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Posts by kilteDave

What’s the Point?

I think we’re back into routine. And I’ve got my head wrapped around it. Which is nice. Feels good. Of course, Mrs. Dave heads off again in a couple weeks, and then there’s LibertyCon, and the littles will be out of school for the summer. Which means and entirely *new* routine to which I’ll get to adjust. Joy. Seriously, I think I’m going to lose my preferred hermitliness method of existence through sheer chaos of life. Which is a little strange, as that’s how I’m going to finish all those books I’m not currently writing.
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Bucking the Trends

Wee Dave turned five, recently, and I’m still not recovered. Small creatures are exhausting, regardless of how many legs they have (Wee Dave only has the two, you’ll all be happy to know), but we herded a ramble of nearing double digits for the natal anniversary shindig. I’m awfully glad that’s only going to happen a couple of times a year. Early to bed for a while, I’m planning. Still, only a couple of minor incidents, and the paint (Mrs. Dave is a courageous woman, let me tell you) stayed almost entirely contained, and off all the clothing, as far as I know.
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Dave Tired.

Dave really tired.

The Wee Horde and I retrieved Mrs. Dave from the airport Saturday last, and we haven’t really stopped moving since. There was an art project (successful), an Avengers date (also successful, though I now have Thoughts and Feelings), and adjustment (ongoing). We’ve got a few weeks before the next Adjustment. Dammit. Read more

Anatomy Lesson

Talking about swords is kinda difficult. Case in point: last week I tried to give a definition, and ended up skewing off into the weeds of history almost immediately. In discussing this very difficulty with Tom (who has just founded the Albany Study Group of Schola Saint George) he suggested I leave you with the definition with which I started last week, and tell you to go an prosper, under the assumption that suffering produces better art. Now, I didn’t tell him to get bent (I figure his mettle is better than *that*) and I’m not going to let him know his oh-so-clever japes actually helped. Read more

What Makes a Blade?

We’re still alive, here at Caer Dave. The last assault was repulsed with a barrage of cupcakes. It was close for a bit, there, but one of the battle pucks managed to turn on the television, and the Horde is nothing if not easily distracted by the sweet and the shiny. Unfortunately, the ongoing vegetal threat has brought us all a great deal of discomfort. Wee Dave’s cough has been mistaken for the cry of the hunting hellhound. Wee-er Dave’s sinuses are an ever-giving wellspring of life-giving fluid (well, it’s fluid, and stuff can grow on it *shudder*). And me? Dave is fighting off a full-blown sinus infection through frequent application of saline wash, pseudoephedrine, and that wunderdrug: Afrin. With some success, I’m pleased to relate. Read more

Landing On My Feet

Tired. Long week. The children’s disparate reactions to Mrs. Dave’s absence are exhausting. I’m doing the thing where I run headlong into my own limitations, again. I’m finding it irritating. So, per the Irreverend’s advice, I’m lowering my expectations.
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We Continue

It’s been an entire week since Mrs. Dave left us. Food stocks are low. I have part of a jar of olives, two meat sticks, some salt, and a jar of Luxardo cherries, left. The Barbarian Horde ransacked the refrigerator almost immediately, and have begun waylaying passing stroller-pushing Military Mommies and ransoming them for candy. The ravening howls are indescribable, and I’ll hear them in my sleep until the day I die. I’ve built myself a barricade of books and cookware. If I don’t survive this, tell Mrs. Dave I tried.

Oh, no. I hear the patter of ‘orrible, little feet … Read more