You are viewing kestrel337

28 June 2014 @ 07:16 am
YAY! CONvergence starts on Thursday! All the work on the cosplays, all the talking and planning, and it's finally here!

Well, except I still have a few things to finish. I wanted to make some photobombing Benedicts to disperse around and about. Had hoped to make lanyards for the fam, too, but not sure I have the supplies necessary.

But I do have this:

CONvergence Lemon

I'm going to wear it on the first day, and hopefully 'release' it to someone who recognizes it. It'll have it's twitter handle on the back of the lemon, and I'm really hoping people will post pictures of themselves with it on twitter. To be completely honest, I'm not entirely fluent in twitter, but I am reasonably certain I've got it right. Maybe I should set up a facebook or tumblr for it? I don't know.

I'm going through right now trying to total up my volunteer hours. There are fun and funky perks for volunteering, up to a Sherpa Pen Holder for 25 hours or more. At 15 you get the tee-shirt, and I'd really like that. I mean, I'd volunteer anyway because it's right. Giving back and all that. But hey, free tee-shirt!

Goddess, I am such a geek. Badge ribbons?? Where can I get some! I love badge ribbons! Collectible patch?? I want one! Sign me up! SWAG! Gimme SWAG!
25 June 2014 @ 09:55 pm
I have finished my kitsune cosplay. These aren't the best pictures, but I thought I'd show off a little. Apologies to those who see this twice, I'll post it on tumblr too.

This is the result of about 9 months work, and quite the most complicated thing I've ever attempted.


Now that I look at them, I see that I didn't get things exactly centered when I put this on. Hopefully there will be better mirrors in the dressing area for the masquerade. Plus I'll have my daughter there too, to help me make sure it's all aligned properly.
10 June 2014 @ 02:32 pm
I had already concluded, on my own recognizance, that my daughter might actually have aspergers. Be on the spectrum. Shit, I don't even know how to say it. But whatever is the currently acceptable way to say it, that.

I was planning on talking to her therapist and our pediatrician about it. Possibly seeking diagnoses, if for no other reason than it would be a hell of a lot easier to get teachers to take her needs seriously if we have a piece of paper to back us up.

So now that I've already seen if for myself and decided to look into it, why the hell does it hurt so badly to be asked by my mom if we've considered that she might have aspergers? Dropped off middle daughter for her horsey time, cried all the way home.

(And this is quite a different issue than all the other crap swirling around in my head, like why didn't I figure it out sooner and was it because I was so busy trying to make her collective challenges into disparate pieces because taken one by one that makes it more socially acceptable. Or feeling like I'm not allowed to be frightened or sad about this whole thing because that makes me an ableist bitch)
I am largely recovered from the sixth grade camping trip. It was exhausting, lots of walking and hiking and standing and crouching.Read more...Collapse )
A Hypothetical Question

(Arthur, Douglas, Friendship)
Read more...Collapse )
12 May 2014 @ 09:01 pm
This has been, by far, the most time consuming part of our upcoming cosplay. One down, one to go. Actually, oldest daughter's has the black and white bits on, but none of the orange.

It's all coming together. Still have her dress, most of a pair of ears, and a tsuke-obi to make. Plus my lantern, select music, and choreography. Make up? Dunno about make up.

And I'm already thinking about what to do for next year. Agent Carter, I do think.

07 May 2014 @ 01:58 pm
I've lived in this house for darn near 11 years. For nine of those years, there were chimney swifts in the, yep, chimney. I loved having them there, honestly. On one memorable occasion I had taken the girls on a nature day for scouts. The lovely volunteer from the Audubon Society was showing around some pictures of birds that people used to share their spaces with. My daughter piped right up and said we had those at home. He was dubious. She was insistent. I backed her up. He wanted to know where we lived, and would we participate in a chimney swift count.

So yeah, I felt like I was doing my part to restore a little bit of balance to the wheel. Last year the swifts came back later than usual, and there seemed to be fewer of them. This year I waited, listening for the tell tale flapping and squeaking from behind the fireplace. No such luck.

Instead, I heard scrapings and thumpings and scratchings and bumpings. Always at dawn and dusk, the times of day I'd usually hear my swifts. Finally I made some calls. I figured maybe it was a squirrel.

It was not a squirrel.


All six left here alive, to be released into the wild together.
02 May 2014 @ 07:56 am
Big stagey weekend at our place. Last night was oldest daughter's opening night for Spy School. She's props mistress, and having all the usual troubles with that. People playing with props that aren't assigned them, props not getting returned to their place on the table, getting left in the bathroom, etc. etc. But I guess last night went well. She never likes us to attend opening night, and theater folks being superstitious I try to respect that.

This morning I am playing piano with my middle daughter and her band teacher. She was to have done a solo at the last band concert, but had strep. Everyone felt badly about that, so she's playing today at a school assembly, meeting, thing like that.

Then tomorrow we go see Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead at the Guthrie. Very excited about that.

Betwixt and between, I'm working on cosplay crafts and writing stuff.

Bonus points to anyone who recognizes the title reference.
27 April 2014 @ 07:54 pm
The Truce

Greg had been certain that taking the decision to move in together was the hard part. From an emotional stand point this was certainly true. But after that had come the realization that Molly’s sofa was just too big, and Greg’s entirely inappropriate for what Molly called “a grown-up living situation”.

“What’s wrong with it?” She’d never complained before.

“The upholstery is at least 30 years old.”

“So we get a slipcover. I have fond memories of that sofa.” Memories he’d hoped to recreate in their new home.

“Yes, I know. I suspect many, many people have similar memories of that sofa.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“So I’ll have it cleaned.”

“No. You will have it humanely destroyed. I will not live in the same space as that monstrosity.”

So it was that on a lovely spring Saturday, he and Molly were sofa shopping. Here again, he’d been guilty of hasty assumptions. How hard could it be, picking a sofa? Something dark, with comfy cushions and broad arms for resting a beer on while he watched the match. He’d figured an hour, from start to finish.

Molly, however, brought her own set of assumptions. Also swatches from the curtains she was making, and a tape measure. Greg wasn’t really sure why she’d bothered with that, because everything at the first shop had been ruled out before the question of ‘will it fit’ even came up.

“How about this one?” He stood behind a high backed model, with wide wood arms and tartan cushions in a deep red.

“Well-” She picked up the dangling set of fabric samples, holding up her scrap to check how the colors blended. “I suppose this paisley print would work.” She stroked a hand over the nap, then shook her head. “Oh, no, this would never work. Here, feel.” She held it out to him. “This will pick up cat hair worse than your trousers.”

“Right.” He sighed, moved out into the aisle to continue the quest. Molly wandered in the other direction. The canned music switched from Billy Joel to Dusty Springfield, and he shook his head. At least it wasn’t the classical nonsense the last place had been playing.

“Greg?” Molly called him over to examine her newest find. Purple? She wanted a purple sofa?

“A purple sofa?”

“Isn’t it wonderful? Although it’s really more of a love-seat.” Was this woman gushing over purple furniture his practical Molly? The woman who pragmatically cut up dead people for a living?

“It’s certainly purple.” But he looked again, taking in the minimal lines. Box cushions, arms that swept in a clean curve to the straight back. No squashy backrest, just padding firm enough to support a tired back. Cotton fabric, easy to keep clean and somewhat hair free. Molly handed him the curtain swatch and took out her tape measure. While she was checking the measurements against the dimensions of their new sitting room, Greg hummed thoughtfully and picked up the cluster of fabric options. Maybe some nice throw cushions in jewel tones. The music had changed again, something familiar and syrupy pouring out of the speakers. He absently tried to place it while he envisioned the sofa, the curtains, which pillows would be best. Molly had finished measuring the love-seat, and moved to look at the matching arm chair.

I know just how to fake it, and I know just how to scheme,
I know just when to face the truth, and I know just when to dream.

The song continued, and he remembered it now.

I know just where to touch you, and I know just what to prove,
I know when to pull you closer and I know when to let you loose.

Yes, he thought this subtle stripe would go nicely with her curtains and with the sofa. He turned to show it to her, only then realizing that he was singing along. Quietly, but not unnoticeable. He tuned back in, letting his voice taper off as he realized exactly what was playing. Oh, God. He’d been singing along to-

Air Supply?” Molly gaped at him.

He grimaced sheepishly, ducked his head. He really couldn’t resent her incredulity. Or the giggles that spilled from her lips.

“Not that it wasn’t lovely, Greg, but really. Air Supply?” She reached out a hand, stroked her thumb over his knuckles when he took it.

“I don’t suppose there’s any use asking you to keep your mouth shut about this?” His life at work would be absolute hell.

“Nope. God, wait until Sally hears!”

“I’ll let you have the purple sofa.”

“You were going to do that anyway. Show me what you’ve picked for pillows.” She neatly ended the debate, and his fate appeared to be sealed.

At least, until a week or so after they’d moved into the new flat. They’d tag-teamed the painting and organizing, working together when their time off overlapped. But that was done now, the furniture delivered while he’d been at court and counting the hours until he could be home. She’d messaged him a picture of the coffee table, complete with a pillar candle and waiting dishes.

Pick up something suitable. XX -Molly

He looked at the image again; plates and pilsners. Pizza then, since they already had beer.

The shower was running when he arrived home and tucked the pizza into the already warm oven. The water shut off as he poured beers, lit the candle, and added napkins to the set up. Molly, damp and flushed from the shower, was not to be missed so he headed down the hall. He was surprised to hear music, and further surprised to see Molly dancing across the bedroom floor in his bathrobe. Toby was an indifferent audience as she shook her hips and sang into a hairbrush.

You’re a teaser, you turn them on.
Leave them burning, and then you’re gone.
Looking out for another, anyone will do.
You’re in the mood for a dance.

Her voice broke off in a strangled shriek when she spun to the mirror and caught sight of his reflection.

“Oh, God, Greg! I’ve told you, don’t creep up on me!”

He grinned. “I expected you to hear me come in.”

Her mouth opened in surprise and mortification, and she lunged to turn off the docked i-pod.

“Don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the show. Much better than Meryl’s version, you ask me.”

“You’ve seen it? How have you even seen it?” Molly’s embarrassment vanished in confusion at his tacit admission.

“Lost a bet with John.” He snapped his fingers, and announced brightly, “Hey, you could do it again and I’ll record it on my phone. I bet you’d get millions of you-tube hits.”

“I’ll show you millions of hits.” Molly scooped a pillow from their bed and bashed him in the shoulder, struggling to maintain an outraged expression and finally dissolving into laughter. Greg prudently wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Ah, my Molly. You never fail to surprise me.”

“I’m starving. You’re going to tell everyone about this, aren’t you?”

He gave her a squeeze. “Pizza’s in the oven. And yes. Absolutely everyone. Unless.”

She peeked up at him, face still a bit pink. “Unless?”

“Mutually assured destruction? I won’t tell about ABBA, and you don’t mention Air Supply.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever.”

The deal was sealed with a kiss, which led to several more kisses, and pizza on the new sofa, and a fresh set of memories to break it in.