I could post a few dozen good pictures featuring the color and patterns of the sunset light on walls, doors, and shingles. And maybe we’ll return to this theme sometime in the future. But for today, here’s one photo of the porch columns in the sunset, and yes, the color is as true as I can remember it. The water you see beyond the house is Block Island Sound to the north.
Today it’s cloudy, both where I am and on the island. Tomorrow, they’re predicting snow. So it seems appropriate to post a sunset picture with lots of clouds in it. This one is from July, 2008.
This picture from December 1, 2008 looks like a clear view of the sunset sea beyond the sand dunes on the far side of Sachem Pond. But it isn’t. That’s a cloud bank, possibly part of a weather front, rolling in from the west as the sun was setting.
When I lived in Texas, I managed a group of twenty or so people developing and delivering custom and product software. In the group was a young woman whose work was brilliant–when she showed up. The problem with her performance was that her attendance was erratic, and sometimes when she did show up she was too sick to do much. This became enough of a problem that, as her manager, I had to have one of those discussions with her. The woman was brave–very brave–and decided to confide in me. She had, she said, been beaten by her husband. Sometimes it was so bad she couldn’t function because of the pain pills. And the pain. I don’t think it was just a story. She showed me the scabs, the bruises, and the scars. This was a woman who wore long sleeves and turtlenecks in the summer in Texas. I tried to help her find counseling and courage, but I don’t think I was very successful.
Later, after I no longer managed the group, she died. It was, they said, “a freak accident” involving a fall down a flight of stairs. I couldn’t go to the funeral because I couldn’t face her husband.
During the same period, I became acquainted with another young woman who worked in a different group in the same area. She was pretty, very young, and seemed very competent. I liked her much more than the degree of acquaintance would suggest. She died suddenly. I was told that it was “a freak accident” in the bathtub. I didn’t go to the funeral because I didn’t know her particularly well, but the loss always stuck with me.
It was maybe only last year that I put the two “freak accidents” together and began to wonder. Of course, I will never know.
The other day I read a plea from a victim of abuse who had been living in a shelter for a while and has finally qualified for housing for herself and her children. She writes under the name “Broken Dreams”. She has nothing and needs everything. I offered her whateverI could think that we have to give her, and she needs it all. And I want to find more.
This has all come back to me so hard. I can’t stop crying. This woman is so brave. Leaving an abusive relationship is one of the hardest things a woman may ever have to do. My heart goes out to her.
I found the following poem in a New York City subway car in 2007 with no attribution. I wonder how the poet is doing.
You are the man
you are my other country
And I find it hard going
You are the prickly pear
you are the sudden violent storm
The torrent to raise the river
To float the wounded doe
Winter has taken a firm and heavy grip on New England. It’s been snowing here in Boston for the last couple of days, sometimes mixed with rain. There are rain showers on the island. This seems a good time for a midsummer sunset picture. Here’s one from the summer solstice–to be enjoyed with a margarita in hand while sitting outside on the deck in the rose-scented June air.
Ah! Life is good!
My experience with cons is growing by leaps and bounds. Arisia is now the fourth con I’ve attended. (The others were Balticon in (guess where!) Baltimore, Readercon in Boston, and Worldcon–the granddaddy of all cons–a roaming con that in 2009 was in Montreal). They all have certain characteristics in common, but each definitely has its own flavor. Arisia is definitely the most crowded, and kept getting more so as the day turned into evening. This corridor was typical:
There were more sessions having to do with sexuality than I’ve seen before (“Swinging vs. Polyamory”, for example, or “Home Depot in the Bedroom”–a whole new way of looking at Home Depot). And ever so many sessions on diversity in SFF (or, presumably the general lack thereof and need for more). In Boston, I deduce, we are modern Victorians, politically correct on the surface and simmering between the sheets.
Best of all, there were more costumes per capita than I’ve seen before. And some of them were pretty amazing. I will confess to being disconcerted for a moment when I came across a very realistic (and charming) Frodo in the ladies room. But costumes have their perils, and so both the escalators and the glass elevators bore large signs:
You probably can’t read the hand lettering at the bottom of the last sign; someone thoughtfully added, “or kilt”. And in fact I’d say that far more kilts were in evidence than short skirts.
The sign just above “Watch your skirt” is an invitation to my friend Danielle Ackley-McPhail’s launch party Sunday night from 8 to midnight for her new book The Halfling’s Court. It’s a biker faery book (yes!). She did a reading from it today, and it was terrific! If you’re in Boston and like fantasy, check it out! It’s not an official con event, so I don’t think you’ll need a badge to get in. (But, hey, while you’re there, check out the con, too!)
Okay, today I am cheating. There–I’ve admitted it. If a person admits she is cheating, is it still cheating?
I am writing this post from Florida, where it has been unseasonably cold. It is still far less cold than the seasonable weather in New England, though, so I am not complaining. I’m actually quite cheerful about being here, where the days are bright enough for sunglasses, and the sun doesn’t set until about 5:30pm.
Here is a Florida picture (not Block Island!) from last Thursday at about 6pm. This picture was taken looking out over the intracoastal waterway from Lake Park, Florida.
Yes, the water really was that pink!
I am afraid of this post, but I have to do it. I have installed two widgets in my WordPress blog software, one of which is supposed to cross-post to my original LiveJournal blog, and the other of which is supposed to cross-post to my Facebook wall. But all this seems so complicated and so unlikely to me that it’s been sitting here in my computer (or wherever in the cloud such things sit), and I’ve been procrastinating trying it out.
NO MORE PROCRASTINATION!
Wherever, and in whatever form this post appears, please forgive me if it’s less interesting than most. With luck, it will be a milestone for me.
This started out as my friend’s friend’s best-ever recipe for a cosmopolitan. And it was a good enough cosmo, except that I’m not really a great fan of vodka.
“This might be better with rum,” I suggested.
But there was no rum in the house. It was, after all, a second home, and the liquor closet was only half stocked.
“Brandy?” I persisted. “Cognac? How about tequila?”
It turned out they had a surprisingly good tequila. Now, I am (she said modestly) a master of the true margarita. And thus was born Ginger’s cranberry margarita. The drink for which everyone was willing to abandon their cosmos.
—
Mix the following:
Stir. Check for balance. Pour into two margarita or martini or, hey, even wine glasses. Add ice to bring the liquid level to the top of the glass.
If you want to be fancy, decorate with a thin slice of lime on the glass.
Enjoy!
I’m going to stick with winter sunsets today. Even Florida is having its cold weather this week! But will it have sunsets this beautiful?
