But we had erranda (sounds so much better than errands) to run this morning, and so I haven’t been near a keyboard.
And now that I am I don’t particularly feel like blogging, so I’m going to give you one of those bizarre hodge podge posts I sometimes do.
This morning we woke up to fantasy fog. Last year we had to drive through several of these (TO DENVER) to pick Robert up from interviews.
Fantasy fog is the sort of thick, milk-white fog where you can’t even see the sides of the road, or the bumper of the car in front of you. On a trip to Denver, we followed the headlights of a car in front of us, without any idea if we were on a lane, two lanes, or driving on the side of the road. We didn’t fall down the mountain and that must count as a win. Given probabilities, in several universes we died, and Robert waited at DIA forever…
We’d have waited till the next day to pick him up, but he had a test, so…
Other than when I found myself on the road late at night, in fantasy fog, fantasy fog is a fine thing. It sort of blurs the edges of the real and makes it seem like ANYTHING is possible.
Memorable under this heading is the day I was walking the kids to school and Kit Marlowe walked out of the fog, and past me. Yep, Manitou is that sort of place. The guy did have a passing resemblance to Marlowe, and he was an SCA person who favored Elizabethan wear. He also used to walk around downtown CO springs, with sword strapped on. Dan kept saying “There’s a time travel story in this. I mean what better cover than “I am in the SCA?” Because this is the way writers’ minds work.
Of course I grew up with this sort of fog, only it was black and stank. A real peasouper. This was because all the garbage from the city of Porto was sent to the “fertilizer factory” near us to burn. Since the factory couldn’t accommodate it all/get permits for expansion, but the garbage still came, they would burn it in huge bonfires outside the factory. Highly illegal, of course, but then everything was.
Since the factory was on a hill, when there was fog, it all fell down to the valley where we lived. Which means foggy days meant being unable to breathe. Mom has emphysema because of this. (And genetic susceptibility.) I wonder if it has something to do with making my immune system crazy and my airways hyper-sensitive, too.
Of course the fog here doesn’t stink, so it’s just cool and a little fantasy-like. Provided we don’t have to drive to pick up anyone in DIA at midnight.
Other things that come to mind — I’m really trying to finish witch’s Daughter and making progress on Darkship Revenge. I hate it when books come out together, it’s so hard to concentrate on just one.
Speaking of the song on the radio “Living like a renegade” what the heck does that mean? Younger son sings it as “living like a darkship renegade” but unless they are Hoyt fans I have no clue what they’re talking about. Unless of course they’re referring to the president’s secret service handle. And anyone believe, btw. that handle was randomly bestowed? No? Neither do I.
Okay — having reassured you I’m alive, I’m going to go work now.
I’ll return (hopefully more coherently) on Tuesday. Tomorrow I shall have a guest post.