saying pretty please.”
...
Thanks, again, Tammy, for making me sound like I know what I'm talking about -- always a challenge in this business.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Jenz Book O'The Decade
Humming merrily in the background: The air conditioner
Meters swum today: None. Overslept. Again.
Kilometers swum in July, Swim for Distance month: 7.7 of 40.2
I'm pretty sure I've plugged Mel Ash before, but I've just reread his book, The Zen of Recovery, and it's just so darn cool I'm gonna do it again. I stumbled uponst this particular paperback Stone of Wisdom during a rather trying time in my early OA career. OA, and all the other A's, have a spiritual component, in case you didn't know. For some people that can become overtly religious. I was in this "90 meetings in 90 days" phase where I was trying to go to as many meetings as I could (it helped that I was unemployed). I went to one that took place in a Babtist church in Mesquite, which, in itself, wasn't that big a deal (I've been to meetings in lots of different kinds of churches). BUT, this particular meeting was where somebody told me that I'd never recover until I asked Jesus Christ to become my personal Saviour, and this particular meeting also closed with the Lord's Prayer. Both of these things are major OA no-nos. One of the whole points is not pushing any particular religion but inviting each person to define his or her own Higher Power. And the Lord's Prayer to close? Even some way Christian OA people I know told me later that they thought that was pretty weird. I didn't know any better, though, being new, and I came away from this meeting rather mopey.
Look, I dig Jesus, okay? Guy was cool. Long-haired rebel, wise one, scholar, poet and holy man. Plus, everything he ever said makes perfect sense if you consider who he was saying it to: the Jewish men of his time. Calling them to be better men. Insisting that they take care of the widows and orphans and do what they were supposed to do, according to God's law. Not letting them get away with this "Well, the Romans permit this sort of thing, and they're the bosses right now" bullshit. Unfortunately for Jesus, the Jewish men of his time were much more interested in chasing away the Romans, and thought Jesus was this general who would call them to arms. Imagine their surprise when he said "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, and unto God what is God's"; in short, it doesn't matter who the boss is, do the right thing because it's right. Which didn't end very well, for Jesus personally, although it did sort of save the whole human race from itself. (Would that he could do it again.) So I like the guy. He's awesome. I just can't get behind the whole religion thing. It doesn't make sense to me.
Anyway, I called Joan at work and asked if she could find me some books about 12 Steps and Buddhism, figuring A. there had to be some and B. she's a librarian and that's what she does. She came up with Mel. She rocks. I started reading and found out that Mel had exactly the same experience with somebody telling him he had to become a Christian to recover (from alcoholism, in his case). He goes through the Twelve Steps, one by one, and draws stunning parallels to Buddhist theory and philosophy. Which is awesome. And which, finally, cleared up my whole confusion about what to call my Higher Power. He calls his Zen. I don't call mine anything. Both are fine, as is Jesus, Allah, Great Spirit, or whatever else you wanna stick in there. The point is that you rely on it. What you choose to call it is less than important.
So, anyway, this is my new Book o'the Decade. Anybody interested in Buddhism, Twelve-Step groups, or a really cool beatnik writer guy who has learned hard and painful lessons and used what he learned to save himself from himself, would appreciate it. Find it. Read it. Love it. Tell your librarian Jen sent you.
ps. In case you're wondering, I'm at Step Four, and I've been there for months. It's slow going sometimes.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Swim For Your Life!
Playing on the iPod: "Catch the Moments as they Fly" from Celtic River (awesome!)
Meters swum today: 2100
Kilometers swum in July: 7.7 of 40.2
Well, just when water couldn't get any wetter, along came "Swim For Distance Month" at Dallas Aquatic Masters. Yes, my swim team has "theme months." Not long ago we had a "breast stroke month" and I nearly deleted the announcement when it showed up in my mailbox, thinking it was some kind of porno spam. But anyway. The goal of Swim For Distance Month is to knock off 40.2 kilometers, or 25 miles for you Yankees, in a 31-day time span. Since I was gone from July 2 to July 8, I only get a 23-day time span. What this means is, instead of going to the pool four times a week, I'm going to be there every darn day, except some Sundays. (And, I gotta knock off a mile and a quarter each time, or I'll never make it.)
What do you get at the end? A cool t-shirt and a pat on the head. This prompted Joan to ask why I didn't just buy myself a t-shirt and spare myself the trouble. But anyway. This was my third day. If my arms don't fall off at the shoulders, I think I'll be fine.
Meters swum today: 2100
Kilometers swum in July: 7.7 of 40.2
Well, just when water couldn't get any wetter, along came "Swim For Distance Month" at Dallas Aquatic Masters. Yes, my swim team has "theme months." Not long ago we had a "breast stroke month" and I nearly deleted the announcement when it showed up in my mailbox, thinking it was some kind of porno spam. But anyway. The goal of Swim For Distance Month is to knock off 40.2 kilometers, or 25 miles for you Yankees, in a 31-day time span. Since I was gone from July 2 to July 8, I only get a 23-day time span. What this means is, instead of going to the pool four times a week, I'm going to be there every darn day, except some Sundays. (And, I gotta knock off a mile and a quarter each time, or I'll never make it.)
What do you get at the end? A cool t-shirt and a pat on the head. This prompted Joan to ask why I didn't just buy myself a t-shirt and spare myself the trouble. But anyway. This was my third day. If my arms don't fall off at the shoulders, I think I'll be fine.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Home again, home again...
Playing on the iPod: Something from Celtic Solstice by our buddy Paul Horn
Meters swum today: Zilch. I got home a little before midnight and getting up at five was Just Right Out.
I'm back in Dallas. Not much has changed, except the pile in my in-box has mysteriously grown, and gas costs 5 more cents a gallon. Not that I'm complaining: We paid $4.47 in San Diego. Wow. The cats are all right, the weather is good (some blow and bluster earlier but no rain, darnit) and apart from being almost totally out of food, everything's fine. Tomorrow I'm back in the pool. It's "Swim for Distance Month" and I have 17 more practice sessions to make it to 25 miles. Ya know, if I showed up on time, it might even be possible...
Could somebody please explain to me why the most relaxing part of our vacation was the flight home? While waiting at the airport I browsed through Mindbender, removing -ly adverbs from page 400 to 500 (my God, will this mad crazy merry-go-round existence ever end?) Joan read Time Magazine, which was doing a special issue about Mark Twain (in a previous life, she either was him, or she knew him, we aren't sure which). Joan was in a wheelchair owing to her injured leg, so we got to pre-board, and on the other end there was a wheelchair porter waiting to help us with Joan and her luggage. The flight was only half full (American Airlines is so going under; you heard it here first), I didn't need a seat belt extender (a first in recent memory!) and I fell asleep a little after takeoff. That's my idea of a perfect flying experience. Only hot chocolate could possibly have improved matters. But then I'd have needed the seat belt extender.
Seriously, I love my family and all that, and my parents like totally rock for not freaking out six ways to Sunday that I married a woman, and they paid for almost everything, which, again, is totally cool, but being on vacation with them just stresses me the hell out. I dunno if it's that regressing-to-fourteen-and-surly thing that sometimes happens when I hang around a gang of relatives, or if it's just that I'm a lot more laid back than certain hyperthyroid others, but honestly, at the end of the weekend I felt like I'd been breaking rocks on the freeway. (You gotta admit that anyone who has a nice time flying commercial is either way stressed, or delusional, and I may be both.)
So, anyway, it's good to be home. And married. Did I mention married? Heavens, I'm somebody's wife.
Meters swum today: Zilch. I got home a little before midnight and getting up at five was Just Right Out.
I'm back in Dallas. Not much has changed, except the pile in my in-box has mysteriously grown, and gas costs 5 more cents a gallon. Not that I'm complaining: We paid $4.47 in San Diego. Wow. The cats are all right, the weather is good (some blow and bluster earlier but no rain, darnit) and apart from being almost totally out of food, everything's fine. Tomorrow I'm back in the pool. It's "Swim for Distance Month" and I have 17 more practice sessions to make it to 25 miles. Ya know, if I showed up on time, it might even be possible...
Could somebody please explain to me why the most relaxing part of our vacation was the flight home? While waiting at the airport I browsed through Mindbender, removing -ly adverbs from page 400 to 500 (my God, will this mad crazy merry-go-round existence ever end?) Joan read Time Magazine, which was doing a special issue about Mark Twain (in a previous life, she either was him, or she knew him, we aren't sure which). Joan was in a wheelchair owing to her injured leg, so we got to pre-board, and on the other end there was a wheelchair porter waiting to help us with Joan and her luggage. The flight was only half full (American Airlines is so going under; you heard it here first), I didn't need a seat belt extender (a first in recent memory!) and I fell asleep a little after takeoff. That's my idea of a perfect flying experience. Only hot chocolate could possibly have improved matters. But then I'd have needed the seat belt extender.
Seriously, I love my family and all that, and my parents like totally rock for not freaking out six ways to Sunday that I married a woman, and they paid for almost everything, which, again, is totally cool, but being on vacation with them just stresses me the hell out. I dunno if it's that regressing-to-fourteen-and-surly thing that sometimes happens when I hang around a gang of relatives, or if it's just that I'm a lot more laid back than certain hyperthyroid others, but honestly, at the end of the weekend I felt like I'd been breaking rocks on the freeway. (You gotta admit that anyone who has a nice time flying commercial is either way stressed, or delusional, and I may be both.)
So, anyway, it's good to be home. And married. Did I mention married? Heavens, I'm somebody's wife.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Nuptials complete!
Playing in the background: The pool cleaner. We're hanging out at the honeymoon chateau in Escondido, CA.
Meters swum today: Hard to say. I was trying to stay in the shade.
Well, gang, Joan and I are legally married. It only took about ten minutes, which sure isn't a lot of time for the 12-year buildup. There were three other couples getting married while we were at the courthouse, two sets of ladies, a male Army officer (looking resplendent in his dress uniform) and his pretty female fiance (who looked about twelve, but then everyone under 30 looks about twelve to me). My folks were there, some of our friends watched on the Internet, I only cried a little bit and my sister was there via cell phone. Very cool. I was kind of unprepared for how this hit me. Course we've been married for years but it's still different now, kinda. Not sure I can explain further than that except that we are very happy...
SMOOCHIES!!!
Joan took a bad misstep outside a restaurant a couple of days ago and hurt her leg so she is limping around with a brace on. Nothing broken, fortunately, just a bad sprain, but bad enough we had to go to the emergency room, have it looked at and all that. So she's kind of out of commission which means no climbing Yosemite this year. I can't tell you how much that breaks my heart. We will be going to Balboa Park tomorrow, though, and I'll be scooting her around in a wheelchair. Not sure how well that's going to work. My sister will be there with her husband Mike, too, and we'll be scooting him around in a wheelchair (he broke his hip a few months back) so it'll be like Spouses on Wheels or something.
Back to the honeymoon. Later, kids.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Impending Nuptials (Take Two)
Playing on the iPod: Something from "Zen Breakfast"
Meters swum today: None. Little crisis with Joan falling and hurting her leg. Details to follow.
In case you missed it the first time, or even if you were there and you wanna see it made legal, Jen and Joan's Wedding: The Sequel will be broadcast "live" from the San Marcos Courthouse in northern San Diego County this Thursday, July 3 at about 4:30 pm Pacific time. Log in instructions follow:
http://arcc.co.san-diego.ca.us/services/wedding_on_web_static.aspx
Click on "San Marcos" on the right side of the book at a little before 4:30 and we should be there. You can also click on "Upcoming Weddings," below, to view the schedule. We would be "Condell & Jonsson," of course.
Thanks, California, for finally giving us a marriage license!
HUGS TO EVERYBODY!!!!
Love, Jen and Joan
Meters swum today: None. Little crisis with Joan falling and hurting her leg. Details to follow.
In case you missed it the first time, or even if you were there and you wanna see it made legal, Jen and Joan's Wedding: The Sequel will be broadcast "live" from the San Marcos Courthouse in northern San Diego County this Thursday, July 3 at about 4:30 pm Pacific time. Log in instructions follow:
http://arcc.co.san-diego.ca.us/services/wedding_on_web_static.aspx
Click on "San Marcos" on the right side of the book at a little before 4:30 and we should be there. You can also click on "Upcoming Weddings," below, to view the schedule. We would be "Condell & Jonsson," of course.
Thanks, California, for finally giving us a marriage license!
HUGS TO EVERYBODY!!!!
Love, Jen and Joan
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