Baked potatoes

Shortly after the groom-to-be left the premises, the rest of us realized that we had no plans for dining that night - and all of us were hungry. To prevent any dithering, R. quickly suggested a baked potato bar. And so we did.

Idaho potatoes, wrapped in foil, baked for half an hour... and then another ten... and then maybe another ten, to be sure the biggest ones were completely cooked through. Sour cream, shredded cheese, chopped scallions in the absence of seasonal chives... and bacon, per R.'s request (although I suspect that he was the only person to actually have any, or maybe he and the bride-to-be.) Probably a bit too fattening, but altogether satisfying.

I didn't know the baked potato bar existed before that night. I'll have to remember it for the future.

Burger, cider, yogurt, Coke

It was the first time I had seen her in just under a year. The first time any of us had seen her in that time; for some of us, maybe for even longer. Too long for all of us. Too long for her.

So of course the first course of the night was burgers.

Once I had hope

to the tune of "I Dreamed A Dream"

She spent a year across the sea
A year I waited to be near her
And now she's here, so close to me
But it's so very hard to hear her

For I'm always AFK
Her computer lies in pieces
And we only have a day
'til we're parted once again...

I'll try to write her every day
To tell my love how much I miss her
But there are no words I can say
No words to write that let me kiss her

Once I had hope my life could be
A life spent lived, and not just waiting.
But I will find a way to cope...
...and last the year without that hope.

Third Sunday of Advent

I awoke this morning to something I never thought I'd see: snow. As light as caster sugar, until it turned to sludge under the brush as I wiped it off the windshields. The sky was gray, the ground clear, the air cold as death.

Two Sundays ago the land took my mind to a world of horror. Today I knew that I had arrived.

This week in Andalusada, 12/8/2012

Sunday, 12/2/2012

After a derpy comment to R. last night, my first edit of the day was an expansion, and then a rearranging, of the 8.8mm page.

• This led to an edit of ACP, to mention that 8.8x53mm ACP was now a cartridge...
• I also planned to link the Black Friars into the mythos of the Palace of Granada, but while I was doing so I accidentally reverted it to a draft. Since I wasn't sure what it was called, I renamed it "the Winchester Alhambra," which is now its new URL.
• Once that was done (and all the links to it were corrected), the next thing on my to-do list was to fill out the Black Friars themselves. Which was done, linking them (again) to the palaces of Granada.
• Next up on the editing list: the Second Mahdist War, to establish that al-Mahdi dies on April 5th, 182?. Once that was done, the next thing to edit was (unsurprisingly) April 5th.
• After that, my next edit was to the Occidentals, filling out some details about their relations with the Mozarabs and inventing a small number of them that emigrated after the Sodalite Revolt.

Having filled that in, I posted my one new post of the day: the Sodalite Revolt itself. It's still very WIPpy, but that's to be expected.

• Which called for a significant cleanup of the Sodality itself.
• And, in turn, an expansion of the post on Dystopian Catholic France to mention the Bastard Prince, and the occasion of his bastardy.

And so to bed.

Lost my wallet

First thought to cross my mind when I remember being fully awake: fuck. What time was I meeting with P. again? And so I showered, shaved, toweled off, dressed up, hopped in the car, pulled on my coat, and made for the center of town as fast as I possibly could.

I remember looking at my watch and realizing it was 12:30-12:40ish. I also remember looking at the sign on the library door, CLOSED - and feeling like a fool, for forgetting that it wasn't even open until 1:00. And so, since I had the time, I decided to take a walk. I wandered to one end of town, and put this year's last overseas letter to the Love in the mail; I stopped at a few places en route to the other side of town, wondering if they had any college-ruled paper to refill my supplies, much depleted from the start of the school year by averaging 10+ pages of correspondence each week.

Then I realized that I couldn't find my wallet. I furiously backtracked, as fast as I could - no luck. Scoured the car, turning both of the seats up - not there. Got down on all fours and ducked my head to look under the cars in the parking lot - not there either.

So I drove back home and furiously searched my coats, my shirts, my pants. Not there. And on that note, I made back for the center of town as fast as I possibly could, for the appointment with P.

And the appointment with J. after that.

And then I drove back home again, and resumed the search. Cleaned the floor - nothing. Rearranged the stacks of books - nothing. I called Mom to angst about it, repeatedly, and to sort out my plans for the morrow, when I would get all of the cards replaced.

And then, at 7:30ish, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. It was AAA, calling to let me know that somebody had reported my missing wallet, and they gave me the number to call her back. And so I did.

It turned out she'd found it at 12:30ish, within minutes of it being lost.

First Sunday of Advent

Kathy Escobar mentioned that this marks the start of one of the Refuge's darkest seasons. After the events of last night, I can second that. After the events of this morning, I can second that again.

How there was any light at all in the stained-glass windows, I will never know. The sky was as gray as William Gibson's proverbial dead channel, the ground was wet, the snow crunchy, the commons silent, still, and deathly chill. The mist took me to Ravenloft, in mind if not in body.

Every Sunday of Ordinary Time, or at least the ones I made it to, started with a processional hymn, accompanied by organ music. Today was the first exception, and the longest to date - there was no accompaniment at all, and the processional wound through the church two or three times as we sang the Great Litany. It was beautiful - right up to its jarringly abrupt ending.

In the Episcopal Church, the liturgical color of the season is blue. Even though it was visible and I had only to behold, it didn't register until it was told to me. I was startled. I was always startled, today.

The Gospel was Luke 21:25-36:

"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see "the Son of Man coming in a cloud" with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."

Then he told them a parable: "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

"Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man."

Signs, foreboding. Wars and rumors of wars. As we celebrate Advent, the readings are dark, because our celebration of the first coming flows seamlessly alongside our expectation of the second. Not for nothing was Christmas set to the days after the winter solstice: the darkening is part of the season.

As the first Sunday in Advent, today also marks the turn to Year C of the Revised Common Lectionary. Maybe that was why I had no idea why I spent this year consistently wrong about what readings were coming up next week.

This fortnight in Andalusada, 11/24/2012

This was supposed to be a weekly post (these things usually are), but due to Thanksgiving weekend I got rather derailed by stuff... so here goes.

Saturday, 11/17/2012

I didn't post anything particularly new on Saturday. Instead, I filled out a number of other things instead - starting with a significant expansion of Don Musa. His dates were settled upon (1796-1887), and his service with Caliph Yusuf was pushed back a few years because Yusuf I hired his father first (which means that I need to introduce that father for a bit, if only to kill him later.) He's also been made into a dirty old man; his first wife (who also needs introducing) predeceases him, so his wife can bear him Don Ibrahim without being nearly 60 herself; and, unlike the rest of Andalusada, his old age and death have been written in.

• After that, a bit of editing was done for Yusuf I: his dates were written in (1772-1839), and mention of Abu Musa was made.
• Don Ibrahim's birth year was pushed to 1860, and his formative years have been colored in more than anyone else's in Andalusada. His details - his relationship with his mother, his memories of his father, how that relates to Yusuf III - makes for the first family dynamics I've written anywhere in the blog.
• Yusuf III also got a considerable expansion of his own.

And so to bed.