Meta Watershed

PYA: CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

2009-12-04T22:21:00.001-06:00

HUBBLE THURSDAY 3 DECEMBER 2009

2009-12-03T00:05:00.000-06:00

(Nearby Galaxy Centaurus A)

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite, followed by poetry after the jump.

This reminds me a joke popular among my friends in the 70s:
Q: What's white and streaks across the sky?
A: The coming of the Lord.

DIAGNOSIS

by Sharon Olds

By the time I was six months old, she knew something
was wrong with me. I got looks on my face
she had not seen on any child
in the family, or the extended family,
or the neighborhood. My mother took me in
to the pediatrician with the kind hands,
a doctor with a name like a suit size for a wheel:
Hub Long. My mom did not tell him
what she thought in truth, that I was Possessed.
It was just these strange looks on my face—
he held me, and conversed with me,
chatting as one does with a baby, and my mother
said, She’s doing it now! Look!
She’s doing it now! and the doctor said,
What your daughter has
is called a sense
of humor. Ohhh, she said, and took me
back to the house where that sense would be tested
and found to be incurable.

PYA: CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

2009-12-02T00:06:00.003-06:00

PYA: CHAPTER THIRTY

2009-12-01T12:15:00.000-06:00

To begin reading this sci-fi novel or for background information, go to my Chapter One post here. To read about the background of the first novel, read my post here, which will also direct you to appendices.

For more detailed information, posted elsewhere on this blog are:

Pya Dictionary from Skenish to English (complete up to present chapter), with some cultural notes included
Pya Cast of Characters (complete up to present chapter)
Map of Pya with Description of Each Island
Map of Skene (but not Pya)
Map of Saya Island and Environs When Pyosz First Arrived
Skene Character Lineage at Start of Pya Novel
Skene, Chapter One (With Cultural Notes in Links)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Pyosz wrote hasty notes to go with the packets of photographs she sent home. Uli and Dodd were both at the jichang, and Pyosz persuaded Dodd to make her goodbyes early, leaving the new lovers a few minutes of privacy before parting. Qoj's eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

"C'mon, s'bemma, take me to breakfast at the cafe and help me put these stacks of pictures into a good order for my album." Uli and Qoj both hugged her gratefully, and Maar whispered "Save next Roke after dinner for me."

Over their eggs and rice in onion broth, Dodd asked Pyosz "Is she in love? Can you tell?"

"I cannot, s'bemma, and likely they aren't sure either, which makes it all the harder, I guess" said Pyosz. "If they are, wouldn't that be good news? Wouldn't that mean Qoj moving back home?"

"She needs to finish her education and pursue the best options for her career wherever that is" said Dodd a little primly. She sprinkled vis into her bowl, then added "Truthfully, I'm just not sure Uli will stand by her, not in the long run. You know what I mean, you sized her up and decided you could do better."

Pyosz was going to protest this as an unfair comparison, but Dodd went on in a softer tone. "Briel thinks Qoj may be as fickle as Uli, says I can't see it. I'm feeling pressure from a lot of angles and probably squeezing Qoj without meaning to. I'm ready for grandchildren, I'd like to cut back on my job so I could write music more, and I feel guilty every day about not living close enough to my emmas to look after them. It's going to fall too much on Prl, especially when you add in Lawa and Qala. I should clean up my own conflict, I suppose, before I demand anything similar of Qoj."

Pyosz felt instantly stricken, as if she too were letting down her abbas and emma. She took note of the fact that Dodd wasn't factoring in her own twin or Speranz, who lived with the abbas, as real support for their elder years. Dodd glanced at her acutely and said "Well, I suppose we should have Uli over to dinner one night this week. You're starting renovations on Saya, right? Tomorrow?"

"This afternoon" corrected Pyosz. "We have to be ready for the geothermal installer who'll be returning with the huolon on San. Which means Tu and Pank will be busier than spring beetles as well this week."

"And the first big rice harvest is next week. You should see if Klosa can set aside some good waders for you right now, by the time of harvest all that's left are stinky or leaky pairs" advised Dodd.

After they ate, Dodd walked with Pyosz to Klosa's, where they rented bib waders, Pyosz bought two more kitchen chairs and finalized delivery of her new aga on Ot. Klosa told her she had a line on a kiln that had been used for enameling in an engine factory. "'Thing is, it's large, maybe bigger than you need" she said. They talked it over, calling in Mrebbe from her shop nexy door to discuss dimensions, and Pyosz decided to take the kiln. She added it to the Ot delivery.

She made trips to the allotment center and Gitta's before heading home to make enough food to keep Mrebbe happy. When she found out that two members of Mrebbe's timmer crew were building the short bridge between Saya and Herne plus Tu and Pank's geothermal shed, she offered to feed all of them as well, saving the commute to Koldok's cafe. In exchange. Pank supplied sausage and ham for meals, Tu did dishes, and they paid for construction of a high goat-proof gate on Saya's end of the bridge. Extra hands were easily available when needed, and although Pyosz never had a free moment, she paced herself by her elderly cousins and enjoyed every hour of labor.

During dinner on Iki, with folks still at her table making short work of pies, Pyosz answered the radio to hear Thleen say loudly "Will you send me some of your jam that won a ribbon? And lemon curd? But not the hot sauce, it's too hot for me." They talked about Mchele Fair until a stern voice in the background -- must be one of the emmas -- told her it was bedtime, get off the radio. Thleen handed it off to Maar, whom Pyosz thought sounded a little tense.

"Listen, buddy, I wanted to let you know there's going to be another passenger on the flight home" she said in a lowered voice.

"You mean beside the geothermal installer? Oh, the folks who are moving to Kacang -- "

"No" Maar interrupted. "Sey. With all her wordly possessions."

Pyosz wasn't sure what to say. She didn't seem to care much. "I guess that'll be an uncomfortable seven hours for you, huh."

"Yeah, well the trip here was pretty grim, with Qoj weeping in the back seat" said Maar. "Anyhow, I wanted to give you a heads-up, in case you were coming to meet the flight or something."

Which I don't usually do thought Pyosz, puzzled. "Okay. Well, morrie vaseo, I should go, I have dinner guests."

"Who? Is it Uli?"

"No, Tu and Pank, Mrebbe --"

"Oh, right, how's the renovation going?"

"Great, you won't believe how good it looks. Are you sleeping at your family's Manage?"

"Haven't been asked. Well, I'll let you go, say hi to everybody for me, see you soon."

After she clicked off, Tu looked at her quizzically. Pyosz synopsized "Thleen requests jam and Maar wanted to warn me Sey is coming back on this flight to move here." She saw Mrebbe's eyes flash interest. Well, all Koldok is going to gossip about it anyhow she thought. "I guess Sey got the job. Woulda been nice if Mill or Ollow had told me,"

Pank said "She won't come near you." Pyosz thought she could detect a vague menace in her tone and was touched.

"I agree, but I'm not worried, actually. Is that milk jug empty? I'll go refill it."

Late San afternoon, Pyosz heard the deep rumble of the huolon overhead and stopped to look, squinting into the sun, but it was at an angle where the pilots could not see her so she did not wave: she certainly didn't want Sey to think she was welcoming her. She was trying hard to finish the last of the trenches she'd been digging all day, snaking from the newly finished geothermal shed to her barn, cabin, kitchen, well house, and chicken coop. In the trenches would go power lines from the new geo-powered generator -- unlimited power, no matter what weather they had -- plus for the aga a direct pipe carrying volcanic heat.

Her about-to-be-retired stove currently baked bread and cinnamon rolls for tomorrow, a rolled pork roast and zucchini/tomato casserole for tonight, simmering chicken and vegetables for the pot pies she'd offer for lunch tomorrow while she was between stove and aga, and steaming maxas for tomorrow's breakfast. Plus one pot of apple butter, because the apples couldn't wait another day. She'd been digging, cooking, or responding to Mrebbe's calls for help all day without a break, and after milking and a final shared meal, she'd still have a late night of last minute work. She longed for a soak in the hot springs, but there was no way to squeeze it in. At least they'd had three days of full sun and her solar power had held up against the extra demands on it. Maybe there'll be enough hot water for a quick shower before bed she thought.

Mrebbe was currently on her back under that bed, framing the hole they'd cut in the side of her cabin earlier to insert the vent and feed for her new radiator which would ensure warm nights from here on. Mrebbe had remarked even with the unlimited radiator, she could use some interior walls with insulation, but Pyosz said her budget didn't extend to that right now.

Pank and Tu ambled into view, trailed by the two timmers who had completed the bridge, built three sheds, and helped level ground for the massive greenhouse to be started next week. Pyosz looked at the setting sun and gave up on completing the final ten feet of trench right now. She stretched her back and said "Dinner's ready, as is everything else for tomorrow. If you'll pull it all out and set the table, I'll join you when I can."

Pank, already at the stove, said "These rolls for tonight?"

"One each. But the main dessert is rice pudding with currants, chilled in the coldbox." She scrubbed her hands and face at the sink in the barn before prepping for milking and going to meet her goats.

When she returned to the kitchen with a fresh pitcher of milk, the chickens and katts had been fed and put indoors, the last stretch of trench had been dug, and Maar was at the table. "Mail and packages from the abbas are on your bed" she grinned.

Pyosz's fatigue melted away. "How are the abbas?" she asked, accepting the plate Tu handed her.

"Thleen and I went for dinner there last night, along with your emma, and the five elders got into an argument about which cabbage was best to plant for the coming winter that became acrimonious. I thought Nan Bux was going to cry. I have no idea why they were so worked up" said Maar.

Tu leaned forward. "Which variety was Lawa advocating? And Halling?" she asked urgently.

"Don't tell her" advised Pank. Tu stuck her tongue out at her.

"Other big news which hasn't reached the papers yet is that someone had submitted a proposal for the next vote that Isola Fling be converted back from cropland into Manages for at least two families. With Pya wheat yields ever increasing, Skene thinks it needs room for population expansion more than the grain field." Maar looked very pleased to be passing on this development, and was gratified by Mrebbe's long whistle.

Pyosz said "I hate missing what my family had to say about this. Especially Yoj."

"Yeah, it was pretty interesting, all about how some problematic values still had not shifted, and the unspoken drive to try to keep more votes in Skene than in Pya, balance of power, that sort of thing" said Maar easily. Pyosz guessed that was as much detail as Maar would divulge in front of non-family.

Changing the subject, Maar said "Sey had booked in advance the only spare room at Koldok bucky, so Schlih the geothermal expert is having to bunk for the night in the Lofthall dorm. She's dour on a good day, but when I left, she was seething."

All the timmers laughed loudly. "She's good at what she does, but not as special as she thinks she is" said Mrebbe.

"What about the family taking Kacang?" asked Tu.

"Only two of the emmas came, Aleri and Nezi, to do a week's work and return to Skene until the whole family moves after midwinter. They have cousins in Dudor and will commute from there" said Maar.

"I'm meeting them on Kacang tomorrow" said Mrebbe. "They pay well but I'll miss the food here more." The other timmers rumbled agreement.

Maar stayed behind when the others left after dinner, saying "I have the day off tomorrow, I want to spend it helping on Saya and Herne. Right now, my aching bones could use your hot springs, you up for that?"

Pyosz raced through her mental list. "I have to roll dough and bake the pies, that can't wait. And I was going to do a cold water laundry, because I'm that low on clean milk rags, but -- "

"I'll do the laundry, you fill the pies, and we can go to the springs while they bake" suggested Maar.

It wasn't until Pyosz was in bed, muscles rejuvenated, body clean, that she realized she hadn't once thought to ask what Sey had been like; nor had Maar offered the information.

The following morning, a quartet appeared on the trail from Pyosz's dock: Maar, Pank, Tu. and a short, scowling woman who looked at the outdoor kitchen with disbelief. Her outrage at the skinflint barbarism of these Pya clients persisted, barely in check, until her first bite of hot, flaky cinnamon roll. When she had downed a crab-and-cheese maxa, interspersed with bites of apple-butter-glazed Mti bacon, she ventured a rusty smile and said "You manage all this without an aga?"

"Wait'll you see what's for lunch" said Maar. "Listen, can I look at the configuration you've got on that rock laser in your toolbox?"

Schlih's face slid into deep suspicion. She said coldly "Why should a pilot be interested in that?"

Pyosz bristled, but Maar answered easily "I'm the pilot who's in charge of our mezi ray as well as doing most of our rock excavating. It's part of my job description."

Pank set another cinnamon roll on Schlih's plate, though Pyosz wanted to drive her from the table at the moment. Schlih took a bite before answering "You can come with me into the hole, if you want. See how I do it." Which even Pyosz had to admit was a major concession.

Tu said "We don't want to be pushy, but we figure you ought to start on Herne. Because the owl will be less rousable earlier in the day."

"Owl?" said Schlih, her voice going high. Pyosz hid her smile.

"Yeah, that huge walnut is our owl nest and it's less than six meters from the geo shed" explained Tu. She said to Pyosz "We've only had one glimpse of her, she's nowhere near as big as yours, at least not yet."

Schlih had stopped eating. Heretofore her work on Pya had not involved owl-infested zones. it appeared. Funny reaction from someone who sometimes has to venture into caverns crawling with shu thought Pyosz.

"The owl on this end of Saya has the biggest wingspan we know of, 11 feet" said Pank. "At least, those of us not from Chwet."

"It landed right here on this table in the dark, right next to Pyosz, her first week here" said Maar. Pyosz suspected Maar was subtly exacting revenge for the crack about pilots.

"But her tree is north of the chicken house, we won't be in her territory at all today" assured Pyosz. She said to Tu "You think your owl could be one of mine's babies all grown up?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if yours was the emma and abba for all the forest owls in this range of the Pea Pods, including the other end of Saya and over on Teppe" mused Tu. "I don't know as much about the rock owls, although with all the caverns we've got around here, there's probably more of them." They began discussing the Owl People demonstration at Mchele Fair, which Pyosz could tell was making Schlih's skin crawl. To PYA she shouted inside her head.

As they were drinking the last of their tea, the sound of a sinner approached. "My aga and kiln!" cried Pyosz, leaping to her feet. Maar said to Tu "You all can go on to Herne, I'll help her here and we'll be over later." The three headed for the kissing gate as Maar stepped out to the area south of the kitchen, cap and scarf wrapped around her head, to signal lowering of the sinner's pallet. Pyosz watched for a minute, then busied herself with dishes.

An hour later, the aga was in place though not yet connected, the kiln was installed, and the old stove was in the pallet. Even with the use of the pallet's side crane and two special handcarts, Maar had scraped the flesh from her knuckles and Pyosz had sprained an ankle fitting the aga into the barely-wide-enough space left by Mrebbe's construction. They rested with cold tea and Pyosz's stream of consciousness ideas about what she wanted to make from Saya clay. After dressing Maar's scrapes with Lawa's ointment and supervising pickup of the pallet, they walked slowly, Pyosz limping, to the gate at the new bridge linking Saya to Herne.

Killer and a few kids were at the gate, and they turned to greet the humans expectantly. More ominous was Molars' presence, with fresh toothmarks around the latch and hinges. "She doesn't give up, does she?" said Maar as Pyosz tried to drive Molars away from the gate.

"Well, once Pank has her huge hogs roaming free on Herne, I imagine all the goats will suddenly think this barrier is an excellent idea" said Pyosz. "I don't know if their world view includes the notion of other livestock. Except for Killer, of course, who has now seen it all."

The aga was not quite hot enough to make dinner by nightfall, but Pyosz roasted kahe and balik on the grill, along with fresh corn and other tillage vegetables, and there were three kinds of pie. Mill, Oby, and Api joined them for dinner, Api signing off on the renovations with a flourish. Pyosz emptied her coin stash to pay Schlih, but the warmth in her cabin when went in to feed the katts was reward enough.

Before they all left, Pyosz turned to Maar and said "I understand the anniversary of your official entry into the Lofthall was yesterday. You're due another service bracelet, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't get to the jeweler in Skene this time, I was offered work shifts -- " Her voice trailed off when Pyosz pulled a wrapped box from a kitchen drawer. Her eyes filled with tears as Pyosz, with unaccountably trembling hands, fastened the delicate links of Chloddia silver around her ankle.

"To Pya! To Skene!" cried Mill, and they all joined in, even Schlih. Pyosz took a photo to send Thleen. That night, after a long shower with unlimited hot water and a naked dash into a toasty cabin, she called Prl, waking her deliberately, to burble on about how happy she was. Prl listened with a bittersweet heart. Pyosz okayed the purchase of a wheel Lawa had found for her, accepting the temporary loan of its price and shipping from Prl until she could earn it from future labor, and after clicking off she whispered to her katts "I'm going to be a keramiker. Not just a capriste and baker, orchardist and beekeeper. I'm all of my ancestors distilled into one woman."

Curds gave her a look as if to remind her that such arrogance and ambition was not in keeping with Skene humility, but Ember snuggled closer, perhaps believing Pyosz was the magical source of the cabin's new comfort.

When Pyosz woke up, the sky was emptying itself onto Pya. She thanked the rain for holding off this long, then immediately had a pang for how wretched it would be for those working on Kacang today. She held out a cherry-almond pie from her delivery to Gitta, and as she was approaching the cafe, she ran into Maar in uniform under her burzaka.

"No sinning today?" she asked.

"Maybe this afternoon. Want company for breakfast?"

"Actually, I was going to get a large thermos of hot tea to take to Kacang, along with a pie, but yeah, I could eat something" said Pyosz, holding the door open for Maar. Who got only partway inside before stopping still.

"Move over, it's dripping on me" complained Pyosz, shoving past Maar. Then she, too, saw the occupants of the corner table: Sey and Uli, in laughing conversation. Pyosz walked woodenly on to the counter and shed her burzaka before claiming a stool. Maar joined her, whispering "I don't think they saw us come in."

Pyosz said to the counter person "Maple rice cakes, poached eggs with runny centers, kelp and onion balls, and tomato juice" before she turned and walked determinedly to the corner. "Hello, Sey, welcome to Pya" she produced in a perfectly friendly tone. Uli almost dropped her mug of tea, but Sey gazed at Pyosz eagerly and said "You -- you look really different. Good. I mean, you always looked good.." She trailed off, thick-tongued.

"Thanks. I'm sure I'll see you around. Hi, Uli, I'll be sure to let Qoj know I ran into you in my next letter to her. Have a good day, you two." She walked confidently back to the counter, noting most of the cafe had gone silent. A Redtop sighting with special points she thought to herself. Maar bumped her shoulder in muted jubilation and said "If Dodd walks by the window and spots them, she pry a brick from the sidewalk and heave it through the glass."

"What can Uli be thinking?" hissed Pyosz.

"Oh, it's just automatic with her" said Maar, confirming Pyosz's worst fears. "But don't be too disgusted, I think underneath it all she longs for more than the game. I think she actually wants connection and security. Hang onto her friendship, some of us just take a while to clean things up." Which made Pyosz turn and look right into Maar's eyes, inches away, for a long moment where Pyosz forgot about the scrutiny of the corner table or the rest of the cafe.

By the time they finished their meal, Uli and Sey were long gone. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle and Maar returned to the Lofthall while Pyosz rode the new ferry out to Kacang. Api was there, under a temporary canvas canopy, and introduced her to the future immigrants, Aleri and Nezi. When Mrebbe spotted her, she yelled out "You bring food?", drawing forth the other timmer and Schlih. Twenty minutes later, Pyosz returned to the ferry with an empty pie tin and thermos.

Tu and Pank, working through the mud on Herne, joined her for lunch and dinner, as well as a mid-afternoon hot springs soak once lightning risk had passed. Maar landed a lighter at the jichang while Pyosz was milking, putting a bucket of clams near the aga for the next day and making the salad dressing for supper. As Pank and Tu took the ferry back to Koldok to stay at Dodd's, Maar and Pyosz buckled into the lighter.

They flew directly away from the long-set sun, over Dvareka in an arc toward the southern tip of Chwet. Maar took them the length of Chwet, entirely dark aside from the handful of lights at its inhabited end.

"Owl paradise" said Pyosz. "And I guess squirrel too, despite the owls."

"We all eat other living things and know there are things that want to eat us" said Maar. She made a sharp bank to the right, climbing at an angle, and Pyosz realized why when she looked out the window and saw they were barely clearing the treetops of Nec.

"Waves and ripples, Maar, is this forest planted on a peak?" she asked.

"Nope. Those older trees are over 100 meters tall" said Maar. "We'll go for a picnic some Sju when I'm not working. It's like nothing else on Skene." She kept flying west, leaving Pya behind. At first there was morrie strati below, visible from the light of a half-full Delma already in the zenith, but it didn't look as vibrantly red as the morrie strati on either side. It soon gave way to deep-looking ocean that was dark green, Pyosz thought, rather than a shade of blue.

As if reading her thoughts, Maar said "We don't sin in these waters. For one thing, no fish migration goes through here, but the reason for our avoidance as well as theirs is what's being churned up out of Jiang Giant land by that." She pointed directly ahead, where the kale green water morphed to turquoise, then magenta, then a bubbling ring of crimson.

Pyosz breathed out in awe. "That looks much larger than the cone off Yanja" she said as Maar began a bank to circumnavigate the emerging volcano, with the best view out Pyosz's window.

"It is" affirmed Maar. "The water here is several hundred feet deeper, so it must be massive to have reached the surface at all. They think this is what's causing all the seismic activity on Tetama. And, of course, if it frankly blows instead if the creep upward it's doing now, the resultant tsunami will wipe out Pya. Probably Skene, too."

"What a terrifying thought" said Maar, taking photographs.

"One I have every week as I fly out here to dump our cast-off toxics right into its open mouth" said Maar grimly. "You have no idea how sweet it is after that solo run to land on Arta and walk toward singing, laughter, the smell of food."

Pyosz became aware of almost tangible intimacy in the small cabin. "I have something to confess to you" she said impulsively. Maar focused on their heading, straightening back toward Pya, before warily asking "What?"

"All this time...ever since I got here, until last week when Ngall set me straight...I've thought that you and Abbo were lovers. Still lovers, I mean."

Maar gave her a swift, incredulous glance before bursting into crazed laughter. For a minute, Pyosz wondered if she should take the stick, except their flight was stable and she hadn't the foggiest notion of how to operate a plane. Maar finally wiped her face with her scarf and said "Well, that explains a great deal."

"You're not upset with me for being so obtuse?" asked Pyosz.

"Your version of obtuse brings a thrill to my existence" said Maar, blushing instantly. After an awkward moment, she began talking about plate tectonics, and Pyosz gladly followed the change in topic. They said goodbye at the jichang: Maar would be leaving the following morning for Skene.

"I don't have a letter for Thleen -- wait there, I'll be right back." Pyosz hurtled into the dark and returned with a cheese box filled with jars of jam, curd, and honey. "Give her this, and if you have a chance to call me, I'd love to talk with her" said Pyosz breathlessly.

"I'll miss you all on Shmonah" said Maar.

"Go spend it with my abbas instead, in my name" urged Pyosz.

Maar hesitated, then said "I want you to know, I've not had a lover in over six months and I'm not going to -- I'm not looking." The small orange light from the lighter instrument panel made her hair look even more fiery than usual.

After a long pause, Pyosz whispered "Carynn bye" and kissed Maar's cheek lightly before stepping back so the hatch could swing shut. She waved her off before going to make instant tea from the always-simmering aga cistern.

copyright 2009 Maggie Jochild

LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUNDUP 1 DECEMBER 2009

2009-12-01T00:05:00.001-06:00

Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.

PYA: CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

2009-11-28T13:07:00.000-06:00

To begin reading this sci-fi novel or for background information, go to my Chapter One post here. To read about the background of the first novel, read my post here, which will also direct you to appendices.

For more detailed information, posted elsewhere on this blog are:

Pya Dictionary from Skenish to English (complete up to present chapter), with some cultural notes included
Pya Cast of Characters (complete up to present chapter)
Map of Pya with Description of Each Island
Map of Skene (but not Pya)
Map of Saya Island and Environs When Pyosz First Arrived
Skene Character Lineage at Start of Pya Novel
Skene, Chapter One (With Cultural Notes in Links)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

As they circled for landing at the Koldok jichang, Pyosz saw Dodd standing at the path from the schoolhouse. Qoj was first out the door, and it wasn't until Qoj broke into a trot that Pyosz realized Uli was next to Dodd. She grinned to herself and heard Maar chuckle.

Pyosz unpacked her own bags into a cart, then threw herself into helping Abbo and Maar unload the huolon. After a moment, so did Dodd, then Uli and Qoj. Abbo was running the forklift and Maar the hatch crane, but there was still much the extra hands could do. When all was stowed in the warehouse, the huolon tied down, Abbo said "I'm grabbing a cup of porridge and hot shower before going back to sleep."

"I'll be there soon" said Maar, and Pyosz reminded herself there was no longer any reason to be jealous. Maar said to the others "I'll definitely be at Pank's play tonight, if you get there first will you save me a seat?"

"Yes" said Dodd. She hadn't combed her beard this morning, and Pyosz thought she looked uncharacteristically grumpy. Dodd said to Pyosz "Pank and Tu are at rehearsal right now, but they wanted me to tell you everything's in good shape on Saya. They've moved into our Manage for the rest of Mchele Fair. I'd like to hear from you how Halling, how all my emmas are doing." The insider's take, she means thought Pyosz.

Qoj jumped in to say "Let's all go to the cafe and eat whatever meal it is!" Her eyes were wide and happy, her face turned toward Uli. Dodd replied sternly "First we have to stop in at the clinic so your aggie can say hello, I promised her."

"Of course, and then the cafe" said Qoj easily. But Maar shook her head regretfully: "I have to bake for several days' worth of my commitment to Gitta. I have to shop for a few supplies before that, and I need to check on Saya for myself. Then I have to milk and rush back to make the plays tonight, I'm not even going to manage a nap today."

Dodd looked very disappointed. She nudged Maar, who added "Me neither, I'm afraid. I actually have to work, we all do, this afternoon. For the rest of the fair, we'll be on 14-hour shifts with 2-hour breaks here and there. So I'm following Abbo's lead. But I'll walk you to the clinic." She put a hand on the cart to help push.

Qoj and Uli talked quietly between themselves as Pyosz gave Dodd the account she wanted while they walked through Koldok. At the clinic, Maar said she'd continue on with Pyosz to the djostiker's -- "Moving my body will help me sleep," Maar didn't take her leave there, however, but accompanied Pyosz also to Gitta's where the three of them conferred on bridies and single-serving pastries that would sell best at Mchele Fair. Maar helped Pyosz load her bags and crates into the ferry, where empty milk cans were already lined up.

Looking across the water, Maar said "I swear I can see Ember waiting for you at the top of the trail."

"I felt bad about leaving her" confessed Pyosz. "I was worried she'd think I was gone for good, like Ferk."

Maar's face went serious, as she said quietly "What will you do with her when you return to Skene, then?"

Pyosz felt a jolt. "I told her I'm her person from here on out, so she'll go with me wherever I live." She and Maar gazed at each other. Maar said "I'm glad she has you that way."

Pyosz didn't know what to do with herself. She saw a glint of crumbs at the corner of Maar's mouth and leaned toward her as she gently brushed them away with her thumb, saying "Lemon cookies --"

But Maar flinched backward from her touch. Their immediate "I'm sorry" tumbled across each other. With an awkward laugh, Maar said "I really do have to go rest."

"I'll see you later" said Pyosz as normally as she could muster. She castigated herself all the way across the kuono, but when Ember rushed to the end of the dock, yowling piteously, Pyosz focused all her attention back on her Saya life.

She took enough time to comb out the katts, with much reassurance, and to go call hello over the kissing gate, though most of the goats ignored her. Then she began moving at a rapid, proficient clip, making dough, stewing fillings for bridies and tarts, and briefly transplanting the Motu lilac starts into a compost-filled hole in full sun near the non-goat side of the kissing gate. She ate a bridie in gulps while running to do a quick fruit harvest from the orchard -- even with Tu and Pank's diligence, on these long summer days picking needed to be done every day or waste was inevitable.

She hurriedly hung her new silks and stacked the rest of her bags on her trunk for later unpacking, saving out a new pale yellow shati with chocolate linen kalsongers to wear to the play. She did a rough wash at her sink after milking, throwing a new burzaka over her attire as she literally galloped her wain toward the dock. Dusk had closed in, and Ember's face had been tormented when Pyosz shut the cabin door. Once on the ferry, however, she caught her breath, checked to make sure she'd remembered her camera, and cheerfully accepted the help of two passersby to transfer crates from ferry to cart. The grocery was closed but Gitta was waiting on her and exclaimed happily about the quantity Pyosz piled on her counters.

"I'll freeze some, and it'll get us through the rest of the Fair" said Gitta.

"Pay me later" said Pyosz from the door, "and I'll get my crates over the weekend." She sprinted for the schoolhouse, and had to apologize her way through standing-room-only throngs in the entryway. The first play was halfway through, and in dark Pyosz couldn't see anyone in her family, nor did she want to disrupt the audience's rapt attention by searching. She tucked into a wall sconce and gave herself over to watching. As soon as applause began, she pushed out into the eddy of humanity and almost immediately heard Frahe calling her name.

Her family was at the front but on the far side, minus Nk who was backstage helping her emmas. There was no visible seat for her. However, as she reached them, Qoj stood and sat back down in Uli's lap with a wicked grin which was a perfect inverse of Dodd's scowl. Pyosz slid into the vacated seat with "Thank you for your sacrifice, cousin", which made Briel giggle. Pyosz stood again briefly to shuck her burzaka, far too hot for indoors. Maar whistled and leaned around Oby to say "Great shati."

"The color of Saya cream" said Pyosz happily. She fumbled her camera out of her bag as there came a thud and an oath from behind the stage curtain.

"Did you get a chance to eat?" asked Maar, leaning over Oby again.

"No, but maybe at the next intermission" began Pyosz before Oby said "Here, Maar, just switch seats with me." Maar pulled a lentil burger and bottle of lemonade from her own pack, and Pyosz had gobbled most of it down before Pank's play started.

Pyosz found herself laughing through tears by the final scene. She could hardly believe how good Pank was in it, and the minimalist scenery was quite effective. Pank had landed the role of romantic lead and carried it off quite dashingly -- except for the instant where she had to bend over her sobbing enamorata and there was a distinct report of breaking wind which blasted into either wing, followed immediately by audience hysterics. Tu later complained it was this indiscretion which kept their performance from winning the black ribbon. The whole family stayed through the other two plays so they could be present for the award ceremony, and they cheered riotously when Pank and Tu's troupe won green.

Api, Ollow, Mill, Oby and Abbo left after that, but the rest stayed to help strike sets -- the stage would be needed the next day for other events. Giddy with tiredness, Pyosz said yes to Tu's suggestion they all retire to the Lofthall canteen for tea and catching up. After Maar dozed off sitting up, she was banished to her bunk down the hall, but the rest kept chatting, Dodd determinedly asking Uli questions, which Pyosz decided was mostly to keep her and Qoj from slipping off alone. Well, my cousin will leave her emmas behind tomorrow, I'm sure of it thought Pyosz. In fact, when the rest finally walked her to her ferry, Uli and Qoj melted away into the growing fog.

Somehow she remembered to set her alarm, and she fell instantly into slumber despite Curds and Ember wanting to complain to her about how strangers had invaded their bed for several nights. Getting up came too soon, but she was happy to get her body back into the satisfaction of milking. She donned another new shati -- this one a gauzy print of red cuttlefish amid green kelp -- and left her clean milk cans in the ferry to have breakfast at Dodd and Briel's before setting out with her family to experience this particular Roku, the "market of all markets". She collected her earnings from Gitta first, and had to return to Dodd's house twice to stash her purchases, mostly the finest of Pya's handicrafts which she intended as gifts for her family.

Stalls spilled out of Koldok and lined the road all the way to Pertama and the fairgrounds, with only a narrow lane left in the middle for buses which ran back and forth nonstop. Qoj was hand in hand with Uli, and Tu had whispered to Pyosz that she'd not come home the night before. By 10:30, Pyosz felt headachy from sunlight, dust, and spectacle. When Nk said "Let's grab lunch from a stall and go claim early seats for the shearing competition", Pyosz was glad for the chance to sit down under a tree on a quilt. She kept wishing Maar were with them, or at least not having to fly all over Pya on endless hauls and shuttles.

At one point Tu confessed to her "We took one jar of every sauce and jam you make, and entered them in the culinary competitions under your name," Pyosz gaped at her, and Pank added "Plus that pie you left for us in your coldbox. Folks was expecting to see a pie by you in the line-up."

By 1:30, Pyosz felt tapped out. She said "I have to nap before milking or I'll never last through the kickball game tonight. I'll see you all at the bleachers." As she threaded her way through the stall by the Lofthall, she heard Maar call her name and made her way to the front of the Lofthall.

"If you want to join the others, I can tell you where to find them" said Pyosz. "You have a couple of hours off, right?"

"Well, longer, because one of the rushers on the Koldok kickball team fell out of a tree this morning and broke her arm" said Maar. "They've asked me to fill in for her, and Mill's given me the afternoon to rest up."

"I didn't know you were on the team" remarked Pyosz.

"Haven't been for a few months, kept missing practice" grinned Maar. "But I guess I'll do in a pinch. Abbo is steamed they asked me and not her, especially since she's having to work extra now. Where are you headed?"

Pyosz told her, amid great yawns, and Maar said "You can save yourself ten minutes by dossing down in my bunk if you want. The dorm area is under quiet orders right now, with so many of us sleeping odd hours." Pyosz stared at her, and Maar said with red cheeks "I'll take Abbo's bunk, she won't mind."

Pyosz was filled with the desire to see where Maar spent her nights and she nodded instantly. Maar, her face still flaming, led her silently through the side hall and down the aisle between rows of bunks separated by canvas walls. In the corner, these walls had been shifted to make a small room holding two metal cots which faced each other. One side of this room was littered with dirty laundry, a few mugs left on the floor, and the sheets on the unmade bed were not quite clean. To Pyosz's relief, the other half, clearly Maar's from all the photos of Thleen, was spotless and tidy. Maar sat down on Abbo’s bunk, pushing a disarticulated newspaper onto the floor, and began wearily tugging off her otos.

Pyosz felt suddenly shy. She removed her shati with her back to Maar and folded it neatly over the foot of the cot. Maar stood again to close a curtain against the light and she mutely handed Pyosz a soft old shati from her clothes chest. By the time Pyosz had changed and pulled back the blue-and-yellow coverlet on Maar's bed, Maar was prone and seemed to already be asleep. Pyosz listened to her breathing, smelling the lemony scent on Maar's non-Lofthall linens, and studying the hundreds of photos overlapping every inch of the wall next to where Maar slept.

She didn't remember dropping off. It was Abbo who woke them a few hours later, jerking back the curtain and snorting loudly when she saw them. Pyosz was unpertubed, feeling rested and contented to a degree she could hardly explain. She dressed slowly, alternately watching Maar assemble her kickball gear and taking in the three photos of herself pinned in among the ode to Thleen.

Ember met her at the dock again, trying to make sense of Pyosz's comings and goings. Clouds were rolling in, and Pyosz willed rain to delay until midnight. Even so, she wore her cap and burzaka when she returned to Dvareka for the game. Her family had a seat for her this time, and after getting another meal from the food stalls, she settled in between Tu and Mill as Mill rattled on about Koldok's chances against the brutes of Cogio. "At least we have Maar in there, she knows how to throw an elbow and put a scare into 'em." Pyosz smiled serenely and shared her candied orange slices with Tu.

Her serenity lasted throughout the raging fervor of the extremely close game. Koldok lost by one point, with Maar scoring two goals and bloodying the nose of the most hated Cogio player. Pyosz took all the photos she could, knowing the professional thrill they would give Thleen -- especially, she suspected, the one of the Cogio player bent over with gushing nose. Afterward they went to Dodd and Briel's house for tea while Briel treated Maar's scrapes and bruises. Mill and Oby asked Dodd to accompany them as they walked Pyosz to her ferry and Maar to the Lofthall, since post-game rowdies were still out and about.

Pyosz remembered as a child hearing her emma complain to Qala in the kitchen "Dodd was always our first choice for a game or company or being on your side, we all felt that way about her, but Ndege and I were the only ones who made sure it went both ways, that Dodd got back from us as much as she offered. And now that Ndege has given up on anything except keeping Gerra safely confined to Sigrist Poke, why did Dodd let herself be tricked into going to Pya to help out Mill?"

Pyosz hadn't been able to hear Qala's quiet answer. Now, though, she'd guess it had been something along the lines that Dodd had gone to Pya to help out Dodd, not Mill. And Briel, of course, who did more than anyone in their family to keep Dodd feeling treasured and in balance. She briefly wondered if Qoj was going to sleep in Uli's bed again tonight; from how they'd looked this evening, swollen and distracted, she'd guess yes. Her mind suddenly reminded her YOU slept in Maar's bed today, and she suppressed a laugh. She fell asleep reliving the smell of Maar's pillow.

The following noon at awards ceremonies Pyosz won a green ribbon for her apple-cheese pie with hazelnut meal crust, and pink ribbons for her lemon curd, ginger fish sauce, and blackberry jam. Maar insisted she pin all the second and third place ribbons to her shoulders, and Tu said "This is before you've had time to age your vinegars or develop your orchard, just wait until next year." Which dimmed the smiles on both Maar and Pyosz.

The final award was for the crop or confection "which best symbolizes Pya this year", and Pyosz was stunned when it was given to her shamsjooz sauce. Dodd pushed her up the steps to accept the glossy black ribbon. As Pyosz rejoined her family, Gitta called out to her "Our prices just went up!"

Pyosz celebrated by riding the zip line set up on the fairgrounds, her ribbons flapping wildly, otos clamped together and her high screams causing half the crowd to look her way. Maar met her at the bottom with an exuberant hug before leaving for another work shift. "Save your first dance for me tonight, I'm already bruised from the kickball game" she whispered in Pyosz's ear.

Pyosz took at least one turn on every carnival ride with her younger cousins, and cheered on Pank at the axe-throwing pitch. She left at the last possible minute to get back to Saya before dusk, feeding her out of sorts katts before milking. She took a long hot shower and lay down for an hour's nap before rising to pick her hair, dress in the rich old blue silks, tuck her silver zaoxue into her pack for dancing, and make a quick cheese sandwich for eating on the dark ferry.

This dance was being held in a Pertama factory which smelled of wax and resin, but the floors were expansive and smooth. Two stages had been set up for the band competition. Pyosz refused to take off her burzaka, even after she had on her zaoxue, until Maar was there. Her unveiling caused the sensation she wanted. Dodd fingered the silk and said "I know where this is from", Mill said "You look so much like emma", and Maar couldn't seem to find words at all. Dodd's band wasn't playing for the first set but she was obsessively tuning her fiddle, so Pyosz handed her camera to Briel and led Maar onto the floor as the first bars of music began -- a fast waltz, thank the stars.

Her memory wasn't perfect and she hadn't enough practice, but still after 30 seconds the difference in Pyosz was so profound that Maar came to a halt briefly and said "Are those silks enchanted? I mean, what happened?"

"My abbas" said Pyosz cryptically, coaxing Maar back into motion. She was a little crazy with triumph at the end, and accepted every dance request extended to her, making Maar compete heavily for turns. However, when the first two bands exited the stage and Cawl Ffa began setting up, Pyosz sat down next to Maar, breathing heavily and draining a cold glass of tea. "I don't want to miss the anthem or the dawn chorus, and since they have a limited set, I'm going to sit and listen as much as I can. Is there a pitcher of this tea, or -- "

"That was mine" said Maar. "Save my chair and I'll go get us a pitcher."

"And food!" Pyosz called after her. "I'm ravenous."

Maar returned with a platter of fish-stuffed noodle wraps, onion fritters, and apricots just as Dodd strode to the front of the stage and sang

I embrace this good green earth
Rising safe I am this hour

Pyosz sprang to her feet, and at the end her shout "To Pya!" was thunderous. But so was everyone else's. She ate steadily through the next song, then wiped her mouth and asked Maar to teach her how to do the following tarantella. During the dawn chorus, she contributed the bleats of both Stutter and Nips. Cawl Ffa concluded their set with "Oak Grove", Dodd giving a brief history beforehand, and during the final bout of appause, many of the dancers were weeping. Pyosz whispered to Maar "They've won it, those bagpipers from Pirinc might as well go home right now.'

"Except there's nothing like pipes for doing the leaping step I want to teach you next" said Maar.

By the time Pyosz waved goodbye to her family from the ferry, her silks crusty from sweat, her feet aching in a pleasant way, Dodd had a black ribbon tied into her beard and Abbo was talking to Mill about how hard could it be to learn to play bagpipes, really, you didn't have to start young.

Pyosz went right back to bed the next morning after milking, since Kolm and the rest of Pya would be sleeping in. When she got up at 10:00, she called Killer out from the pasture and let her gambol around the kitchen during breakfast, stopping often to pull the kid away from nibbling clematis, climbing on the table, or eating toast from the counter. "I'm sorry we've only had the one chance to practice" Pyosz told her as she put on the leather harness so Killer could get used to it. "I'll be with you every instant, and all the new people you're going to meet will adore you, keep that in your little goat thoughts." She filled a leather bag with cracked corn and tied it to the waist of her black broeks, donned a short-sleeved fuzzy black shati, and used an old feed sack to carry Killer's props out of sight as she led Killer on a tether to the ferry.

Killer said an adamant no to the idea of being lowered into the ferry. Finally Pyosz tied a scarf around Killer's eyes and swiftly slid down the ladder with her, engaging the lever forward before removing the scarf. Killer bleated at the top of her lungs, pressed hard against Pyosz's thigh, and when they reached Koldok wharf, Killer nimbly evaded a second blindfolding. Eventually Pyosz called up to the wharf for help, and she was relieved when Poth's face peered down at her.

"I’ve got a recalcitrant goatling here" said Pyosz.

"Bit of an oxymoron, that" remarked Poth. "What are you doing with her?"

"Taking her to Mchele Fair" grinned Pyosz. "I need to hand her up to you, if you can assure me you won't drop her no matter how she struggles."

"I know how to keep a grip on animals" said Poth, bending down. She was as good as her word. Killer emptied her bowels onto Pyosz's shoulders as she was swung into Poth's arms, but it was mostly pellets. Pyosz brushed them away and said "I guess I asked for that" as she handed her other bags to Poth and scrambled up the ladder.

"Good thing you're wearing black" observed Poth. "I’m guessing this is part of the Saya Island contigent listed in the parade line-up?"

"You guess right" answered Pyosz, taking back the tether from Poth and patting the goat's head with a loud "GOOD little Killer", startling an onlooker.

"I'll make sure my little ones come visit" said Poth. "They seldom see goats."

Indeed, Killer caused a sensation as Pyosz coaxed her along the road to the fairgrounds. At first she balked whenever anyone besides Pyosz was near, and Pyosz used corn as a bribe for each step. But Killer loved to be petted, and once she realized all these strangers wanted most of all to to rub her velvety ears, she trotted along confidently toward each new human form.

Killer panicked again when they reached the parade assembly area and were directed into a holding pen that held sheep, pigs, geese and turkeys meant to be part of various contingents. Pyosz didn't think she could vouch for the good will of the other animals, some of whom were agitated, so she sat on the railing and held Killer tethered close outside, where only human contact could reach her. Pyosz was gratified to see Killer slowly calm down and her curiosity take over. "You're as clever as I thought you were" Pyosz told her.

She hadn't spotted anyone from her family but she knew they would be watching and could imagine their surprise. The flock of turkeys which belonged in the Pabo contingent were rounded up amid a cacophony of shrill bird cry that almost unnerved Pyosz herself. She bent over to wrap her arms around Killer's neck and said "At least it's just you and me, hmm, not a crazed herd of your kinfolk. Ready to put on your hat? No, it's for wearing, not for lunch. Here, you can mouth my red cap once or twice, yummy salty wool, eh. Okay, now remember this? It simply rolls behind you but is no threat at all, remember?"

A few people nearby stopped to watch and laugh. The contigent after Pabo had called themselves the Pya Oceans Reclamation Society, whose acronym was a slang term for erect nipples. This turned out to be a group of teenagers who had transferred an old sailboat to bicycle wheels. As they glided by Pyosz and Killer through the gates into the parade ground, a hue went up: Every child in the stands is going to want a ride on this boat thought Pyosz. Change is surely afoot.

Between the Erect Nipples and Saya was a band which turned out to be the Pirinc bagpipers. As their skirl and drone launched an almost visible wall of sound in the small zone behind the gate, Killer screamed in alarm and Pyosz wrapped around her, filling her palm with corn and her voice with reassurance. "You're handling impossibilites very adroitly, because you're the one and only Killer, yes you are."

Then they were being waved on by a grinning parade monitor. "Okay, Killer, let's go find the barn" said Pyosz, standing and giving a tiny tug at the tether. On Killer's head was a baby's chinstrap cap which had been dyed the same color as Pyosz's famous Redtop. Her leather harness was attached to a child's wagon painted marine orange, a goat wain. Killer followed Pyosz out of sheer nervousness -- the wain didn't rumble much here on the sandy parade ground, and Pyosz's hand was packed full of corn.

As they emerged through the gate and came into view of the bleachers, however, the delighted roar stopped Killer cold. Ignoring the cries of "I claim ten points for a double sighting!", Pyosz went to her knees beside Killer and murmured into her ear "Just noise, like the wind, but I'm your capriste, I'll always keep you safe." She slid a wedge of dried apple from her pocket, which overrode all of Killer's other senses. Pyosz stood again and Killer followed her easily, aware of more apple in that same pocket. But Pyosz heard one or two voices nearby saying "She talks to them and they understand, her I swear."

By the end of the parade route, Killer was enjoying herself again. Pyosz led them to the loudspeaker, where she said "I'm the Saya capriste and this brave kid is Killer, but don’t let her name put you off, she wants nothing more than to cuddle with people. Especially children." From every corner of the bleachers, Pyosz heard small high voices begin importuning "Emma -- " She let Killer bleat into the mic and announced they'd be in the dispersal zone next to the end gate, if anybody wanted to make friends with Killer. She barely had time to unbuckle the wain from Killer before they were surrounded by children.

Maar found her quickly, laughing wildly and bestowing a kiss on Killer's redtop as she said "Children all over Pya are going to refuse roast kid in the future."

"Okay with us, isn't it, Killer?" answered Pyosz. "Please tell me somebody got photographs."

"Dodd was on it" said Maar, squatting beside Pyosz. They watched the remainder of the parade together. One of the last contigents caused a stir when it was announced as "Some Denizens of Chwet." Maar said to Pyosz "The Owl People never been in the parade before", her eyebrows raised.

A leather-garbed figure emerged from the far gate and ran nimbly to the end of the parade ground. As she came within range, she clanked slightly, and Pyosz realized she had full-length vambraces of metal under each leather sleeve. She was unusually tall and muscular, and her hat seemed to made of squirrel, with a long furry tail hanging down the back that Pyosz wanted to take home as a toy for her katts.

The woman from Chwet turned and solemnly faced the distant entry gate. As it swung open, the bleachers went so silent Pyosz could suddenly hear Killer's chewing. A second leather-clad Chwetian stepped out with a massive owl on her shoulders -- not as big as my owl thought Pyosz, but seven foot wingspan, at least. "Lev" swore Maar under her breath, leaning toward Pyosz. Emmas swiftly swung children up into their arms.

The owl was swiveling her head from side to side in a seemingly impossible radius. The woman near Pyosz lifted her squirrel cap from her head and waved it at arm's length, twitching the tail in a tantalizing manner. Pyosz saw the owl's vision lock in on the motion and her squat feathery body hunched a little. Pyosz wondered how long her talons were, and guessed the armor underneath those Chwat garments was steel rather than copper or aluminum.

With no obvious effort, the owl was abruptly airborne, swooping with unbelievable speed in their direction. Killer at last spotted the source of all the tension around her. She froze like a statue, without appearing to even breathe. With one motion, Pyosz and Maar pulled the kid between them, and Pyosz could feel trembling, though she wasn't sure of its source. A second later, the owl landed on the outstretched arm of the woman nearby, with a grunt from the woman and an odd clicking sound from the owl. She was shredding the cap between one talon and her wicked beak. The woman pulled a strand of meat from a pocket and gave it to the owl, making similar clicking sounds with her beakless mouth. The Chwetian at the far end gave an elaborate bow, and the stands exploded into relieved applause. Women and owl departed with a wide berth around them, and Pyosz heard Maar give a long ragged breath.

Pyosz thought nothing could top this demonstration of what must be going on during the night hours on Chwet -- wait til the abbas hear this story she thought. However, after a short lull, Dodd and the bodhrán player from Cawl Ffa stepped out of the far gate, playing a lively reel. Dodd was still wearing the black ribbon, and her pu and jirekinu were of dazzling silver brocade with a green thread which brought out her eyes.

Behind them rose up a quintet of eerie masked figures, ten feet off the ground, moving with slow grace in time to the music. Pyosz could tell which were Pank and Tu by their leg and back muscles. Their arms were as elongated as their legs, thin sleeved appendages culminating in four-digited hands with claws that the stiltwalkers could lever open and closed. They were reaching into the stands, swiping at children who shrieked in terror and hid beneath benches.

The last ten feet, Pyosz saw Pank zero in on her. She squared her shoulders and whispered to Maar "Look after Killer." Maar covered Killer's eyes with her hands. Pank pivoted in a spiral and ululated from beneath her mask as her open claw closed on Pyosz's head. Pyosz heard one child begin crying. At the last minute, Pank deftly snatched the red cap from Pyosz's head and broke into a loopy victory dance. Pyosz sat back flat on her ass, laughing with everyone else.

The stiltwalkers exited and a phalanx of various band members, all carrying rainsticks, formed inside the entry gate. "This is it" Maar whispered to Pyosz. Killer decided to sit down in Pyosz's lap. The rainsticks began moving in unison, creating crashing and ebbing waves of sound. The far gate swung open, and Pyosz felt her dreads stand on end. A massive dark green lobster with purple spines and legs scuttled forward, easily as big as a Manage. The 11 puppeteers it took to move the lobster were dressed in ocean blue covered with ripples, and almost immediately faded from view: The lobster really seemed to be alive and on its own.

Any child which had toughed out the last two contingents now decided an emma shield was necessary. Even teenagers were alert. The lobster's progress was slow and horrific. Pyosz stood and lifted Killer, asking Maar to bring the wain. They climbed to the second tier of bleachers to watch the end of the parade, the lobster prowling off to find easier prey.

The family found each other by clustering around Pank and Tu's easily-sighted forms above the crowd. Dodd and Briel invited everyone back to their house for a barbecue. Pyosz said "I'll be there, but I need to somehow persuade Killer back onto the ferry home, she's been pushed as far as she should today."

Maar said "I have to run shuttles all over Pya for the next couple of hours, I'll give you two a lift if you'll save me a plate for later." Pyosz accepted, and helped clean Killer's vomit from the sinner floor before Maar left for other runs. Killer scampered into the pasture with an air of self-importance, and Pyosz called after her "They're never going to believe you."

At Dodd's they all took turns talking to family on Skene, recounting hilarious detail, as lobster and corn roasted on the grill. Qoj and Uli seemed to be squabbling, which Briel whispered to Pyosz was simply the stress of Qoj having to leave the next day. Pyosz looked at Qoj with deep empathy. She resolved to get her photos developed first thing the following morning, so she could send copies back with Maar to show Thleen.

Pyosz waited to eat until Maar had joined them. They dipped their food into butter mixed with black-ribbon shamsjooz sauce, and Pyosz murmured "Next year, Killer will be an old hand at the parade." Maar looked at her with wistful brown eyes but said nothing.

copyright 2009 Maggie Jochild

THANKSGIVING JOURNAL

2009-11-26T10:49:00.001-06:00

(Buttermilk pie)

it was a tough night because i was thirsty and i'd run out of all bottled water, juice, or even soda near my bed. bad planning. i'd been up and around the house earlier, pushed to my limit, and the idea of repeating a foray to hydrate seemed too much to bear. (try to get upright with major joint issues, wearing an abdominal binder and not using any abdominal muscles -- it's an olympic event.) i tried telling myself it was about self-love, but even that didn't work.

dry-mouthed, i began watching a pbs docu about the mamas and the papas, and got engrossed in spite of myself. i was struck by michelle philllips' mature appraisal of her strengths and weaknesses, and her unstinting affection for mama cass -- she called her "huge" with a humor that had no tinge of fat phobia. she deftly put paid to the "choked on a sandwich" canard about cass, and outlined the reasons why cass would have gone on to be a superstar had she lived.

(Mama Cass, Mary Travers and Joni Mitchell singing "I Shall Be Released", 1969)

i intended to watch the independent lens docu which followed called objectified, about design, made by the folks who made the excellent "helvetica", but I fell asleep. when i woke up four hours later, i had the will finally to get up and bring liquid back to my nest. i took my hydrocodone for the day, recklessly not saving it for a pain crisis -- i think it will be okay today. i plan to have human conversation, excellent food, and do some writing. it's a day off.

i couldn't eat my threadgill's chicken-fried steak last night; my capacity and appetite are very diminished, and i begin meals with what my body is most craving, which last night was tomatoes and cornbread. this morning after i was hydrated, the cold meat sounded appealing, so i had it for breakfast while watching the start of the parades on TV. to my surprise, dinah offered to share the meal with me. she typically is skeptical about humin fud but she remarked that any dish containing the names of TWO meats was worth a look-see. she approved. still couldn't finish it so will save the rest, although with the other food here, something will probably get thrown out before being eaten. i do have a slice of buttermilk pie (my all-time favorite) which WILL be eaten.

quick question: is anybody else around my age who DOESN'T have joint problems starting to have serious difficulty loosening bottle caps and jar lids?

aside from cass's soaring voice, what else is intruding into my thoughts is the PBS episode of "secrets of the dead" yesterday about the terrorist attacks on mumbai a year ago. i had mixed thoughts about trying to watch it, but now i can't recommend it highly enough. two different set of survivors, married couples, one of whom (an elderly turkish pair) went through unspeakable slaughter which splattered all around them, gave riveting firsthand accounts which ended, eventually, with a version of compassion for the ignorant, terrified young men who were controlled by a remote terror network into becoming tools of murder and suicide. it was so damned good to hear a detailed, NON-American take on terrorism. catch it if you can, and be ready to grieve in a productive manner.

i'm experimenting with a shareware program that will cartoonize and/or make line drawings of photographs. the one i'm trying for free, photo to cartoon, is adequate but i suspect i could eventually make use of a lot more bells and whistles. anyone out there have recommendations to make? i'm not a skilled graphics person and i use PCs, so those are limits to keep in mind. also it must be either free or low-cost; i'll definitely use it for blogging but i can't justify high expenditure for this, all the same.

okay, it's 10 a.m., i'm going to eat the pie now. my daughter worked for amy's ice cream when she was a teenager, and their employee T-shirt was the first place i saw the adage "life is uncertain. eat dessert first."

i'm past the point of dying young and leaving a beautiful memory. i'm planning for happy, meaningful old age instead. that's new, folk. time to turn off this idiotic parade, eat pie, and untie my brain.

(Maggie and mother Mary Jo in passport photo to India, 1956 -- cartoonized by Maggie)

[Cross-posted at Meta Watershed and Group News Blog]

LOLCATS ROUND-UP THANKSGIVING 2009

2009-11-26T00:06:00.002-06:00

Here's a special edition of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. Before the jump, however, are a few LOLMaggies, my own attempts at captioning photos. Have a good one, y'all.

HUBBLE THURSDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-26T00:05:00.002-06:00

(Eagle Nebula, M16, Pillar Detail, Portion of Top)

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite, followed by poetry after the jump.

XI.

by Wendell Berry

Though he was ill and in pain,
in disobedience to the instruction he
would have received if he had asked,
the old man got up from his bed,
dressed, and went to the barn.
The bare branches of winter had emerged
through the last leaf-colors of fall,
the loveliest of all, browns and yellows
delicate and nameless in the gray light
and the sifting rain. He put feed
in the troughs for eighteen ewe lambs,
sent the dog for them, and she
brought them. They came eager
to their feed, and he who felt
their hunger was by their feeding
eased. From no place in the time
of present places, within no boundary
nameable in human thought,
they had gathered once again,
the shepherd, his sheep, and his dog
with all the known and the unknown
round about to the heavens' limit.
Was this his stubbornness or bravado?
No. Only an ordinary act
of profoundest intimacy in a day
that might have been better. Still
the world persisted in its beauty,
he in his gratitude, and for this
he had most earnestly prayed.

DINAH'S SURVIVAL TIPS

2009-11-25T12:43:00.000-06:00

[Note from Maggie: I translated these from LOLspeak because I had pity on you.]

1. The putting on of pants is time to panic. Hide her keys. And glasses.
2. All rustling plastic could be a Whiskr Likns bag being opened.
3. Chinese takeout has hot peppers mining the meat -- FAIL.
4. Best time to ask for attention is when Maggie is compiling her weekly round-up of LOLCats for her blog.
5. If Maggie suddenly says "God fucking DAMMIT", immediately go to closet for long nap.
6. Cripples are easy to outrun.

UPDATE

2009-11-24T02:29:00.000-06:00

(Sappho, painting by Charles Mengin, 1877 -- hat-tip to Ian at Dykes To Watch Out For for this image)

Thanks those of you keeping tabs and wondering at my silence. It's pretty tough right now: Extreme physical weakness and no nursing help, intermittent diarrhea, and not eating enough -- no real appetite plus making a meal leaves me exhausted. In addition, to get around the hit-or-miss wifi on my bedroom netbook, Barbara brought me a router which I couldn't get set up right for 24 hours, bumping me offline (which some of you noticed).

Good news is the wifi is now working and throbbingly strong, your donations continue to arrive, my incision is clean and tightly knit, Thanksgiving is not a holiday where I miss my family, and Dinah's devotion is striking. So I push on. Facebook is a fun diversion at the moment, as is the early release of Westward IV. I'll write more now that I can get through reliably. Love and cornbread stuffing to y'all.

LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUNDUP 24 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-24T02:03:00.001-06:00

Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.

HUBBLE THURSDAY 19 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-18T23:45:00.000-06:00

Ancient, White Dwarf Stars in the Milky Way Galaxy

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite.

IMPACT

by Chrystos

I wish I could give you the moment when
Eagle came back into view trailing Crows with the sun dancing
on the water near the very still meadow then you'd know
even one more building anywhere in america or the world
is too many

LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUNDUP 17 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-17T00:05:00.001-06:00

Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.

HUBBLE THURSDAY 12 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-12T00:05:00.002-06:00

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite.

NO DIRECTION HOME

by Charles Wright

After a certain age, there's no one left to turn to.
You've got to find Eurydice on your own,
you've got
To find the small crack
between here and everywhere else all by yourself.

How could it be otherwise?
Everyone's gone away, the houses are all empty,
And overcast starts to fill the sky like soiled insulation.

FOCUS, TRINITY

2009-11-10T09:48:00.000-06:00

(Bill David Barnett, age 2.5, and Maggie, age 5, trailer park in Pecos, Texas, summer 1961)

Today my little brother Bill would have turned 51.

Which means he's been dead almost 9 years. Can't quite understand that.

He was waiting for health insurance to kick in at his new job: We'd watched how medical costs had starved our family when we were kids. So instead of being saddled with a "pre-existing condition", he lay down alone on that green-and-white striped couch and watched TV as a heart attack rolled on into cardiac tamponade and he bled out into his chest.

Universal health care for every human being, no questions asked, without profit linked to medical choices. Now. Get rid of any leader who caves, no matter what other distractions they toss up. The alternative is ongoing pointless death.

[Cross-posted at Group News Blog.]

LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUNDUP 10 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-10T00:05:00.043-06:00

Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.

GINNY BATES, BOOK TWO: HOME MOVIES

2009-11-09T13:40:00.002-06:00

Here's a new scene from my Great American Lesbian Novel (first draft), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.

Early Winter 2021

Another holiday season without Chris was perversely harder on Myra and Allie than the first yartzeit had been. Myra said it was because it was becoming normal to never hear Chris's voice; even Lucia seldom asked about her any more. She said death was a fucked way to organize the universe and she could have plotted it much better on her crappiest writing day.

Allie just went silent. She began coming over after breakfast every day, sitting at Myra's second worktable to read Chris's journals in the original as Booray created an annotated index. She filled sketchblocks with partial scenes and minimalist renderings of Chris that were quite unlike her usual rich detail but even more haunting for their swift precision. Mrya and Ginny talked privately about Edwina's distance from the project, which seemed indirectly imposed by Allie. Myra asked Allie one day if things were okay between her and Edwina.

Allie's eyes were flat as she answered "What do you mean, okay? We not fighting."

"But are you talking with her about what all is going on inside you? Cause you're pretty much not with me" said Myra.

"I don't know how to put in it words. Except I wasn't ready to be without Chris, and I'm still not" said Allie. "And from here on out, the ante goes up to unthinkable stakes, and I can't leave the table."

"Wasn't it Luisah Teish who first said 'What don't kill us makes us stronger'?" ventured Myra.

Allie's smile was acid. "She fulla shit on that one. Being gutshot a slow but certain end."

Myra went cold. She put her hand on Allie's. "Are you saying you're gutshot?"

"Not yet" said Allie.

After a long silence, Myra said "Change is sometimes veined with hope and joy. What Margie and Frances are bringing us this spring -- "

"I know" said Allie. "I'm counting on it."

After that, Myra's grief shifted into worry about Allie. That is, until her former lover Mimosa died suddenly from an aneurysm and Kate Bean was diagnosed with Stage III colon cancer. Myra and Ginny flew to San Francisco for Mimosa's funeral the second week in January, and the day after their return, Myra sat in a waiting room with Kate's son Rafe and the sister who was one of Myra's more hostile exes as much of Kate's intestines were removed.

"I don't understand it" Rafe kept saying, "She's the healthiest eater I ever met."

Bodies offer possibility, not justice Myra thought to herself.

The next week, Beebo began peeing on Jane's carpeting in odd corners. The vet said his kidneys were in trouble and every morning Myra walked over to coax a dropper of a new medication down his throat. She whispered to him "You tell me when this isn't okay any more, I'll listen and help everybody else hear it too." He purred and eventually began eating the expensive canned food they switched him to. Myra bought flats of it to stack in their storage room and put all their cats on it as well.

The day before Ginny's 65th birthday, Ginny was painting upstairs while Allie was in Myra's study. Myra baked a cake made mostly of almond flour and bright orange organic egg yolks. She drizzled it with honey, and was pressing halves of succulent dates onto the sticky top when the phone rang.

Five minutes later, she emerged from the elevator and sat down woodenly in Ginny's work chair. Ginny hadn't registered her arrival. Myra looked at the pots of pigments -- heavy on the greens, this one, but that was no clue as to subject matter, not with Ginny -- before saying expressionlessly "Myra's dead."

Ginny didn't respond. Myra said in her cutting-through-the-fog voice "Gin!" When Ginny looked at her, Myra fancied she could see faint swirls of green among the blue smudges in Ginny's eyes. "Myra has died" Myra said.

Ginny looked confused. Allie's voice came from the doorway: "You ex, Myra?"

Myra gazed at her own palms. "Yes. Heart attack yesterday. She was my age, you know."

"Son of a bitch" said Allie as she came to Myra. After two beats of hesitation, Ginny wiped the painstaking accumulation of color on her palette knife into a rag and came to embrace Myra as well.

"Bad year to be one of my exes" said Myra distantly. "Maybe I should send out a warning, time for a check-up, y'all."

Allie laughed, which brought a little color to Myra's face.

"Her memorial service is Sunday" she said. She and Ginny had planned to spend the weekend at the coast, but Ginny swiftly said "I'll go with you, of course."

"No" said Myra slowly. "I'd rather not." She met Allie's eyes and said "Will you finish the cake on the counter and put it away? I think I'll go call Nancy in the bedroom."

Three weeks later a package arrived for Myra. It had been put together by the 40-something tattoo artist who had been Myra Two's lover for a year, and contained yellowing photos, a few copies of Myra's books which she had not given Myra Two, and a roll of Super 8 film.

Myra looked through the photos sadly. "My god, we were so young" she said.

"Who is this in the liplock with Myra Two?" asked Ginny.

Myra glanced at it. "No idea. I guess the new girlfriend thinks all fat dykes in Dickies are identical."

"What's the movie of?" daid Ginny, picking up the yellow box.

"Probably of a march or demo, Myra used to take her camera to events where she hoped we'd get into it with the pigs" said Myra, leafing through her old poetry volumes, hoping for a comment in Myra Two's handwriting, but there was nothing, not even underlining. Ginny had found a faint ink notation on the side of the box: "August 5th -- that's your birthday, is this a movie of some birthday party? We need to get this copied into a format where we can watch it!" she said with growing excitement.

"I think Gillam has a Super 8 projector, actually" said Myra distractedly. She'd found writing on the back flyleaf of one book, but it was some other woman's phone number. Suddenly she looked at Ginny in horror and snatched the film box from Ginny's hands. "Oh hell, I remember what this is!" Her face was going a dull red.

Ginny looked at her in swift comprehension. "Myra, please tell me you didn't make a sex tape with this woman." Myra's silence was answer enough. After a few seconds, Ginny asked "Is there audio on these things?"

Myra shuddered involuntarily as she stood and went to the hidden safe in her study. "Blessedly no" she said over her shoulder.

"Do you think that's the only copy?" Ginny called after her. Myra's step faltered for a moment before she left without answering.

A week later, on a morning when Sima was at Annie's and Myra was sleeping in from late-night editing, Ginny set up Gillam's projector in the spare bedroom and finally figured out how to thread the film correctly through its tortuous path. She closed the blinds and locked the door before pushing play.

At lunch, with Allie, Edwina, Annie, Sima, and Margie also at the table, Ginny said calmly while sprinkling cayenne on her baked squash "I watched that home movie. Of you and Moyra."

"You what?" hissed Myra.

"What movie?" demanded Margie, but Allie shook her head at Margie briefly before returning to glare at Ginny.

"I took a calculated risk" said Ginny. "It would eat you up, sitting there in the safe, someone needed to move it from the unfettered swamps of your imagination. So I was going to tell you what I'd done immediately. I figured if it upset me, I'd make sure you didn't have to deal with a scrap of it and I'd get clear to stay listening to you." She paused to swallow a mouthful of broccoli raab. Allie said to Margie "Myra and her ex who just died filmed themselves messing around after Myra's birthday party way back when. Myra got given the film yesterday." Clearly Myra had discussed it with Allie, and it wasn't news to Edwina, either. Margie and Sima goggled, however.

"So?" Myra said to Ginny challengingly, her chin thrust out.

"Not what I expected. Kinda sweet, actually -- although there are sections you wouldn't want to watch" she said in an aside to Allie, who registered horror at the very idea. Annie muffled a giggle. Ginny continued "It's you, but it's not the you I know, Myra. Not the woman I trust and love, only flashes of her trying to come through. I was fascinated. I think you will be, too. I left the projector set up in the guest bedroom."

Margie glanced at the ceiling overhead as if a living writhe of celluloid might find a way through the acoustic tiles. Myra stood stiffly, plate and silverware in clenched hands, and said "We are not okay about this."

"I'll do whatever work is required" said Ginny equably. "Turn on the little lamp for a minute before pushing the play lever."

Myra headed for the elevator. After the door shut, Margie breathed out and said "Destroy that and any cinematic efforts you two may have created before time comes for me to administer your estates, that's all I ask."

A week after Valentine's Day, Booray had his day filled with classes and meetings, so Myra and Allie were alone that morning in her study. Myra went downstairs for a ginger ale. She stood on the stairs a minute, gazing through the rain-streaked windows at the bench where her mother had some sort of spectral link. Ginny was vacuuming at the front of the house, and the kitchen already smelled of the tomato soup Ginny had started for lunch.

Back in her study, she looked over Allie's shoulder at the charcoal sketch she was making of Chris making the "okay" sign with a wry grin. Chris had always folded her first two fingers over her thumb pad instead of only her forefinger for this symbol, and Myra had never gotten around to asking her why. Allie was capturing it perfectly.

"I been thinking" said Myra, settling into her chair. Franklin had joined Keller on Myra's desk, which he always did when the vacuum was running. Aliie continued licking one fingertip to smear shadows into her drawing, but she swiveled her chair to face Myra.

"We had one ginormous bolt of luck, you and me. I mean, I bought the lottery ticket but it was really both of us won. But what we did with it was be smart, not keep testing our luck. You got art training, I got therapy, and both of us squirreled away enough to keep us comfortable forever -- well, Ginny did it for me but I picked her to help me make those choices, I'll take credit for it that way."

Allie raised her eyebrows as she looked directly at Myra. She had a dark smear on her lower lip.

"Weve kept taking risks, Al, but never stupid ones, so I don't think of it as gambling. It's never been for the thrill of it, either. It's been to keep doing the gods-honest right thing. And we've got good lives as a result, which is lucky only if you favor the power of serendipitous catastrophe over the strength of human will and intent." Myra returned Allie's slow smile and added "A delusion, that human will thang, but I'm hanging onto it for now."

"Okay by me" said Allie.

"Chris...you know how utterly, passionately I love her, how I revere who she -- was" said Myra with a deep breath. "But I have to admit, Al, I'm stronger than she was. Don't know how or why, I just am. And so are you."

Allie didn't answer. There was no argument on her face, however. After a minute, Myra said "She'd kick my ass if I started living hunkered down now. And she had those steel-toed Red Wings."

Allie laughed in abrupt release. She said "I keep hearing the Wicked Witch of the West saying 'The last to go will watch all the others die before her.'"

"Yeah, well, Judy Garland was already on drugs by then" replied Myra. "Addicts got to keep they minds focused, you always say."

Allie looked at her sketch, then put her name and date at the bottom before turning to a fresh page. "You still mad at Ginny for watching that movie without asking you first?"

"A little. I know I chose to live with her and I know she can't help being someone raised by Helen and David, but I slept most of last week out here on my daybed. Rattled her good and gave me some fresh air" said Myra.

"Edwina told me" admitted Allie.

"Listen, soon as the roads clear, let's go to Colville and spend several days. Fish early, stay at a nice motel and eat out instead of cook, and pound out the final outline for this book about Chris. No children or granchildren, just us originals. Before spring hits and everything changes."

Allie said "I'll talk to 'Wina. They any salmon running this early?"

copyright 2009, Maggie Jochild

HUNGRY

2009-11-08T13:24:00.001-06:00

(Maggie Jochild at Bean Hollow Beach near Pescadero, California, i980)

HUNGRY

When Liza found out I had lost 85 pounds over the last two years without knowing it, certainly without trying to, she instantly said "No wonder you write about food all the time.' Indeed.

I have been starving in many ways. Fat people are as often malnourished as thin folks in our culture, especially if they are lower income and urban. Post surgery, my electrolytes were persistently abnormal, and they began giving me daily potassium and magnesium sulfate. The surgeon put me on a 2200 calorie diabetic diet -- I don't have diabetes but good insulin control promotes wound healing. I listened to my own cravings and for the first few days of eating solid food I stuck to veggies, cranberry and orange juice, and potatoes plus bananas with every meal. I couldn't get whole grains or avocados, the other items I was jonesing for. The kitchen dutifully limited my carbs but I never reaxhed my calorie limit.

After a week, when I began hard-assed physical therapy, my craving switched to protein and milk, and I ordered accordingly: I was starting to replace muscle. I asked for a comsultation with the hospital dietitian. When she arrived, I told her I wanted to know how to best address the specific malnutrition I had been living with for more than a year, assuming I could afford to buy fresh produce and seriously complete grains as I prefer in my diet. I also asked for a print-out of what I'd ordered through the meal service the past week with nutritional breakdowns I could study.

She had no idea what to do with me. She agreed that living as I had been on a poor person's diet, I should have gained rather than lost weight (my saving habit, I bet, is my inisitence on brown rixe/whole grains). She kept trying to turn our discussion toward calories instead of nutrition. Turns out the kitchen did not keep or report patients' daily meam records, and in the end, she urged me to go on an 1800 calorie a day diet, even after I flatly reminded her that 95% of all weight-loss diets fail and I had only become fat after I began dieting as a young adult.

I told her I loved my body, and after how it had just pulled through for me, ill-conceived calorie counting was not going to be how I rewarded myself for living. She left after giving me a print-out of a diet that relied heavily on white flour and caffeine as "snacks".

Fortunately, just as she was leaving, the Good Doctor came in. He recognized her and asked me how the visit had come about. I explained I'd requested it and gave him a thumbnail of what she'd said. A very nondemonstrative young man, he leaned over me and touched my arm to say "For countless reasons I'd ile to see you thin but PLEASE don't consider dieting, not for months until you are healed." Yet another reason why we call him The Good Doctor.

I stopped dieting during the same general stage of my life when I stopped hurting others via sexual messes. My weight plateaued for a decade, until my orthopedic disabilities drastically altered my mobility and I began living in pain. I gained to another plateau -- partly because in the advice of every expert I consulted, I returned dairy products to my diet. (Kinda need that calcium and minerals when bones are going whackamole.) I'd been the same size for a decade until this recent change.

The second oncologist who saw me this hospitalization, the one called in when pathology of my removed appendix revealed an occult carcinoid tumor, was wise enough to do an exam and take a thorough history of me despite the tumot's clean margins and staging indicating that carcinoma was neither a metastasis nor had it metastasized itself. She understood my level of weight loss, unintentional though probably the result of bowel strangulation and malnutrition, still warranted investigation to consider the idea of cancer elsewhere. In the end, she reassured me that as far as she could see, I had totally sidestepped death. Her face was so delighted: I bet she doesn't get to say that very often.

In contrast, I still remember the sneer on the face of the white gay male physician I saw at the free clinic in San Francisco in 1981 after having been flattened by fever and severe shortness of breath for a week. I was 25, unemployed, and broke, but my roommate Renee finally got me dressed and walked me two blocks to the nearest clinic in the Mission, paying the $12 office visit demand herself rather than let me waste precious oxygen answering their income questions. She also came into the exam room with me, thank g*d, because before even taking my temperature or listening to my chest, that doctor said "So, how long have you been overweight?"

I gaped at him, wheezing audibly. Renee said "She's not here for her weight, she's here because she's burning up with fever."

He turned on her. "Clearly her main problem is obesity, that's what we always see in here." At that point I was at most 25 pounds above the "ideal average" for my height, thick with muscle from walking everywhere.

Renee was slight but a working class Jew who was well-versed in fat liberation. In fact, she was who introduced me to the theory, and I'll love her forever for that fact alone. We shared our household food and she regularly ate circles around me. She stood up and raised her voice to demand that I be examined and treated for what was wrong with me, not given a lecture about obesity. An x-ray revealed advanced pneumonia, and a sputum culture eventually diagnosed me with Valley Fever. Antibiotics cured me and I avoided doctors for a long time after that, until I got insurance and searched until I found physicians I trusted.

Renee and I were in the habit that year of putting Alix Dobkin's latest album XX Alix on the turntable every evening when we got home from our respective jobs or meetings. One of my favorites was the haunting "Separation '78", which begins
Liza, you look more like your mother every day
Counting your calories, my how your body's changed

(Yes it's the same Liza as in my opening paragraph. We were not yet friends, although it's hard to see how we missed connecting back then it seems to have been an inevitability.)

Alix and Liza were lovers who became founding figures in lesbian-feminism, and because Alix's songwriting was frequently autobiographical, Liza's life was very public even when it wasn't through her own art and publshing. Liza was zaftig, buzzed her hair, defied fashion constraints -- including those dictated by dykes -- and had been a role model to me for years by 1981. I understood damned well that if Liza was paying attention to how she ate, it was in no way an attempt to be the kind of slender sex object dictated by heterosexual norms.

I also knew -- all of us who followed Alix's music knew -- that a couple of years earlier, Liza's beloved parents had been killed together in a freak accident. My own mother was still alive, but I felt keenly the poignancy of Alix telling Liza she looked like her mother. Our generation was mother obsessed, positively and negatively. Even more evocative was the fact that "Separation '78" is a love song written about their break-up, again very public. I wept the frst time I heard Alix sing the chorus, with melancholy and hope interlaced:

Going our separate ways
We're on our own
Trusting that only love will come between us

Thus, you can perhaps imagine my shock when I attended a live concert by Alix that year and from the all-lesbian audience came a chorus of boos when she sang her opening lines above about Liza. Alix was visibly startled but far too professional to drop a note, even when boos broke out again at the next verse

Everyone's noticed your new grey hair
Clearly, my darling, I put some there
And my head is carrying its own share
We're an aging pair

After the concert, I talked with one of the women who had booed (not a friend of mine) who said any reference to weight loss was fat oppressive and the grey hair lines were age oppressive. I argued vehemently that noticing changing bodies is not inherently oppressive, and in particular we had every reason to trust the process of Alix and Liza as individuals. Or, to quote a remark Maria Limon made last week when she visited me in the hospital, "Can we just put down the pitchforks?"

I don't know anybody who thinks completely rationally about eating. Or money. Or sex. Do you?

I'm in mid-stream here. I'm hungry for protein as I write this but probably won't go make the tuna sandwich I really want because my pain pills didn't come and that trip to the kitchen might as well be a hike up Bernal Hill used to be. I'll nurse my cranberry juice and wai till morning. At least Ihave this link to you all, typed in my bed on a netbook Liza bought for me and arranged for Maria to bring me in my isolation. Some empty spaces do get filled with just what we need, sometimes people listen and stick up for you and tumors get found in time and love lasts. Let's keep talking. As they say in the crip community, "Not dead yet."

> (Publicity photo for Dyke: A Quarterly, circa 1976; editors were Liza Cowan, left rear, and Penny House, front second from right; also in right front is Alix Dobkin; photo courtesy of Liza Cowan)

DIARY 7 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-07T09:43:00.000-06:00

(Westward IV screen shot)

In my e-mail today is an offer from Sandlot Games to pre-purchase the upcoming release of their game Westward IV for half-price. These folks already have my business for several reasons: They have equal or almost equal numbers of available heroines in a variety of races, classes, and body types (yes, fat heroines); they deal with historical realms but frequently contradict the white Western take on how things went down (though the Westward series is terrible about ignoring theft of First Nations territory); the action increasingly relies on smarts and cooperation as much as "battles"; and, thrillingly, the last release Tradewinds Odyssey had a small positive lesbian subplot written into one of the sequences. Now, the opening line of the blurb for Westward IV refers to the villainous railway owner as "patriarchal". Sign me up, kids. Pretty soon they'll be offering women-only vegan collectives who are fighting the criminal justice system and power-sex conflation.

Last night I watched a rather timely PBS Empires episode called "Holy Wars" about Salah Al-Din and his reconquest of Jerusalem during the Crusades era -- his decision to not slaughter or terrorize the Christian population made him a legend among Islamic and Arabic nations, but cut him no respect from the bloodthirsty Christianists of Europe. Like Bushies, they viewed compassion and respect for others as a sign of weakness.

When you have a nation (and city) where prevailing values are adherence to authority, a narrow and base-emotion definition of patriotism, and limited funding for "social" issues, internal violence will be the norm, not the exception.

Dinah finally left my immediate presence for a couple of hours to sleep, which I take as a sign of healing on her part. I'm still not sleeping more than a few hours at a stretch, related to pain. I myself sorted through some of my feelings last night with Martha, mostly having to do with being at the literal mercy of anybody who walked into my hospital room and having little room to say no or insist on autonomy. People think giving advice to those who are ill, pushing them to "do what's best", telling them stories about their own medical experiences or those of their friends & family, and/or generally assuming their thinking and decision-making is somehow impaired even in areas it is clearly not, are all manifestations of caring instead of actually simply being roadmaps to the advice-giver's own emotional blocks about what is going on -- i.e., "here's my difficulty with your difficulty, since you're lying there unable to get away or go find other resources, let me demand you deal with my difficulty right now". No wonder we can't think rationally about a simple health care plan, when we're all so bollixed up with panic about ever being truly sick and helplness ourselves.

Work on it, people. Work on it with each other, that's all I ask. Just like you work on your crap about brown people with other white folks, and your shit about women with other men.

Dinah has discovered the yellow "FALL RISK" bracelet from the hospital that I ripped off my wrist I got home and thinks it is a great toy.

My stamina is still so hammered, typing this much leaves my fingers trembling to the extent I have trouble keeping them in line with QWERTY. I guess I'm done for the time being, need to go lie down again. Dress your children in bright colors, not camouflage, and remember what Mark Twain said: "History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme."

PERSONAL UPDATE 5 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-05T18:31:00.000-06:00

(Maggie and Nilmoni cropped from larger photo, 1958 Kolkata, India)

Too long for Twitter, again: Dinah prowled and wailed every half hour all night long. I'd call to her and she'd come at a trot, need extensive contact to stop vocalizing. I had an endless fount of reassurance. I can hardly take in how painful this separation must have been for her. Finally, mid morning, she slept on my chest and then slept two feet away on the bed. Whenever I noticed her eyes opening, I'd tell her how much I love her, need her, missed her.

I found a long-lost cat toy near my bed, which nearly broke my heart -- I can imagine her trying to bring it to me, only to remember I was gone. We played with it for a while. Also have had regular dispensing of treats. Despite her food bowl being empty, she's not lost weight, and she's eaten from the refilled bowl but not ravenously. I think she figured out the big bag of cat food here by my desk was not sealed tight and helped herself, which is a relief.

Early afternoon the news about the shootings at Fort Hood broke into Rachael Ray locally and I followed that off and on, except when KBH or Chris Matthews were on the screen. I can't access wifi in my bedroom on my little netbook and don't have a cord to reach into my study where my main PC is, but at the moment the solitude -- or rather, being alone with Dinah -- is still an enormous pleasure. I need to sleep and dream a lot more. Scenes from Ginny Bates, past and not yet written, keep breezing through my head. They are some kind of palate cleanser for the hospital experience, I think.

I am lucky as Myra (the main character based on me in Ginny Bates, who wins the lottery as well as love). I know much of my luck has faces, names, heartbeats. I am reminded of the poem by my bed, written about in a post of mine at Meta from March 2008:

THE UNDERTAKING

The darkness lifts, imagine, in your lifetime.
There you are - cased in clean bark you drift
through weaving rushes, fields flooded with cotton.
You are free. The river films with lilies,
shrubs appear, shoots thicken into palm. And now
all fear gives way: the light
looks after you, you feel the waves' goodwill
as arms widen over the water; Love

the key is turned. Extend yourself -
it is the Nile, the sun is shining,
everywhere you turn is luck.

(by Louise Glück, from The House on Marshland)

(Dinah above my computer, May 2005)

[Cross-posted at Group News Blog.]

HUBBLE THURSDAY 5 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-05T00:05:00.015-06:00

(Supernova 1994D in Galaxy NGC 4526)

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite.

BRIEFLY IT ENTERS, AND BRIEFLY SPEAKS

by Jane Kenyon

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

GOING HOME TODAY

2009-11-04T11:10:00.001-06:00

(Mary Jo Atkins Barnett and Maggie, 1955, passport photo for going to India)

When I woke up from the RT shakiing my shoulder at 7 a.m., the Roches were singing in my head "We're going away to Ireland soon" with muted glee. It's been three weeks today since I was admitted, and I cannot account for a lot of that time. My Narrative has defiinitely been interrupted. A lot of memories wade in and out like scenes from a bad 60's "message movie".

Everytime I think about getting out of here, my chest relaxes a little and I breathe better. It will be hellishly hard on my own but no one will be opening my front door without my choice, and no more small talk, which is to conversation as WalMart is to small town main street commerce. Pajamas and keyboard, that's enough for me. (grin)

One thing that has emerged as my attention returned is that my attraction to folks who are looking for a place to tell their troubles has spread up and down the hall, apparently. I'm a better listener than I am storyteller, but at home I have a stopcock to control who dips into my well. Yesterday I earnestly told Erlinda, the tech of techs, how much everyone here admires her quick learning and leadership. She was clocking out for the day, but stayed at my bedside for half an hour to tell me what it was like raising her three abandoned nieces the past 9 years. Honestly, it's a tale I'm honored to have heard, altered my appreciation for others ever upward -- but what is it I do that inspires others to confide in me? In Erlinda's case, I wanted to hear. Otherwise, I am not even watching the daily reruns on cable of "Grey's Anatomy" -- my own body and midstream ordeal is swallowing the lion's share of my focus right now, and as Stuart Smalley would say, "That's okay."

Yesterday as I was warshing up (as one tech says it), I examined the altered corpus Maggie carefully. The blown IV sites and JP drain scab will go away entirely, I think. But the contours of my front are permanently rearranged -- large capstone bulge gone, everything listed to the right, and a wicked ruck from just below my breasts through my navel like the Hayward Fault when viewed from Mount Diablo. There'll be no problem saying "Yep, that's her" if I wind up mangled on some CSI slab.

Surgeons go directly to the source of an issue and tend not to deal with the aftereffects. This is seen as more efficient, as all versions of Henry Ford compartmentalization are now revered as most productive. I always question this ethic but especially now, as I hear the muttered resentment techs have toward nurses (who say "call a tech" for ass wiping) and the sullen obeisance nurses display toward doctors who breeze in and out far more obliviously than even the most gritty TV drama depicts. When we added making a profit to the work of caregiving -- and especially Reagan's permission to be greedy as an America ethic -- we created the monster that our government is currently too feckless to tame.

Thanks to Jill Cozzi, by the way, for reminding me of the excellent meaning of that word, feckless.

In contrast, a Quaker man, Sean Carroll, is arranging for a CarShare to get me home after my discharge today, since he doesn't own a vehicle. He's already done all the shopping I need to be safe-ish at home , except for the correct size diapers, which will arrive via FedEx tomorrow -- although at least 1/3 of all American women weigh 200 lb. or more, this hospital doesn't stock diapers that go beyond that size, nor would they research finding them for me. Thank g*d I was alert enough and able to get online to meet my own basic dignity needs.

You know, lesbian-feminism of the early 1970s is where I first encountered the concept of political correctness, and it's never been a joke to me. At bedrock, political correctness is about striving to express respect and kindness according to cultural values which may vary from the ones you were raised with. Respect, privacy, pluralism: arch enemies of the fear-based Right.

I don't know why, but for the last 24 hours a particular memory has been popping into my head, as it did just now. It's my first memory, and occurred when I was around one year age. We were living in Kolkata and I was out for the day with Nilmoni, my ayah. We were in what my mother called a rickshah, which was in fact a horse-drawn cart with a single horse. We turned into a street clogged with a mob. Nilmoni began shouting at the cart driver to get us out of there, but we were already being surrounded and horses have to be turned, there is no reverse gear. I was in her lap, held tight, and she put one hand over my face to block my vision. I tugged at her fingers ineffectually, then discovered if I opened my eyes I could see between her slightly spread fingers. I went still, watching with interest.

The crowd was all Indian, which was normal to me, I thought I was too. It was all male, and they were angry, but I wasn't worried because I was with Nilmoni. They were holding aloft, above their outstretched arms, two items: a round of bread and a man, passing them toward one side of the street. The man was struggling, wild-eyed, shirtless. It was intriguing to see an adult passed around as easily as I was.

At the side of the street was a two-story building with outside stairs to an upper landing. The stairs had no railing but the landing had a wooden frame around it. A rivulet of the mob swirled up the stairs and the flailing man was passed upward from arm to arm. Someone on the landing had a rope which was tied to the porch. As the man reached the landing, the other end of the rope was knotted around his neck. With a roaring surge, matched by Nilmoni's shrieks at our cart driver, the shirtless man was thrown over the railing in a small arc. He slammed against the side of the building and a seond later reached rope's end. He scrabbled frantically at the stucco wall with fingernails and feet to find a purchase. Before he could, our cart finally turned out of view. I tried to turn my head to watch but Nilmoni held me fast.

I didn't understand what had happened, and there is no negative emotion in this memory, only excitement about curious adult behavior. It is vivid -- the bright sun with dust in the air, hoarse shouting, Nilmoni's smell, and the look on the face of the shirtless man, his dark sweaty skin and the visible ribs on his torso. Years later, when I was six or so, I began telling my mother about the memory to ask her what it all meant; I thought of it often. She sat down heavily in her kitchen chair, her face horrified, repeating "My god, my god."

She knew the incident. Nilmoni had told her about it when we got home that day. They were both reassured by their belief I hadn't seen anything, and did not want to discuss it with me. Mama said the man was from the untouchable class, still a strong practice in 1956, and he had stolen the round of bread.

Now I have two versions of the memory, my original and the unspeakable horror of what actually occurred as Mama gently explained it to me later.

Sorting out this cacophony we call life takes up all our time. I'm going away to Ireland soon, will be home tonight, and can resume my sift in solitude. Aching, incontinent, exhausted, in a mess of a house, but with just me and Dinah to accommodate. There is peace and wonder to be found in any situation, even death, they tell us. I'll write again as soon as I can.

The Roches singing "The Troubles" in 1983

[Cross-posted at Group News Blog.]

LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUNDUP 1 NOVEMBER 2009

2009-11-03T03:37:00.001-06:00

Here's the weekly edition of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts.

Sunday Morning Maggie Jochild Update

2009-11-01T10:50:00.001-06:00

Three Items

1. Maggie's using Twitter.

@jochild

that is

http://twitter.com/jochild

to post updates.

She says "I can manage 140 characters."

Her Twitter feed is totally worth reading. She's a poet, right? She gets a LOT into her 140 characters. *smiles*

2. Maggie probably won't be discharged today.

At the moment from reading the orders the Fill-In Doctor has left, it appears Maggie will not be discharged till at least tomorrow. We believe (but don't know for certain) that Good Doctor will be back tomorrow. Good Doctor is the one who has been standing up for Maggie.

Her physical strength gets stronger day by day. No matter when she gets discharged, going home will be very very hard. She will endure and survive; it is what she does.

3. We still need to raise $1500 (or more); we just have to see.

Maggie's Binder, a device she wears around her entire abdomen and back in order to keep the surgical incision from coming open, which makes it DAMN difficult to do many ordinary functions (as the Binder goes WAY up almost over one's ribs and down low to the bottom of the lower belly thus leaving one's entire middle in a splint) which means for the next two months Maggie will not just have big difficulty, pardon me, cleaning herself after using the bathroom, but she'll also find it difficult to sit up straight to use the computer (her little Netbook is different, and no, her work software won't load on her Netbook), to walk through her apartment to put away food or cook a meal, or any of the basics of life. She can lie down; she can prop against some pillows; with difficulty she can turn over. She can NOT ever ever ever put any fracking strain on her abdomen. At all. Or she might (literally) find her guts all over her bedroom, bathroom, or kitchen floor.

Thus DME (Durable Medical Equipment) for rails on her bed, rails in the bathtub, a higher toilet seat, and much other stuff. Maggie will need enormously higher quality food than she can usually afford (her regular food budget is $140 per month; yes, seriously. If you've ever had a meal or even a meal for two that cost $140 or more not including booze, raise your hand. Look around. Notice that over 80% of our readers have their hand raised. Thank you. Okay, put your hands down please.) and more medicines than she normally can afford (at best she can maybe afford $10 in generics per month plus another $10 in OTC medicine. That's on a good month. The rest of the time she goes without and suffers. I who have health insurance -- and I complain about my prescription drug copays -- pay about $120-150 per month on average for prescription drugs (which I must have or I'd be in the hospital or dead or unable to work and then in the hospital and then dead; like in the same situation as Maggie, so poor I'd be absolutely fucked plus pain beyond compare from the lack of meds... Most likely I'd end up, well, let's not even go there. *shudders*) Some months I pay $200-250 if I get extra sick or the doctors want me to try something new. The retail price of the medicines is around $2500-3500, I'm not certain; I've never really checked because the most I ever pay for a drug is $50, most are either $5 or $25. And being in the upper-middle class I can afford them.) Maggie will need cab rides to visits with her doctors, physical therapists, x-ray examinations on the surgery, at least some of which she'll likely have to pay for in cash as there's no way her Medicare will have come through by then. (We're working out how to pay for these services but some of them don't look good; if we can't pay for them it may be she'll just do without if we don't raise the money... which is how we got into this mess in the first place.)

Bottom line, we still need to raise much more money for Maggie.

My request is that folks subscribe, that is commit to a monthly amount via PayPal of $200, $100, $50, $20, $10, $5, mix and match. Or you can go to Meta Watershead and in the top right corner, hit the Donate button with any amount for a one-off donation. At Meta the Subscription buttons are also there for $5 to $10 monthly, to $20 or $50 a month, and for a number of you, $100 or $200 a month.

A choice: If you're choosing between a one-off donation of $50 or less and a subscription of any amount, please go with the subscription. What, huh? It's simple, really. We'd much rather have the certainty of knowing Maggie can count on that amount from you, even if it's only a large cup of Starbucks cappuccino or a dinner out. Or maybe a dinner out for two. *smiles* The reliability of being able to trust the subscription in the months to come means much more than a larger one-off donation now. It means stability. It means knowing Maggie has her bills paid every month. It means cash-flow.

Speaking of cash-flow, frankly the present-value of a smaller subscription over time is MUCH less to you than a really big one-off donation now. Now obviously we'd love for you to make a big subscription (don't kid yourself; feel free to subscribe to those $100 and $200 buttons, that's why they're there. I and I think two other people are on the $200/mo subscription. Plus I made additional donations every month.) but we're cool if you don't. What we're saying first is that the present-value to YOU is better if you give less each month than if you dig really deep and make a one-time really big donation. Plus that way you get to keep all that interest till PayPal sends whatever the amount is off to Maggie.

From our point of view, a bunch of monthly subscriptions means we can all breath a little easier knowing each month isn't a scramble for Maggie to survive financially. (And yeah, we've applied for all the various financial aid programs, federal, state and even local, but it's going to take at least half a year for them to kick in, and that's assuming all goes well. We have this on good authority from the financial aid/social worker at the hospital Maggie's in whose job it is to get this aid for people.) So for now, y'all... we ...are everything Maggie has financially.

Thus, from two and a half weeks ago until we reach whatever the financial goal turns out to be, $4,000 or a bit more (and we're just not sure yet; ye Gods how I wish we were) what there is is for me to ask you... Please:

Please reach out for Maggie. Step up and make a monthly subscription: $200, $100, $50, $20, $10, $5, or jumble them as you wish.

Your generosity to date has been overwhelming. Not just with money, but with your good wishes, with people offering to help -- we have one person running errands in Austin, y'all have donated not one but two Netbooks (and maybe a third, not sure yet) and we're still figuring what to do with the extra one, and most of all your heart in being there, talking to Maggie on multiple blogs and emails blows me away.

She, and I love all of you so much, are so deeply moved by who you are and what you are doing to help her. As a group of people and as individuals you have really stepped up. You amaze me; you inspire me. Thank you for the gift you have been, and for the gift and contribution you continue to be to Maggie. I honor you for who you are and for the difference you make. Maggie is alive and getting better each day and it would not have happened without her friends and all of you being the difference in her life. Thank you for being you and for loving one another.

Every religion has some version of the Golden Rule. You my precious readers and friends, are living examples of how both the Practice of spirituality and the Golden Rule are designed to work on the ground. The Blessings of the Gods on each and all of you, your families, loved ones, and those with whom you work and associate.

Cross-posted at Meta Watershed and Group News Blog.