Then again, any day you can walk away from is a good day. And I quite thankfully have.

It started on less than four hours’ sleep and a trip to an 8 AM doctor’s appointment. To discover the doctor wasn’t in, but was off having knee surgery (understandable, granted.) And [...]]]> So yesterday sure went in the tank.

Then again, any day you can walk away from is a good day. And I quite thankfully have.

It started on less than four hours’ sleep and a trip to an 8 AM doctor’s appointment. To discover the doctor wasn’t in, but was off having knee surgery (understandable, granted.) And despite what the receptionists claimed, of course no one called me. I did get a new appointment, which for a miracle wasn’t in the early (to me) morning. But still: a waste, and left me tired and on my back foot all day.

Out buying supplies at Wally World after a nap, my Dollar Store reading glasses, which made me look like Gordon Freeman, busted right across the nose-piece. At least these actually cost $1 – the last pair I got at a “dollar” store set me back $6, so adjust your BS meter on those “stupid customers asking the price at the dollar store” stories accordingly. Fortunately this was easily remedied: I went straightaway and found an $8 pair in a style I like better. Then again, the $1 pair, aside from causing me to look like a wannabe hipster – that may be one of the saddest phrases I’ve ever written – lasted like 3 weeks. So, not that bad a price.

As I got ready  to leave the Costco lot  later I noticed the battery light was on in the car.  Which is weird since I don’t recall seeing it before – even when the old battery was, you know, dying in July.  Shrugged it off, and anyway it went out when I drove home.

I came back out pretty promptly to take Emma Dog for a walk – didn’t want to decide I was too tired and snivel – and the car balked on starting.  This time the low-battery light stayed on a spell.  I suspected I might have trouble starting the car for the trip home.

Correctly, as it happened.

To my great credit, I did not obsess about as we walked – or even think about it much, much less worry.  Which is a huge change for me and represents an uptick in progress, I think.  Now, whether I should’ve thought of saying fuck it, leaving the car home, and walking Emma in the neighborhood … different issue.

It was a lovely late afternoon for a walk.  Must’ve been something really interesting pass through there last night:  not only did Emma spend an inordinate amount of time smelling certain spots, and was unusually avid to sniff (even for her), but two other dog owners made humorous remarks about how much their dogs were sniffing.

Saw the usual cranes and geese.  Oh my.

So, got back to the car, a bit after sunset, and … yep.  Dead.  Clearly low battery.  WTF? thought I. It’s a new damn battery.

But well and truly stuck were we, regardless. And in need of rescue. Kathy Kubica didn’t answer her phone.  Larry Hays did but was heading to aikido class and in no position to come help – fair enough, especially inasmuch as he’s helped me plenty already, many times.

James Wilson didn’t answer either.  But called me right back.  Oh, and did I mention my cell phone battery was low, too?

Anyway he agreed to come help.  He was at work, it turned out.  I told him where to find me, then to help him do so went and sat down on Candelaria and Greenwood (which is the street we turn down to go walk on Bear’s Ditch.)

He turned up, gave me a jump.  And while he did so I went for the trifecta:  my pocket LED flashlight totally died as I was illuminating our activities.  Off he went.  Off I went.

For … a while.  Then shit started going south in a hurry.

I noticed the battery light kept coming on.  When stopped at the light at Rio Grande Boulevard I put it in neutral and gunned the engine in hopes of charging the battery.

Then going north on RGB I noticed the dashboard lights were going dim.  So, I realized, were the headlights (and inferentially, the taillights.) By the time I turned on Griegos I was running completely dark.

It was dark; people kept helpfully flashing me to turn on my lights.  People, they were on.

And then, a few hundred yards short of the 12^th Street light, the fucker just died.  I coasted to a stop.  Tried pushing, but found that, while I could move the car, I couldn’t do that and steer. Problem.

Called James again.  Fortunately, he kindly agreed to turn around and come jump the car again.  I gave him directions.

Waited.  Waited.  Some power came back, which helped – enough to run the emergency flashers and lower the chance some escaped doorknob would rear-end us.  I sat in the car with Emma and eventually called again.  Yup, my (necessarily cursory) directions had got him lost.  But he claimed he was on Griegos by 6^th heading west.  Even claimed, after a moment, to see the traffic light at 12^th.

Apparently he did, because in fact he did arrive promptly.  Jumped me again.  Left the cars hooked for a bit to recharge the battery.  He explained the alternator must be shot and the car was running purely on battery power. Joy.

So after a brief alarum when I accidentally (and unnoticedly) disconnected the battery cable along with the jumpers, so that we had to go through the whole rigamarole again, we got going once more.  James had agreed to follow me home.  (I had long since promised to buy him dinner.)

Good he did follow.  Had to stop at the light at 12^th, where I revved the engine again, just in hopes – the low-battery light did go out.  For what that was worth.

Which was apparently nothing.  Guess where the car died on me again?

Yep:  at the light at motherfucking 4^th Street.

Now at least it was no longer rush hour.  That was the good news.  But it was still busy. Less good.

James offered to push and let me steer.  Fine.  I did have to dissuade him from going ahead and pushing me out into cross-traffic against a red light, which would have been … exciting.

So we got across.  Dumped it a few car lengths down, before the Bank of the Week there’s drive-through exit.  He went back and brought his car – while morons zipping around the corner from 4^th without looking almost plowed into me.  While we were thus happily engaged Kathy got back to me – her ringer had been off. Thanked her and told her I couldn’t talk right then. James finished jumping me for the third time, then backed into the car wash as I bolted for home.

Turned down 3^rd to get the fuck off Griegos at all costs.  Car started seriously dying before I reached Bellrose.  But I ran the stop sign there and at Jupiter (after looking first both times, just on the roll) and fucking went for it.  Tried gunning the engine just before I got home – wanted to park on the street; cars there – and got one last rumble of response.

Pulled into the fucking driveway and stopped just as the fucking car died again.  And threw up both arms in the touchdown sign!  Score!

James offered to take me with him to Twin Peaks for Victoria’s Secret Lingerie Night.  Tempted* – coulda bought him his well-earned dinner then – but too tired.  As I told Larry I was when he offered to pick me up around 10 for dinner (I let Kathy know I was fine; he texted me after aikido) after he had a preliminary dance class at Arthur Murray.  Which I’m glad I didn’t also sign up for.

So, well, fuck.  Marshall A Willis on FB said alternators were fairly easy to fix and I could probably find a friend to do it.  And I even have a friend in mind.

The alternative, as it were: I’ve been intending to buy a new (used) car soon, inasmuch as the Taurus is not really reliable.  Even before this.  Thus I am torn between repairing it or just pulling the trigger and going for the new car.  Which would however be a mighty pain – on a crash basis and without a, you know.  Car to drive around and look.  We shall see what turns up.

Whine, snivel, moan.

So, yeah, yesterday got away from me. Big time. It was a setback. But as setbacks go, no more than a pain in the ass, however large a one.

And anyway … nothing broke. (Well, other than my FREAKING CAR.) My friends came through for me once more, as my friends always do, and I try to do for them (thanks again, James!) Emma comported herself nobly, sitting calmly throughout the whole fandango, which was just what I needed her to do. I’m well. We’re all well.

As I reminded myself:  discouragement sucks and is counterproductive. And overall, Life is Good. Very good indeed.

Speaking of good – Emma conducted herself nobly throughout the whole adventure.  Granted, that consisted pretty wholly of sitting calmly and looking noble, at which she excels (though not the level of TJ Cat.) But still – better than hopping around and being a pain.  Emma is a Very Good Dog, indeed.

*That is, of course, the only reason I’d be tempted to go to anything called Victoria’s Secret Lingerie Night at a place called Twin Peaks.

HAHAHAHA! You’ve met me, right? As my friend Adam Brown likes to say.

One of these guys.

I stood and admired it for a while as Emma industriously [...]]]> So this evening a little before 7 I was walking Emma Dog back south along the ditch east of the Rio Grande Nature Center field. Sitting in splendid isolation on a limb maybe 25 feet up I saw a Cooper’s hawk.

One of these guys.

I stood and admired it for a while as Emma industriously sniffed the undergrowth beside the trail. The hawk ignored us, as it ignored the other passing (lesser) beings.

Then from nowhere a hummingbird appeared – a tiny one, even by hummer standards. No idea what it was (other than “slim” and “grey”); hummingbird identification is not my strong suit as a birder – I must have one, yes? – and anyway I understand the autumn hummer migration is on and it could be all kinds of the damned birds.

This tiny, tiny bird flew right up facing the hawk – from about twelve inches away.

For a moment they looked at each other. Then the itty bitty hummer flew a foot up along the branch, and then blithely on its way.

Truly, hummingbirds know no fear.

Also, they know perfectly well there’s no way a largish hawk like that could ever maneuver well enough to actually catch one of them.

It was one of those moment I really wished I had a camera. Unfortunately I busted the sweet little digital camera Rich Zellich and his wife Michelle Tenney most kindly sent me as a get-well present last year.

Ah, well.  Still one of those things that remind me to be grateful for being alive!

This need probably not surprise us, given my Big Writing Binge of recent history. Notwithstanding that I took all of yesterday off, doing even more nothing than I intended.

I’ve spent much of the last 14-15 months learning how to push my limits without seriously overstepping them. Seem to [...]]]> Nothin’ left in the tank today, that is.

This need probably not surprise us, given my Big Writing Binge of recent history. Notwithstanding that I took all of yesterday off, doing even more nothing than I intended.

I’ve spent much of the last 14-15 months learning how to push my limits without seriously overstepping them. Seem to have to have missed a bit on that last thing, this time through the obstacle course.

Ah, well. No big thing. It’s a learning process, and will continue. Presumably as long as I do. Life, after all, is yet another skill.

Nothing of huge moment to do today anyway. I do soon need to get the draft cleaned up enough to be seen, thus sent in, and add back some of those Parts I Cut Because I Feared The Book Would Run Too Long. But not today.

I do need to issue forth, to my dismay, for basic supplies – such as cashews, which given my low-starch/low-sugar dietary habits form a staple snack in lieu of things like chips.

Also, Emma Dog needs a walk, because she’s getting painfully bored and also lest she turn into a cheese. (Daddy got two miles in with her Uncle Joe last night, meaning he’s at reduced risk of fromagification*.)

Sadly, I need to hold off the kettlebell swings, at least for a while, since I’m getting some odd pain at the front of my left knee. Overhead presses seem OK … when I have, like, energy again.

Otherwise? Carp. No idea. Figure out what I want for dinner that will require minimal effort to get in my face (although I have already made a batch of starch-free psyllium-husk powder “pancakes.” They don’t suck!) Watch some movies. Maybe try to get myself to see something other than old MST3K episodes on Netflix Streaming. Although I do indeed love me some MST3K, especially when it’s Joel.

Tomorrow? That’s a whole new day.

Or so rumor has it.

*Totally a word. A word I just made up. I get to do that. I’m a professional.

Just got back from a Meetup BBQ up in the Foothills, right up on almost the last block before the National Forest begins and houses stop. Thanks to our lovely and excellent hostess Lindsay we had the perfect vantage point to watch the show: [...]]]> And white. And blue. Also green, gold, orange, and even sometimes purple.

Just got back from a Meetup BBQ up in the Foothills, right up on almost the last block before the National Forest begins and houses stop. Thanks to our lovely and excellent hostess Lindsay we had the perfect vantage point to watch the show: a south-facing second-floor townhome balcony.

Didn’t see any professional displays – if the Isotopes played at home tonight, the game hadn’t ended when the party broke up around 9:30. But there were plenty of volunteer fireworks to see. Mortars, rockets, the odd flare – a whole glorious, flickering, colorful panorama.

While it’s always cool to see (though not always cool to hear) the big fireworks going off nearby, what I found myself fascinated by was watching the aerials going off below us, against the backdrop of the shallow jewel-bowl of lights that’s nighttime Albuquerque. The gaudy little fire-flowers would bloom briefly, lights on lights, and disappear.

They looked like a volcanic display on the surface of an alien world. Or maybe discharges on the face of an alien star.

Driving home was surreal. Fireworks blossoming in the air on both sides of me, some quite close at hand. Some really loud blasts, too – a couple loud enough to give me a turn.

Of course, when I got home, somebody was way glad to seem me. Somebody who always is, but was even gladder than usual.

Emma: Dad! Where’d you go? Why were you gone so long? I’m all scared! There were ‘SPLOSIONS!

Indeed, though it’s coming on 11 PM, the show’s still rattling and cracking on out there. Occasionally I see a bright flash through the front curtains as I sit in my recliner in the living room writing this.

I’d love to be outside watching the wonderful display. I love it.

But somebody is lying up against my left foot, who hasn’t gone out to potty or even eat her long-deferred dinner. And she needs me to be here. Until things quiet down.

Hope you had a good one, everybody. I did.

What I can’t believe is that I blabbed about it.

(And yes, I know it’s not midnight here. Indulge me. If you read Wild Cards, you know I have no power over Sixties rock lyrics.)

Anyway, Emma Dog and I went to walk in one of our [...]]]> Yes, I admit it. I went there. I named my subconscious.

What I can’t believe is that I blabbed about it.

(And yes, I know it’s not midnight here. Indulge me. If you read Wild Cards, you know I have no power over Sixties rock lyrics.)

Anyway, Emma Dog and I went to walk in one of our favorite hangouts this evening, and I ran into local author and illustrator Betsy James (who apparently was a walking fool today.) She didn’t recognize me at first. You kind of have to get used to that when you drop 70+ pounds in a very short time. Also I was wearing my beloved New Mexico – Land of Enchantment painter’s cap, which I wear to walk and no place else, which I’m sure didn’t help.

Once she recognized me she told me she was glad to see me up and looking good after my illness. She also said my ears should burn frequently, because she’s been quoting me a lot. Naturally I pressed for details. She told me she’s been passing onto aspiring writers my advice to let go, let Leo.

In some surprise I asked where I’d blurted that out. She said it was on a panel at Bubonicon. I have vague memories of that; I seem to recall Walter Jon Williams was on it, too.

(And, no, it’s not too early to start pimping Bubonicon 42. It’s happening August 27-29, for carp’s sake!)

To the – hazy – extent of my recollection, I trotted out my concept of the writer’s trance. This is a state I enter when I’m totally focused on writing, and words flow freely. Rather to my surprise, not only did no one point at me and screech, “He’s mad, I tell you – mad!“, but everybody on the panel admitted to experiencing the same thing – when things were going well.

Thus emboldened I guess I saw fit to trot out my sometimes mantra, let go – let Leo. Meaning, I find it far more productive, rather than trying to force things, to cede them to my subconscious and just go. Which I guess also left a favorable impression.

As far as it goes, I consider it pretty good advice. I know that most of my actual creation does not come from my conscious, rational mind. I don’t reason my way to a good scene or bit of characterization. Whether the true creative elements originate in my subconscious, or the subconscious merely mediates, is another matter; I’ve come to believe, as I note a lot of other creators do, that creativity originates outside me entirely. That doesn’t actually matter: what does matter is how the writing and I both benefit when I, well, let go, let Leo.

I’m not ashamed of giving my subconscious a nickname. As I told my shrink this very afternoon, I’m a man who likes to give things names. What I found vaguely embarrassing, and unsettling, was to be reminded I’d actually told people my pet name for my subconscious.

In other news, Emma was distrustful of Betsy, which I fear slightly hurt Ms. James’s feelings. The fact is, unless Emma knows you well enough to  trust and approve of you, you’re automatically on her Watch List. And really, can a professional bodyguard take for granted that a pleasant, blameless lady half the principal’s size doesn’t constitute a threat?

Yes. Yes she can. But try telling Emma that.

Emma also amused me today by being, as she is, very particular about where she gets in the ditch to drink and wade. She’s a very smart girl, and I’m glad she’s so choosy: if I have to deadlift her chunky Lab ass back onto dry land I’m seriously going to feel as if I’m Julius Caesar and it’s the Ides of Stab.

As it was I almost sniveled on our walk when, a few feet into it I got hit with nasty chest pains. A very recent, and welcome, development is that my chest no longer hurts all the time. But when it does, it can really loosen the set-screws on the old knees.

But because I had trouble sleeping for several days, and hence was too tired to get out for a walk with Emma for two days in a row (slept much better last night, thank you for asking), I persevered. And I was glad, because a cloudy evening is a lovely time to walk in my North Valley. Even if we got rained on some.

Then again it wasn’t pissing down so much as God’s incontinence, so no biggie.

And welcome to the (real) first day of summer!