tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77379692280178421532024-03-18T02:14:49.117-07:00Marcella BurnardMarcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-40226158312753293362019-05-19T05:53:00.000-07:002019-05-19T05:53:30.190-07:00Release Date and Cover Reveal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Houston, We Have A Release Date</h2>
<div>
A few months ago, The Wildrose Press (TWRP) offered up a contract for <i>Enemy Within, Enemy Games</i>, and for the three, as yet untitled books that will finish out this series. The series has a name now: <i>Chronicles of the Empire</i> and the books will be numbered so it will be easier to know where you are in the arc of the story. </div>
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This is the cover for book one, <i>Enemy Within. </i>The books will be ebook releases with a print on demand option. </div>
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Here's the back cover:</div>
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13.33px; font-stretch: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19.99px; orphans: 2; overflow: visible; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Horrific torture in an alien prison torpedoed Captain Ari Idylle's military career. Stripped of command and banished to her father's scientific expedition to finish a PhD she doesn't want, Ari refuses to fly a desk. She intends to have her command back by any means possible, until pirates commandeer her father's ship, and she's once again a prisoner. Perhaps this cunning captor isn't what he pretends to be. </div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13.33px; font-stretch: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19.99px; orphans: 2; overflow: visible; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13.33px; font-stretch: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19.99px; orphans: 2; overflow: visible; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13.33px; font-stretch: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19.99px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">As far as Cullin Seaghdh is concerned, the same goes for Ari. Her past association with aliens puts her dead center in Cullin's cross-hairs. If she hasn't been brainwashed and returned as a spy, then she must be part of a traitorous alliance endangering billions of lives. He can't afford the desire she fires within him. His mission comes first. He'll stop at nothing to uncover her true purpose and protect what is his, even if it means her destruction.</span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
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The release date for <i>Enemy Within</i> is July 17, 2019. </div>
Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-63431412116812851232018-06-11T08:46:00.000-07:002018-06-11T08:46:00.302-07:00Funny Thing Happened Since Last I Was Here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I live in Florida, now. That two year gap in blogs - that was me working on keeping some people and pets alive. Succeeded with the people. Ultimately lost the battle with the pet as you do when they're as old as he was. (The youngest two are now 15 and they're fine. Ish.)<br />
<br />
The move from Washington State to the west (Gulf) coast of Florida was a massive undertaking because it wasn't just my nuclear family, I managed to convince my parents to move with us. Do you know how much stuff you manage to accumulate when you own 5 acres of land, a house, a boat, a tractor - for realz a tractor (and a bull dozer)? Trying to sort through a lifetime of my parents' stuff in a compressed time frame so they could sell the house was intense. But we did it and here we all are. My husbands' parents, his sister and her kids had been in this area for years. This moves a portion of my side of the family into the region. The only ones missing are my sister and her daughter.<br />
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That move diagonally across the continent wasn't just a matter of mileage. Culturally, I swear to you I need a mentor to comprehend Florida. While for the most part, we all speak the same language and have base cultural experience in common, the day to day details are totally different. Tiny example - in WA when I go for the annual physical, it's everything - breast exam, pelvic, blood work - everything in one single appointment. Not in Florida. PAP smear and breast exams are a separate appointment. No big deal. It's an expectation reset. One in a long line of expectation resets I've had to navigate since moving. It's good for my brain. I get that. But apparently my brain is a three year old who hasn't had her nap, because once in a while, she plops down on her butt in the middle of whatever I'm trying to cope with, crosses her chubby little arms and refuses to budge.<br />
<br />
Banging my forehead against the wall hasn't helped. So I really think there ought to be a mentorship program available. I don't know - maybe through the department of licensing you know? To encourage you to update the plates on your car. Go in, swap your plates, get assigned a cheerful volunteer you can text with things like "Best steak in town in a restaurant that isn't a tourist trap - go!" or "This snake just latched onto my shoe, here's a photo, how loud, exactly should my screams be?"<br />
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One of the things I absolutely give Florida props for: you can make an appointment to get your drivers license or your car license plates. An appointment. WA state didn't do that. You took half a day off work, went in, stood in line, and took your chances. Oh. And sunshine. My goodness, the sunshine.<br />
<br />
<br />Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-37812891552271242772016-08-10T10:08:00.000-07:002016-08-10T10:08:22.784-07:00Parenting Fail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have a confession. Last night I failed as a parent and as an adult. Now I get why my mother TO THIS DAY tells the story of walking the entirety of JFK International Airport trying to find her 8 year old (me) a hotdog and failing. My father had been stationed in Iceland. He'd been there for months while we lived with my mother's parents waiting for Dad to find housing for all of us. When finally he did, my sister and I were taken out of school, removed from our doting grandparents (very likely to my mother's everlasting relief), our beloved felines abandoned - one pregnant - and here we were. About to leave the United States in the middle of winter, bound for the great unknown. We had to get dinner before getting on the plane. I was offered a steak. I wanted a hotdog. Pizza? HOTDOG. <br />
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My poor mom. Faced with little kids desperate for some sense of familiarity and comfort and she couldn't make it happen. <br />
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This morning I have complete empathy for that twenty-something woman trying to parent an 8 and a 6 year old. This morning, I am also more grateful than ever that I never had children of my own. <br />
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At midnight, about an hour and a half after I'd finally gotten to sleep, Autolycus woke me by pulling my hair. Okay. To be fair, he was kneading, but he knew exactly what he was doing. "Mom," he purred, while drooling lovingly into my face, "I'm hungry." I was annoyed, but I got up and made him something to eat. <br />
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He snubbed it.<br />
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I was more annoyed, but I took it away and offered kibble.<br />
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He snubbed it.<br />
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Angry at that point, I put the kibble away and climbed back into bed. I must have misunderstood. But the second I put my head on the pillow, there he was. Yanking my hair and, now, licking my face. I got really mad. "WHAT?? What do you want?" <br />
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The boy recoiled and slowly, sadly turned his back and curled up. A little orange ball of misery that clearly said I'd stomped on his tiny, tender feelings, you big meanie.<br />
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Still grumbling, I got up again and got him water. Maybe that was his issue. I put the dish before him. He turned his face away. His ears drooped. I could almost see his little shoulders shaking in grief. <br />
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Oh my gawd. M A S S I V E G U I L T. Who's supposed to be the adult here? Who's supposed to remember that the boy is aged and ill and that I'm lucky to get to be awakened by him at all? That's right. Me. The cat parent who is failing as a parent on an epic scale. Brilliant. Cue the abject apologies. <br />
<br />
He did not want to hear them. Also did not want to be touched. Okay. I deserved that. No problem. Let's try a few more food options, shall we? Let's start with the current favorite - a can of Tiki Cat Lamb and Beef Liver. (Barf.) As I got yet another plate and dumped grotesque globules of goo thereupon, the DH, awakened by all the drama, rolled out of bed to attend to business. I set the plate of food before the cat. <br />
<br />
He ate. No histrionics. No accusation. Just a plain, simple, intimation that I'd been 100% unreasonable about being awakened at midnight so I could dirty four plates, and three of them for nothing. <br />
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As the DH and I stood beside the bed waiting for the cat to finish eating (what? You thought he'd get up??) I sighed.<br />
<br />
What I said then, I say again this morning: I hope to all the gods that I am the only person on the planet so fatally attracted to creatures that seem bent on exposing my every flaw as a human being.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-53303216247848704712016-01-22T09:30:00.002-08:002016-01-22T09:30:48.983-08:00Repelling BoardersShortly after midnight, last night, Autolycus woke me from a sound sleep to indicate that he was hungry and would I please provide him with a midnight snack. This by way of kneading my hair with intent to harm. I rolled out of bed and got the boy a plate of food, which, of course, I had to take *back* to the bed because, what? You expected him to get up?? He tucked in. <br />
<br />
I took the opportunity to check on the girls. Cuillean snoozing in her heated bed atop the fridge. Check. Hatshepsut - uh oh - Hatshepsut is stationed at the door to the cockpit. Standing at attention. Her gaze riveted in that clear "Mom, something's out there" gaze I'm finally coming to recognize. <br />
<br />
I grab the flashlight. Oh, look. The canvas door has been pulled open. The 2 gallon water jug I put in front of that door (to keep Hatshepsut from letting herself out) has been shoved to one side. Great. We had a visit from the local masked bandit. Except. The compost bag is still inside. Huh. He must not have gotten in past the water jug. Flick off the light and start to turn away.<br />
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Hatshepsut does not abandon her post. In fact, she repositions. It isn't quite a shout of 'you idiot, it's still out there' but it's close. So I scan the cockpit. Looks clear. And I open the door. That's when I hear it - this odd, metallic scraping sound. Thinking I'm walking into an enclosed space that contains a raccoon, I hesitate, my heart going from 'wish I were asleep' to 'oh shit' in a flash. But no. The noise is coming from outside the boat. I flip on the overhead light with the intent of scaring away anything or anyone lingering outside my boat. Doesn't work. Just blinds me. Flip the light back off, suck up my courage and unzip the door to outside.<br />
<br />
There's the raccoon. On the finger pier, just aft of my boat, staring at me over the corpse of a brand new 2lb bag of cat kibble.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbtKuy8-jtZoGZ-6ZhfsLwqAZULDcggr-5zW3A62wkQrIWY-d_ED12RN3CKSkFxLY7nLrjovEH6G5oCNiiISLkra4hnirJvle1gyGX467UC07SNOfoJjxrZbRoMajelOZkG1-QI2mAvWF6/s1600/2015-10-28+16.49.59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbtKuy8-jtZoGZ-6ZhfsLwqAZULDcggr-5zW3A62wkQrIWY-d_ED12RN3CKSkFxLY7nLrjovEH6G5oCNiiISLkra4hnirJvle1gyGX467UC07SNOfoJjxrZbRoMajelOZkG1-QI2mAvWF6/s320/2015-10-28+16.49.59.jpg" width="240" /></a>No longer merely human, I hiss at the little bastard and climb out onto the transom. He grabs that bag of kibble in his teeth and bolts. I pursue, still hissing. It's raining. It's almost 1AM. I am dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of fuzzy slippers. But I chase that damned raccoon up the dock for several yards - to that light post Autolycus is looking at in this photo - until the raccoon decides discretion is the better part of supper.<br />
<br />
He drops the bag of kibble and makes his break.<br />
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I only wanted the kibble. That's Autolycus's favorite. Stuff is $12 a 2lb bag. That raccoon can just pay for his own damned bag of noms.<br />
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I only hope none of my neighbors were up at that hour of the night. . .Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-4170072284656268742016-01-01T11:10:00.001-08:002016-01-01T11:10:22.320-08:00The Lost Kitten Had a dream last night. I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say there were two kittens. One plump and happy and outgoing. The other was smaller and shy. The two were sisters from the same litter (and thus, ostensibly, ought to have been the same size.) Insert all the random weirdness that is dreaming here. Until. Somewhere in all of that nonsense, I realized I hadn't seen shy kitten in a very long time. She hadn't come out to eat or anything. Uh oh. Cue the dramatic and heart-wrenching John Williams score. I HAD TO FIND HER. And I was scared to find her all at the same time for fear that I'd come across only her dry, shriveled up corpse. I did find her, curled up in a clothes drawer (even my subconscious gets cats) with her sister. She was tiny. Pitifully thin and wasted. But not dead. The dream ended with all of the emergency measures and plans to nurse her back to health. <br />
<br />
Why tell you this? Because that kitten is writing. <br />
<br />
I haven't written a single sentence on any story since the middle of November. (The kitten I haven't seen in a long time.) Sure, there are excuses and moderately good reasons for it. But the fact remains, I've been looking for that particular kitten for the past two weeks and with this dream, it's clear I'm holding a limp body in my hands - a body that's just about ready to give up unless I initiate some drastic intervention. <br />
<br />
For the curious, the fat, outgoing kitten is day to day life - the things that suck up all of your attention when given the chance.<br />
<br />
Funny. I know what to try for a sick kitten. Droppers of water and kitten formula. Warmth. Physical contact close to the heart (kittens cue off of mom's heart beat, so tucking a sick kitten against your skin close to your heart helps.) I don't know what to do for sick writing. Except maybe to approach it gently with the intention of dribbling in a few words at a time many times a day. I'm told it's a sign of a healthy mind if you begin taking positive action to solve problems in your dreams. Don't recall where I saw that, but I'll take it. And trust that it will spill over to actually solving the not writing problem. I hope.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-1333025303134378652015-05-08T09:20:00.001-07:002015-05-08T09:20:01.885-07:00Amazing DayYesterday, something amazing happened. It had been a rough day. Autolycus, our bob-tailed boy, was sick with a terrible cold. Everything we did to support his health only seemed to sink him deeper into misery. I hadn't managed to get a word written since Monday. Those of you who know me, know that means that I'd begun disintegrating since it is writing that keeps me sane. Ish. By this time, the doubts had hit full force. Everyone else in the world writes faster, more, better. If you have a pursuit you love, you may know what I'm talking about.<br />
<br />
Then. Out of the blue, on Facebook, I get this from my cousin:<br />
<span class="uficommentbody"><span lang="EN" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span><br />
<span class="uficommentbody"><span lang="EN" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"Thought I'd let you know that "Nightmare
Ink" helped Betty get through her chemo treatment like "sliding
through butter"! She started reading it off my tablet & didn't finish
so I found my old Kindle & charged it up & surprised her with it the
next week. She was giggling like a girl! So thank you so much!" </span></span><br />
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Yeesh. Still makes me tear up. <br />
<br />
I think I've mentioned my Aunt Betty before now, but just in case, here's the story again. See, I was a lonely kid. My fault, really. I kept waiting for my passel of cousins to yell, "Come on!" No one ever did. So I got left behind a lot. (I don't wait for an invite anymore. I barge right on into the group.) One particular day when all the other cousins had gone off to have fun while I ended up sitting on my grandmother's porch feeling sorry for myself, my Aunt Betty walked up with a box and plopped it down next to me. "Here," she said. "Read these. You'll like them." It was her collection of Andre Norton books. I started one and I was hooked. Andre Norton and my Aunt Betty are directly to blame for infecting me with the writing bug. :) How do you thank someone for something like that? <br />
<br />
Yesterday, Aunt Betty, via my cousin, gave me yet another gift - the awareness that what I write might not be changing the world - but for the few hours it takes to read one of my stories, what I write might change one person's world for the better. Humbling. Easy to forget that story telling is a form of sharing love and energy.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-64655519371357208852015-05-06T08:36:00.001-07:002015-05-06T08:36:23.399-07:00The Worst Day Living on a BoatThe worst of living aboard a boat isn't when it's stormy and the boat is bouncing all over the place. It isn't when lightning strikes in the waterway not 100' from the boat - though that WILL get your attention. It isn't even when the temperatures are hovering in the single digits.<br />
<br />
The single worst day living aboard a boat is the day the head (toilet) breaks. Because you never find out it's broken until you need to flush. And let me tell you, to fix the head in a boat requires taking the whole thing apart. Raw sewage is always involved. Bad day.<br />
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But second only to that are the days you walk all the way up to the showers, undress to get into said shower, and discover you left your towel on board the boat. A football field or more away.<br />
<br />
For someone without a sentimental bone in her body, I am SO nostalgic over the days when my beloved would bring me a towel warm from the dryer as I got out of the shower. Sigh.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-75962631093783707192015-02-25T17:57:00.000-08:002015-02-25T17:57:15.065-08:00A Treatise by AutolycusIt is a fact of life. Cats like to walk on keyboards. Apparently, they get extra points if they can power down your box in the process - <em>bonus</em> bonus points if you're in the middle of working on something vital. Like a paper or a book on deadline.<br />
<br />
One day, whilst editing the feline contributions to a document I'd been working on, it occurred to me that I'd had it all wrong. Maybe cats aren't walking on keyboards just to annoy us - certainly it's a factor - but what if it's not the actual point? Could they be trying to communicate? To someone or something? I resolved to find out. When one of the cats expresses interest in my keyboard, I open a blank document and let the feline author have free rein. I can't interpret what is produced. Not yet. And again, I'm plagued by the disturbing notion that the cats ARE trying to communicate. Just not with me. And I'm left wondering if not with me then with whom?<br />
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Reproduced below, 100% faithful to the original both in content and formatting is Autolycus's second, and thus far, lengthiest treatise. I have no clue what it means.<br />
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Code? Instructions? A rant against the flavor of cat food served for supper?<br />
Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-83999892400914123002014-11-17T08:38:00.000-08:002014-11-17T08:38:31.780-08:00My Thirty Degree, Guaranteed Cranky, ThresholdBarriers. I've talked about them before. These are the things that keep us from doing what we all know we're supposed to do. For some people (me) it's exercise. I know I should. And I want to - I really do. 30 minutes of moderate exercise each day staves off migraines in a big way. So, honest. I'm motivated. <br />
<br />
And yet.<br />
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Something stands in my way. That's a barrier. The trick is figuring out what that barrier is. For some people, it's as simple as packing a workout bag and setting out exercise clothes so the morning is a no brainer. In my case, It's the cold. Once the outdoor temperatures drop below 30 degrees, I'm done. Guaranteed grump point. No. I will not go out on an interval training walk/run. My toes are already painfully frozen in my sneakers. There aren't enough clothes in the world to make it okay. Going out on a bike ride is out of the question, too. My fingers and toes ache. What I really want to do is go out into the frigid morn and slam my face into the wind chill that riding would entail. Ever frozen the snot in your nose? Trust me. Do not want.<br />
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Last night, it struck me that I've filled my life with ways to make life harder. Plenty of people don't have a dishwasher, so I can't complain about that. Much. I *do* when I'm washing my third sink full of dishes for the day. But you know, cooking. Just cooking is more difficult - I'm working with a two burner propane stove with an oven the size of a bread box. Not to mention a tiny refrigerator and no microwave. I can't pull something out of the freezer and put it on the dinner table an hour later. This has done unfortunate things to my culinary skills and to my diet. Heck. Just taking a shower means kitting up and walking the equivalent of a football field, in the freezing dark, so I can plug the marina shower with quarters in exchange for two minutes of hot water. Then there's the walk back. Managing electrical load - I cannot be warm and vacuum the floors at the same time. It will blow the circuit breaker. The heat has to be shut down, then I can tidy up. This is essential, because my other guaranteed grump point is having my floors crunch when I walk on them. I've tried to find a medication to treat that. <br />
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99% of my barriers come down to the cold. So many people are bothered by the lack of sunlight at this time of year. Not me. Couldn't care less. In fact, I'd be grateful for the return of the rain. It would be warmer and as a boater, I have the gear for 40 degrees and rain slanting in sideways. Frost? Not so much. If it snows this year, I may snap, take an ax to the dock lines and aim for the south Pacific. I do still love my boat - even with the challenges and frustrations. And yes. I am well aware that makes me perverse. Hush up and help me find a place in Fiji or Tahiti where I can moor the boat. Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-63883450954617187782014-09-22T16:33:00.000-07:002014-09-22T16:33:23.123-07:00Tropical Seattle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEguBTGo415nhO0pKeIw4dXKc6qKmTgVFY0Yk07KjkeieTv0z-NTZWQ_2viHQFNT_A46pGZxiJOY91qLZV5vlVnR83akzn-nGrGjflN2b2fGFkzZWH7ODJevlVRK_T21m5U_0zxS41y-XO/s1600/DSCN0728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEguBTGo415nhO0pKeIw4dXKc6qKmTgVFY0Yk07KjkeieTv0z-NTZWQ_2viHQFNT_A46pGZxiJOY91qLZV5vlVnR83akzn-nGrGjflN2b2fGFkzZWH7ODJevlVRK_T21m5U_0zxS41y-XO/s1600/DSCN0728.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
You know that annoying part of the year where you have to put on long pants and a sweatshirt in the morning or freeze, but by noon, you're suffocating and longing for your shorts? It's back. The summer of unbelievably fine weather (for Seattle) and lovely sunsets draws to a close. Even though I'm still wearing flip-flops, the rain comes back tomorrow and the unseasonably warm temperatures start falling. I'd be sad about it if the piles of clothes we have stacked around to accommodate chilly mornings and frying afternoons weren't driving me nuts. (Fun fact about Marcella: Want to drive the writer insane? Won't take much of a push, admittedly, but the fastest route: Clutter. O_o This makes me officially Not Easy To Live With.)<br />
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Halloween decorations started showing up in the stores at the end of August, but none of us can contemplate pumpkin flavored anything when it's still 80 degrees. I keep seeing photos on Facebook, Tumblr and Pinterest of all the fall themed baking other people are doing. I get inspired and determine I'm going to make some fun treat-like thing. Cake. Bread. Something. But the weather has been so consistently, uncharacteristically tropical that turning on the oven isn't an option. I've always wanted to live in Hawaii. This year, I got Hawaii's weather without having to leave Seattle. Added bonus: No centipedes in Seattle.<br />
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So while I lurch through my days having to change clothes a dozen times to keep from roasting or freezing, regale me. What fall goodies are you baking or making?<br />
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Note: I'll be sending out my first attempt at a newsletter in the next few days - once I figure out how to get along with the software. If you're interested in pointing and laughing at my nascent newsletter attempts, <a href="http://www.marcellaburnard.com/contact.html" target="_blank">sign up here</a>. <br />
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Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-13290812645854729982014-04-23T17:42:00.000-07:002014-04-23T17:42:19.122-07:00Best Grass on the DockTwo or three hundred feet up the dock from us, there's a dinghy. It's a sad, half-deflated rigid bottom inflatable tucked between the bow of its center cockpit sailboat and the dock. Until last fall, it hung on the dinghy davits off the back of the abandoned sailboat. A pair of seagulls had been using the dinghy as their nesting platform (and causing all kinds of havoc when anyone tried to pass by in the waterway behind the boat). The port finally called the owner and asked him to move the dinghy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xlSf6y_GZP6brGDK3G3daoGMorkmrFxs5nO6ae7nwCeVUm0heVKig4jGtbQRvGYH-EgK7s3x-ClYk1DBG8TCrn0nyIYLItIbuQF7K1MQxQfsYf2uQDVm5EywiB8Owd0MOT9Go4Mnb93s/s1600/Dinghy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xlSf6y_GZP6brGDK3G3daoGMorkmrFxs5nO6ae7nwCeVUm0heVKig4jGtbQRvGYH-EgK7s3x-ClYk1DBG8TCrn0nyIYLItIbuQF7K1MQxQfsYf2uQDVm5EywiB8Owd0MOT9Go4Mnb93s/s1600/Dinghy.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a>He did. He put it right there against the dock. Without cleaning out the accumulation of nesting material and guano.<br />
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As you can see, that dinghy grew a bumper crop of grass. How Hatshepsut found this so far from our boat is a mystery to me. And perhaps it's better that way. I have enough gray hair. Maybe she simply smelled the ripening odor of aging seagull poop and followed her nose. Whatever it was, we were outside on the docks one day and she led me down to this dinghy. She gingerly climbed inside and began eating the grass. This has gone on one each day it hasn't been raining. Mind you, I buy this cat grass from the local health food store. Wheat grass. Lush. Green. Fresh. She appreciates it. We go through a ritual when I come home with groceries. She sticks her nose in each of the bags looking while I sing "Hatshepsut, look! I brought you a treat!" I put down her container of live grass and she proceeds to mince up blades of grass and scatter them all over the white cockpit.<br />
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The grass in the dinghy is different. Sure, she pulls it out, too, but that grass she actually eats. Consumes it as if it nourishes her in some fashion that the wheat grass simply can't. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4eAIkhyUC1YsiyBGGsEc5SyyrhF78Ewn7PnxOIofEh7M0dGIygHldVBUjknbCjwp8rLpX9AwdU48pJt5LqHrKpdPqgKT9RBEy_gIQVxKmmelgXNHx0ey1QEN2cjCiLSkzU_xaNAMulCl/s1600/Bones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4eAIkhyUC1YsiyBGGsEc5SyyrhF78Ewn7PnxOIofEh7M0dGIygHldVBUjknbCjwp8rLpX9AwdU48pJt5LqHrKpdPqgKT9RBEy_gIQVxKmmelgXNHx0ey1QEN2cjCiLSkzU_xaNAMulCl/s1600/Bones.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
I know it's blurry, but your eyes do not deceive you. Those are bones. What this means is that my youngest feline prefers to eat only grass nourished by the corpses of dead baby seagulls.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-37509599974450761282014-04-21T19:48:00.000-07:002014-04-21T19:48:30.991-07:00The Easter DragSaturday morning dawned bright, mostly clear, and without a breath of wind. We prepped the boat and cast off for a trip across Puget Sound to go visit my family for the weekend. I'd tell you it was for Easter, but really, it was for food. Mom was putting a ham in the oven and making baked beans. If my husband could have teleported to her house, he would have. The boat was the next best (though it must be noted - not the next <em>fastest</em> way) across the water. <br />
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We hadn't taken the boat out since Christmas. The cats had kinda forgotten that their house moves, but they were 100% clear that they DO NOT LIKE that their house moves. Despite a seasick cat making a mess in the master cabin, it was a perfect trip across. We made excellent time. A line of clouds lingered on the horizon, but the sun shone and it was warm. We consulted the tide tables because hubby really wanted to anchor out rather than pay for space at the city dock. I mentioned that the weather was supposed to turn. He squinted at the sky, shrugged and went back to calculating tides.<br />
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It's the time of year for big tidal run. On Saturday, when we got to Poulsbo, the tide was going out a long way - 11 feet in just a few hours. We were going from a high of 10 feet to a low of -1.5. He picked a spot and signaled. I dropped the anchor and 70 feet of chain to the mud bottom.<br />
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Maritime trials over. We shut down the engine and kicked back. The still air stirred, then began blowing in earnest. The clouds shuttered the blue sky and rain slanted in sideways.<br />
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KACHUNK<br />
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The boat trembled. I got up and glanced around. <br />
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"I think we just straightened out all 70 feet of our chain in one go," I said, running to check the depth sounder. "And we are super close to shore. Super, super close. 8 feet of water underneath us."<br />
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We didn't drag - which is when your anchor comes up out of whatever was holding it on the bottom. In the case of Liberty Bay, that 'whatever' is stinky, black mud. Our anchor held just fine. The problem was the rode. <br />
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Rode is what connects your anchor and your boat. It can be a line (rope) or chain. Most people use a combination. We have 70 feet of chain on the anchor end, and another two hundred feet of line. The theory behind using chain is that it's heavy enough to rest flat on the bottom, which keeps your anchor at the proper angle to the bottom to help it dig in so you don't drag. When we anchor in Liberty Bay, we drop the anchor and then let out all of our chain. We count out extra feet of line based on weather conditions and what kind of scope (the ratio of your boat length to length of rode you pay out) we think we'll need to stay safely anchored in one place.<br />
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Thing is, if you're a boater, you already know we missed a step in the anchoring process. We didn't set our anchor. That's when you drop the anchor overboard and then gently back up until the anchor catches and stops the boat. THEN you put out the rest of your rode. Not that it would have made any difference for us. We'd forgotten the cardinal rule of boating: The wind always wins.<br />
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Because the tide was going out, we imagined that we'd swing with the current. Instead, the wind blew us against the current, into shallower water. And when the wind REALLY kicked, all 70 feet of our chain went from piled up in the mud, to straightened out in the goo and we went from anchoring in 20 feet of water to 8 feet.<br />
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Hubby started the engine. I got on my rain gear and went on deck to haul up the anchor. We could have repositioned and set the anchor in deeper water, but it would have meant rowing the dinghy into the city dock in the wind and rain. Instead, we motored to an empty guest slip and tied up for the weekend. It made the cats happy when the sun came out on Sunday morning and they could get out of the boat to roll on the concrete dock.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-34954637986418839602014-04-18T09:05:00.001-07:002014-04-18T09:05:18.183-07:00Musical Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/p8yfxX27Oss?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe>For your listening pleasure. Frog song in Western Washington. This was recorded at my parents' house which is in the midst of wetlands. I went out to the front porch to record. There's nothing to see in the video - the lights that appear briefly are a neighboring house. </div>
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I love the frogs and listening to them sing is one of the things I miss living on the boat. No frogs on salt water, alas. So every spring, I go spend a night at my folks' place. Just to get my hit.</div>
<br />Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-1745812881673730932014-04-17T14:18:00.001-07:002014-04-17T14:18:51.920-07:00Apologies May Be the Death of MeI had to apologize to my mom today. I called her up to deliver my apology, so naturally, she answered on speaker phone. Fortunately, it was because she was on her hands-free set in the car. (Begin PSA: Cellphone use without a hands-free device of some kind will get you stopped and ticketed in Washington state! End PSA.)<br />
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Mom and my sister had some concerns about my health. I'd made light of them, but asked my doctor about their specific issue just the same. Why leave any base not covered, right? The doctor assured me there was nothing at all to worry about. Yay. But still. I'd realized that I maybe hadn't handled my family's concerns gracefully. Thus the phone call. I made my apology. <br />
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Mom said, "Eh, I didn't feel blown off. If I had I would have told you. We're family. We shouldn't have to worry about how you or I interprets what the other says."<br />
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I can see the point. But I think it's precisely because we are family - and I value both of my parents and the relationship I have with each of them - that it's vital to make apologies when I've been callous about their feelings. The death of any given relationship rarely comes from one major injury. It comes from a thousand tiny cuts that aren't bandaged with a simple 'I'm sorry'. <br />
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It's so easy to take family for grated and assume that apologies aren't necessary. It seems really twisted to me that it's often easier to apologize to a stranger than to a loved one. Or is that just me? <br />
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Maybe it's harder to apologize to someone I care about because I already feel small for having hurt whoever it was. If the person is REALLY mad or upset, I'll feel even worse. There are huge (possibly selfish) emotional stakes in procuring forgiveness. And what if you don't? What then? I totally get not approaching someone I care about to apologize. It feels so like I'm yanking the scab off of a wound that may make me bleed out. Yet if I don't, the fact that I've potentially been a jerk to someone I love spins round and round in my head, feeding the 'you're worthless' voices that occasionally pop up. <br />
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This is where being socially awkward is like the internet. On the internet, you don't feed the trolls. When you're socially awkward, you don't feed The Voices. They have enough fuel already, thanks.<br />
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Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-65706737143279667452012-10-28T19:00:00.000-07:002012-10-28T19:00:05.136-07:00SteamCon IV - Where There Were Monsters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Steam Con IV is over and we're all trapped firmly in the mundane world once more. However. For a few brief days, the Hyatt in Bellevue was the site of an in invasion of hideous (but polite!) Victorian monsters and those that hunt the diabolical creatures. Enough chatter. On to the photos! Behold, Baba Yaga! And a well dressed mummy - note her mummified companion at her side.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzkIxab0iBDpiL5g0SX3sdTC-KS7p9WB6Y77qmnuYY_92481rbmti7Elrw315FeOL5oJVUOTdLYPY02YwVMP6sdQ38JLmXSlIGeIV6vFxq06SicXCvhlFH3WM9i7mXnQnycEZ9LIheYpja/s1600/Mummy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzkIxab0iBDpiL5g0SX3sdTC-KS7p9WB6Y77qmnuYY_92481rbmti7Elrw315FeOL5oJVUOTdLYPY02YwVMP6sdQ38JLmXSlIGeIV6vFxq06SicXCvhlFH3WM9i7mXnQnycEZ9LIheYpja/s320/Mummy.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQbDYWCdPZzWmxyLhS8JhBn9ViJ8CSvXREC-xKF3dAK7e9OMLQ8gnVfiGizwamRFcfvVMwYM64Desn0dZpaO8KCViHg3gz_BlPglwaIME3Brz0u4mtuBAGM44Km3qj1hLIKjSH7eaQFvj/s1600/BabaYaga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQbDYWCdPZzWmxyLhS8JhBn9ViJ8CSvXREC-xKF3dAK7e9OMLQ8gnVfiGizwamRFcfvVMwYM64Desn0dZpaO8KCViHg3gz_BlPglwaIME3Brz0u4mtuBAGM44Km3qj1hLIKjSH7eaQFvj/s320/BabaYaga.jpg" width="180" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0i2ELw_ErRnMlUre3mr-dRrzq2s-Ok2CN_9iMD6FDXVXSr0N-DMSUDC6ZA0jnNJDO3X4ivAZQtz1Yzvz84zWS0fRAZK1_gsXZDPYIFxRlAdOKZPeTHt0v_JDZypzyU1PpMrvau9Jfn9f1/s1600/Dragondog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0i2ELw_ErRnMlUre3mr-dRrzq2s-Ok2CN_9iMD6FDXVXSr0N-DMSUDC6ZA0jnNJDO3X4ivAZQtz1Yzvz84zWS0fRAZK1_gsXZDPYIFxRlAdOKZPeTHt0v_JDZypzyU1PpMrvau9Jfn9f1/s320/Dragondog.jpg" width="320" /></a>Dr. Jekyll and the nortorious creature, Hyde. A very small dragon invaded the mercantile at one point causing a stampede as the shoppers were lured in by the creature's fiendish cuteness.<br />
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Es9-myCI1Stmpv5LS_ITutqULE2Vzns3lO_fo9A0YBrfPsp66FG-F41IzstLu4rd6jP6_Z4znv14niObrq0ipRMJOL6p4BeJqglh85BU9tlFqjQAqPWVvIDd4gZnR1ELtyDrawYgRXHT/s320/JekyllandHyde.jpg" width="180" /><br />
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Medusa and the brave Perseus (AKA Mike and Casey Spence) Also, a glimpse of a pair of monster hunters - loaded for whatever danger might wander into their sites.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3SiGOAmXAFDGcwkoZcmu_fox1OIBwh0ORBmpGWR5fy-dUgEuzVm8UspFGOGU3VQzzoLmVlew2PWt2Xal_1HPRynwS-ldMGoa92iENRiRkjJgDccIuwnKGmwuAyD-mrqEymrvMtAxp-J_/s1600/Monsterhunters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3SiGOAmXAFDGcwkoZcmu_fox1OIBwh0ORBmpGWR5fy-dUgEuzVm8UspFGOGU3VQzzoLmVlew2PWt2Xal_1HPRynwS-ldMGoa92iENRiRkjJgDccIuwnKGmwuAyD-mrqEymrvMtAxp-J_/s320/Monsterhunters.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyCcbkp1OkqgY-abmZx7Bh4yvkNy01sUl2LPbmTq28pl1gYjRF9KOsRbqn1bawMCs24oC3RGge_48XqtEIC07sQvlqkrpIVPJ1OihyitvMXc72P724K3d738cHN3hlJd5GuWZ7CSzzz26/s1600/Medusa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyCcbkp1OkqgY-abmZx7Bh4yvkNy01sUl2LPbmTq28pl1gYjRF9KOsRbqn1bawMCs24oC3RGge_48XqtEIC07sQvlqkrpIVPJ1OihyitvMXc72P724K3d738cHN3hlJd5GuWZ7CSzzz26/s320/Medusa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwiDRozPfU4l8fv7KWDhOTiGJ_S1cD2Yc4OCSpzHuotFwvJS7D9MuakEPA3NnZ1W3Pmn61ENze75aFwQUGA0jznoLnkGfL67Erj59FKaoxJNmzXzi_f6Eo3nhRe5VaBZoM6bZhIJnzoH3I/s320/Stilts.jpg" width="240" />This man is on stilts. In costume. Playing a bagpipe. The blurry is invalid.<br />
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Below, we have the Vampire Rhiannon and the lovely Lady Anna K. Sunnamun, explorer, late of Egypt. (AKA Rhiannon and Melissa Thornley)</div>
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIoS8nI5DRYsNsZauWgQdHVl2V4u8eHHL3kwaRcR9QMJgrF2Ocok90P4Nmh_ENju7tFCmNDAvYqm_CnYPVHvSJol1y64FO7cP-wT30J7iiSmPxFz-fWPDyXAICClEdK_e1AFc9EGxbpfP/s320/DSC_0009.JPG" width="212" /><br />
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And here, we have the entire crew. From left to right: Emily Olesin, Casey Spence (Medusa), in the pith helmet Mike Spence (Perseus), in front Keith Burnard, Rhiannon Thornley, Melissa Thornley, Melissa Denny and Alden Denny.<br />
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I was a Victorian Black Widow. Sadly for a number of people, they mistook me for the superhero variety rather than the arachnid and thus venomous type. The costume wasn't elaborate, but the tragedy is that I don't sew and the great bulk of my creative impulse appears to be reserved for writing stories. It took a very long time for me to complete the pattern I'd chosen. We won't talk about the number of seams I had to rip out because I'd misunderstood a set of instructions. Nor will we discuss the blood that I may have shed from sticking myself with pins during the constuction phase.</div>
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From fabric, to half sewn objects.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Wuj8MuXVK5Wp6d0ySqUEWZ0MxZwcD1c5FqFmNL4SoYvluFRFi0N2UtBjroyHROKXyhECTDgc1-kQSR0GqI8rBdVqoKn8CfLgD6rLrvjmsblLI7TkL2CnPdAYXp8Winz6PzWYaUhxQNiA/s1600/Inprocess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Wuj8MuXVK5Wp6d0ySqUEWZ0MxZwcD1c5FqFmNL4SoYvluFRFi0N2UtBjroyHROKXyhECTDgc1-kQSR0GqI8rBdVqoKn8CfLgD6rLrvjmsblLI7TkL2CnPdAYXp8Winz6PzWYaUhxQNiA/s320/Inprocess.jpg" style="cursor: move;" unselectable="on" width="320" /></a><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1SAiTqxAXNZXpvs8_9k7VI4Yrs-T0ixDow74GDXyqb2o9M1JeiVPZRiZlNEiP_qFIHbbM4KuOjdTis3yCQ82joSkMms-NgYnysLfUgdvF0ylBgBlpdZlSgmItAwa7rNFEpYpBZQnfswk/s320/DSC_0022.JPG" width="212" /><br />
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To completed outfit (without accesories) to the con where the vampire and I were caught conferring about the relative merits of poisoned bites.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKehgNl07uYedacp7xjdSi45o6sueORh071kbBhzSazesLc7VavhGaVjW91wexxkEj1kUHhXu255FHAPxSUgSbkix7H7sYcwpQ0wCWC3O43iOaSumUM0dN3xV4inOo-00lJZl5R43jeNke/s1600/Blackwidow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKehgNl07uYedacp7xjdSi45o6sueORh071kbBhzSazesLc7VavhGaVjW91wexxkEj1kUHhXu255FHAPxSUgSbkix7H7sYcwpQ0wCWC3O43iOaSumUM0dN3xV4inOo-00lJZl5R43jeNke/s320/Blackwidow.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKd5hKFMkQDp5hdII13K1U4G_KlyODOwX74zyd_KZK5L0Uj39DiiU4kgrAH_jF2fcW1L5TP8AJAB_4NUEUwHWdPchv1S3N1BC6lo7VuUrTmxFVPU6hMuzkKyl6uF6AH6NFMkCZ0CU_boQd/s1600/costume.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKd5hKFMkQDp5hdII13K1U4G_KlyODOwX74zyd_KZK5L0Uj39DiiU4kgrAH_jF2fcW1L5TP8AJAB_4NUEUwHWdPchv1S3N1BC6lo7VuUrTmxFVPU6hMuzkKyl6uF6AH6NFMkCZ0CU_boQd/s320/costume.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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Join us next year for <a href="http://www.steamcon.org/">SteamCon V</a>. The theme is Around the World. Costumes are optional, thought clothing is not, but costumes are a good portion of the fun.</div>
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Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-29648677134799160232012-10-09T08:54:00.001-07:002012-10-09T08:54:36.884-07:00One of the Dangers of BoatingA day of fishing turned deadly this past Friday. It was a clear, blue, sunny October day. Two men took their 16' aluminum boat out for a day of fishing in the water just outside of Shilshole Bay Marina. At 4pm, they were a mile or so from the breakwater when a 44' power boat collided with them. Their fishing boat capsized. Both men went into the frigid water.<br />
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One of them suffered a heart attack and could not be revived. The other man was pulled from the water and is recovering from his injuries.<br />
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I won't post the photos. Some of them can be distressing (no photos of the people - but the overturned boat being towed by the Coast Guard and the damage to the fishing boat are heartbreaking enough, especially knowing that the accident cost a man his life.) If, however, you want to understand what kind of damage a collision like this can do, <a href="http://www.kirotv.com/news/news/2-rescued-water-near-shilshole-marina/nSWS7/">click here - this is KIRO 7's</a> coverage - photos and video.<br />
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The investigation into what cased the collision is ongoing, so there's no point in trying to place blame. I wanted to mention this accident because when you're on the water, collisions and near collisions are far more common than you might think. Boaters have <a href="http://www.working-the-sails.com/rules_of_the_road.html">insane lists of rules for right of way</a>. The link takes you to just one site dedicated to a summary of the rules, but allow me to boil this down. <br />
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Rule 1. Know the navigation rules and follow them. <br />
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But when that fails, see: <br />
Rule 2. The safety of your vessel and everyone on it is your responsibility. Do whatever is necessary to avoid a collision so long as your action endangers no one else.<br />
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The School of Dad (where I learned to sail) put it this way: "You can hollar that you had right of way the entire time you're sinking." Yes. Collisions happen. People die. In Washington State, a number of people die in boating accidents every year. Most of those accidents involve alcohol and drowning. Sometimes, it's collision and loss of boats and sometimes loss of life. There's a lot of water out there, but not so much that you can allow your attention to stray when you're at the helm.<br />
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If you're writing fiction, a collision, especially at night or in low visibility conditions (fog, rain, snow), is a perfectly valid disaster to have befall your characters. Have a look at current conditions and water temperature conditions for your region.There are places in Washington State and up into Canadian waters where the currents run so hard and fast that if someone goes in, the chances of survival are slim to none. Point of interest: Most of the water north of Washington state is warmer than it is at the Washington coast. <a href="http://www.nodc.noaa.gov/dsdt/cwtg/npac.html">Here's the NOAA guide for water temperature observations for most of the nation.</a> Though, I'm linking you directly to the page for Seattle and surrounding waters. Click on the nav menu on the left to find other areas of the nation.<br />
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If you go out on the water for real, remember your life jackets, please. And remind everyone on board to help you keep watch for other vessels. Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-3091261061973452092012-10-04T12:02:00.001-07:002012-10-04T12:02:24.645-07:00Boats and Electricity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPmBCGEHPfcnEg8OHZZ5Sv34O-tDg01zotBEuvHS39anH8sAL4_tglQ9KTFuN6DLbs0HthELGL_Ar8_PRK2ZMJ7GHsEQL0VMq4w61TD88xfbmhojVXrA5IP8beAZAPpcQOU_xA6tiLySP/s1600/DSC_0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPmBCGEHPfcnEg8OHZZ5Sv34O-tDg01zotBEuvHS39anH8sAL4_tglQ9KTFuN6DLbs0HthELGL_Ar8_PRK2ZMJ7GHsEQL0VMq4w61TD88xfbmhojVXrA5IP8beAZAPpcQOU_xA6tiLySP/s320/DSC_0001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I owe you a post about power boats - I will post it. I swear. It's a bigger subject than I'd originally thought. In the meantime, however, I bring you this: Photo of something you never, ever want to see on YOUR boat.<br />
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How to burn your boat to the waterline in one easy step: Don't check your connection to shore power on a regular (at least weekly) basis. The photo above is the result of that. If you don't want to lose the boat to fire, check your plugs! Oh. And if you *think* you smell something burning? Check the shore power connection.<br />
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Most boats have batteries. The bigger the boat, the bigger the battery bank. Cabin lights, sailing instruments and running lights all operate from the batteries. However, while boats are in dock, most of us are also hooked into shore power. This recharges the batteries, but it also allows us to run computers, our refrigerator, and anything else that requires a regular plug to operate (like heaters). Shore power connections are exposed to the elements. This isn't usually an issue - think of your outdoor holiday light displays. These plugs and the cords are designed for outdoor use and they serve reliably for years. <br />
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The problem is that when these cords fail (and they will, it's just a matter of time) they almost always fail at the BOAT end (the picture above) not on the dock end. When they fail, it's almost always in the fashion shown in the photo - heat, melting and scorching from runaway current. Boat fires can and do start this way. Yes. That picture is of our plug. Once I found this scorch, we did not plug back in - we immediately went to the marine store and bought a new shorepower plug solution called SmartPlug. (I'm not affiliated with the company in any way, shape or form - we just picked it for safety reasons that made sense to us.) We went that route because those plugs have fuses and temperature sensors. If heat builds up in the plug, the fuse trips and shuts down all current. This makes it much harder to burn down the boat. <br />
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It's amazing how I took electricity for granted until we moved aboard a boat. To a certain extent, I still do - the power just shows up ready for me to plug into at the dock stand. But the line into the boat is 100% our responsibility and there's clearly maintenance - even if it's just checking the connection from time to time - required to keep everyone and everything safe.<br />
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The nice part, if you're writing fiction, is that you now have a believable disaster that could befall your fictional boaters. (Note: I knew we had a problem because our 'Reverse Polarity' light came on in the onboard electrical panel. So if you want to rescue your boater before the boat catches fire - you can have one of them see the red Reverse Polarity light shining and question it. For the record, the rest of our electrical panel indicators are green - that one's the only red light.)Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-57436658806646858342012-09-25T08:39:00.000-07:002012-09-25T08:39:18.599-07:00Release Day for The Hallowed Ones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Let's get<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Hallowed-Ones-Laura-Bickle/dp/0547859260/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1348586676&sr=8-1&keywords=the+hallowed+ones"> the BUY link</a> out of the way, shall we? This book is by the fabulous Laura Bickle - you may have read her other books, Embers or Sparks, or possibly Dark Oracle or Rogue Oracle. <br />
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From Amazon's description of the book: <br />
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"Katie is on the verge of her <i>Rumspringa,</i> the time in Amish life when
teenagers can get a taste of the real world. But the real world comes to her in
this dystopian tale with a philosophical bent. Rumors of massive unrest on the
“Outside” abound. Something murderous is out there. Amish elders make a rule: No
one goes outside, and no outsiders come in. But when Katie finds a gravely
injured young man, she can’t leave him to die. She smuggles him into her
family’s barn—at what cost to her community? The suspense of this vividly told,
truly horrific thriller will keep the pages turning."<br />
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The writing is gorgeous, even more so when the scenes are intense and chilling. I love this book and this heroine. I hope you do, too.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-1985134795926384252012-08-08T15:11:00.000-07:002012-08-08T15:11:04.558-07:00National Night Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was National Night Out last night, August 7. Our local law enforcement, Port of Seattle Police, come out to the marina, set up the grills and cook up all the hot dogs and hamburgers marina patrons can shovel down.<br />
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They bring all the coolest tech they have for us to drool over. This year, we got to tour the Harbor Patrol jet boat. I learned that the police divers in Puget Sound wear dry suits exclusively (our water is freaking cold) by OSHA regulation. Apparently, our water is also of questionable enough quality that the divers are required to wear full face masks, too. This works out, because the divers then have voice communication to one another and to the boat at the surface. <br />
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The SWAT truck was back - one that I'm happy to say only comes to Shilshole for this yearly show and tell event. New to me this year was the bomb disposal unit and the robots the police use.<br />
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The older robot is on the right (near the cab of the truck. A brand new model is on the far left. Again, this public relations event is the only time we've ever seen the bomb disposal unit out near our boats and most of us living aboard would really, really like to keep it that way. <br />
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The Port of Seattle encompasses not just our marina, but the whole commercial shipping industry and Seatac Airport. Most of this high tech gear spends the bulk of the year out at the airport and occassionally inspecting shipping containers. One officer told us that most of their 'bomb' calls are in response to people screwing around with chemicals in the garage - home made fireworks and improvised explosives. So be careful with those chemistry sets and when you're watching the Youtube videos about how to build your own fireworks? Think about the ignominy of having to explain to your homeowner's insurance agent just why the bomb disposal unit was parked in front of your place (when there wasn't a National Night Out BBQ taking place).<br />
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We enjoy this event every year. Since we've been to four out of the past five years (cruising last year made us miss), we're beginning to recognize officers and several have begun to recognize us. The officer who mentioned he definitely recognized me, laughed and assured me it's a good thing. I hadn't wondered until he said that. :) <br />
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The event is about building relationships and trust with the community. Officers make a special effort to interact with the children - sure most of them have kids of their own and are genuinely fond of children - but it's also a terrific way for them to put young children at ease around officers in uniform in a safe setting. The liveaboards at Shilshole, including our youngest residents, turn out en masse for this BBQ every year. We're a small community of about 300 households. We try to look out for one another. Most issues at Shilshole revolve around a little too much alcohol, but we've had at least two known instances of stalking in the five years we've been here, too. What's really nice is knowing that we can call the Port of Seattle police for help, and the chances are, any one of the responders will be an officer we met at National Night Out.<br />
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Thank you to the Port of Seattle Police for the burgers and for indulging our curiosity with such patience. Thank you to the Shilshole Bay Marina staff for hosting all the festivities.<br />
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My favorite part of the evening? As we were walking back to our boat, we passed one of the police cars. Poking out of a briefcase in the front seat was a little stuffed pig. I wish I'd gotten a photo.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-76907663870931589572012-08-06T11:16:00.003-07:002012-08-06T11:16:41.522-07:00Martian CakeLast night, the new Mars Rover Curiosity landed in Gale Crater on Mars. If you stayed up to watch the live feed from the JPL command center, you know just how underwhelming that simple sentence is. It was a stunning triumph crowning nearly 9 years of intense work (8 years leading to launch, 8 months of travel from Earth to Mars).<br />
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If you missed it, you can see the video, along with information about NASA's other space projects, on <a href="http://www.nasa.gov/multimedia/nasatv/index.html">http://www.nasa.gov/multimedia/nasatv/index.html</a>. Many news outlets have pulled and posted the video of the landing. A nine minute version is up on NASA's Youtube channel: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnG-rFFpP8A">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnG-rFFpP8A</a> It's worth watching more than once. Take a look at how tense and nervous those scientists and engineers are. Count how many of them burst into tears when the signal comes back that Curiosity landed perfectly. <br />
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I did, too, along with a number of people who admitted it on Twitter. <br />
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Speaking of which, Twitter went NUTS on the #MSL tag. The traffic is still intense this morning as everyone waits for more information from Curiosity. Though, from what I understand, we're in a 12 hour communication black out window at the moment. If you want a glimpse at the first photo Curiosity sent back after landing, look here: <a href="http://www.spaceflight101.com/msl-mission-updates-3.html">http://www.spaceflight101.com/msl-mission-updates-3.html</a> (Not embedding photos I don't own into the blog - many of NASA's photos are free for use - but I'm not clear on these photos yet. We may need media release forms from any Martians captured in the image. Joking on that last one.) On NASA's news page, you can see a second photo from Curiosity, amid a collection of a few other snapshots. <a href="http://www.nasa.gov/news/index.html">http://www.nasa.gov/news/index.html</a> The one of Curiosity's shadow is my favorite, for no particular reason. <br />
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In the midst of watching the live feed last night, I realized that the last live feed I'd watched from NASA had to have been one of the Apollo landings. The space shuttle launches were timed in such a way that I couldn't watch them live because of school schedules and possibly because our school lacked either the motivation or the money for the students to watch in real time.<br />
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I so look forward to what Curiosity will tell us about Mars. Will Curiosity find stromatolites - fossilized algae mats - proving that the Red Planet did ONCE support life? Or will Curiosity hit the jackpot and find actual microbial life hiding in the Martian soil? Apparently, NASA's trying really hard not to hope for that. During a morning briefing, the panelists were quick to point out that Curiosity is a mobile chemistry lab. They have a nonstop list of experiments lined up for the rover, but 'finding actual life' isn't on their checklist. <br />
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Wouldn't it just be the icing on the Curiosity cake, though?<br />
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Why does this matter to me? Besides the fact that I'm a hopeless nerd, you mean? It's true. Finding out something we as a race didn't know until the moment it's revealed lights up my simple brain. On some level, it feels a little like an explosion inside, as if I've been forever changed by a piece of data. I guess that's true on a larger level, too. Every time humans learn something new, the entire race is changed. While individuals may remain ignorant, the body of knowledge available to humankind if expanded. Are we, on some level, expanded too?<br />
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It matters because every single thing that Curiosity tells us about Mars is fodder for another science fiction story, another flight of imagination fueled by an amazing feat of science and engineering. Last night's landing was an extraordinary treat.<br />
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Thanks, NASA.Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-87452883026438412052012-07-16T12:52:00.003-07:002012-07-16T12:52:37.924-07:00Late Breaking News Flash!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0z1Swj1trpVAGI7I_PBYMUnP8Tbkhsgi5BrGM41piICZGcKPhKI3vnsp6sKIXQOMASlEBamQ3SCTK8z5tpBveYVb2YzET0VgRW__4oVyeFrkWr4t8CRx2FOiND69yDo8FGO3W7ZNKWq8/s1600/%7B2BA8825E-4B7A-45F1-9A3F-273EC10F618C%7DImg100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0z1Swj1trpVAGI7I_PBYMUnP8Tbkhsgi5BrGM41piICZGcKPhKI3vnsp6sKIXQOMASlEBamQ3SCTK8z5tpBveYVb2YzET0VgRW__4oVyeFrkWr4t8CRx2FOiND69yDo8FGO3W7ZNKWq8/s320/%7B2BA8825E-4B7A-45F1-9A3F-273EC10F618C%7DImg100.jpg" width="202" /></a>We interrupt the scintillating drama of talking about boats to bring you this news flash:<br />
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It's RELEASE DAY for <u>Rogue's Pawn</u> by Jeffe Kennedy. This is the first book in The Covenant of Thorns series brought to you by Carina Press.<br />
<br />
From Carina's website: <br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em>This is no fairy tale…</em></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> <br />
<br />
Haunted by nightmares of a black dog, sick to death of my mind-numbing career
and heart-numbing fiancé, I impulsively walked out of my life—and fell into
Faerie. Terrified, fascinated, I discover I possess a power I can't control: my
wishes come true.<br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">"An enthralling,
thrilling and seductive ride is the only way to describe </span></em>Rogue's
Pawn!"<br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">—Goodreads</span></em></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://ebooks.carinapress.com/6705611D-5376-43F8-BC16-5B8B460ED6CE/10/134/en/ContentDetails.htm?ID=2BA8825E-4B7A-45F1-9A3F-273EC10F618C">Go have a look directly if you like.</a> I'll wait. I can do that because I've read this book, you see. Those of you who love a good fantasy world - this is it. Magical, vivid, more than faintly creepy, and so much fun you won't want it to end. Just don't cut ahead of me in the line up for book two. I'd hate to have to hurt anyone.</span></span>Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-49957321048374253292012-06-28T17:39:00.003-07:002020-08-03T08:00:47.725-07:00Sailing on More than One Hull<div style="text-align: left;">
There's a saying among boaters: There are two kinds of boaters - those who have run aground and those who will. </div>
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If you're in a boat with a keel, you need to know how much you draw. This is a fancy way of saying 'how far down does the keel go in the water?' If you look back at the last post, you can see from the drawing that some keels hang deeper than others. If you're writing about a sailboat, your characters need to know what their boat draws (how deep the keel goes). Otherwise, they're going to be those boaters who WILL run aground. </div>
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Running aground can be no big thing, or it can be utterly devastating. During a cruise last summer, my husband and I listened on the VHF as a big power boat struck an unmarked reef (rocks) at high speed. That boat sank within an hour. Everyone made if off the boat and were rescued, but it was a stark reminder that you either have to know the waters were you cruise, or you have to know how to read your charts. Even then, you may not avoid running aground. </div>
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Most groundings in sailboats are at low speed and it's the keel that hits first. Not bad, really. Touching bottom with a piece of solid metal may take a bite out of the keel, but it usually doesn't result in a sinking. It's possible to hit hard enough to rip the keel right off the boat, but that's unusual and it does mean sinking. Most of the time, in the Puget Sound region, sailboats go aground in mud, which doesn't damage the boat. The problem is that if you go aground with the tide going out, your boat will settle over on one side until the tide turns and refloats it again. Not a catastrophe, generally, but uncomfortable. </div>
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What does this have to do with multihulls? Plenty. Trimarans have three hulls. The middle hull looks a lot like a monohull (most all the other sailboats out there), but it has two hulls out on either side. These boats have no keel at all as the pontoons on either side provide stability. Tris are faster then monohulls and can carry more sail area than a monohull of the same length. Because there's no keel, these boats can sail in much shallower water. It isn't uncommon for a monohull to draw six feet - meaning if the water depth goes to five feet and eleven inches, that boat will be aground. Multihulls without keels can draw as little as two feet. Some are even beachable. The disadvantage is that a trimaran is hard to dock because of it's beam (how wide it is). It can also be difficult to maneuver in tight spaces because of the width. Trimarans usually have a little less living space than similarly sized monohulls because the middle hull is usually the only living space and it's narrower than most monohulls. This one pictured here mitigates that by building the living space up and across all three hulls. This isn't common.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIMNyKB2nk2lzDp9Td9124hHZmcrKNn0NF8coeCwRy41UOkjbfcKCgg-YCV-3GPwu7DlxMPTJniLHddWWCp7PTlPVIkphjhENrs4rKytZ8nWoH-8shRtyKbXp1D8rswTxybPpNXGYSP6F/s1600/DSC_0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIMNyKB2nk2lzDp9Td9124hHZmcrKNn0NF8coeCwRy41UOkjbfcKCgg-YCV-3GPwu7DlxMPTJniLHddWWCp7PTlPVIkphjhENrs4rKytZ8nWoH-8shRtyKbXp1D8rswTxybPpNXGYSP6F/s320/DSC_0018.JPG" width="320" /></a>Catamarans have two hulls. Usually, both hulls contain living quarters with more living space built between the two hulls. Catamarans typically don't have keels, either. Instead, they rely on retractable centerboards or daggerboards. This boat pictured is a thirty-four foot Gemini catamaran that has daggerboards - one in either hull. This boat is beachable, though not all cats are. If you opt to put your characters in a catamaran, do a search and look at the different models out there. Most of the dealer sites will tell you whether a boat is beachable, or whether it had daggerboards as opposed to centerboards. Catamarans have a reputation for turtling. This means that while under sail, one hull comes up out of the water and the boat goes all the way over. The width of the boat is supposed to prevent that, but in enough wind, it's all too possible. Another Gemini in our region did flip while out in a squall that blew up 50mph winds. Everyone was fine, but that's what you call a bad day. If you're going to sail a catamaran, you must pay attention to the wind and to the boat. These boats can be fast and very comfortable - cats don't heel. They provide a very stable sailing platform. But you cannot push them when the wind speed starts to climb. Without a heavy keel underneath, once this boat starts going over, it's going over. It's up to the sailor to know enough to prevent it in the first place. That said, these boats are very safe so long as the sailors know when to reef (reduce sail area) and/or when to get the heck out of the weather if they can.</div>
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In a catamaran, accommodations go down either hull. In the Gemini, the galley (kitchen) is in the starboard hull. The master cabin is forward where that first row of windows is. In the port hull is the navigation table and the head (forward). Two double cabins are aft in either hull. The settee and table are up between the hulls and the cockpit is in back. You can explore the boat <a href="http://www.geminicatamarans.com/Accommodations/gemini-catamaran-accommodation-interior-layout-features.html">on the builder's website.</a> Again, search on catamarans and you'll find all kinds of them out there in the world. You should be able to find one that suits your story and your characters.</div>
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Next Up: Power Boats</div>Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-5013412696576772802012-06-24T10:21:00.000-07:002012-06-24T10:21:11.989-07:00Best Laid Plans<div style="text-align: left;">
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I'd promised a post about multihulls. I'd intended to have that for you on Thursday. Then I got a phone call from my husband. "Hi, hon. First, I'm okay. Second, I was in an accident." He'd been driving home. A petroleum tanker truck changed lanes right into him. Fortunately, it was a low speed accident. They were in the city at a spot where the road goes beneath an underpass. DH had no where to go to escape being hit. No damage to either driver. No damage to the tanker truck. The driver's side of our car? Well. Peeled a good bit of that. It's fixable. But the car is twelve years old. It will likely cost more to fix it than the car is worth. So we started the insurance claim process and began shopping for a replacement car.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULfH5fslFb-tmSxzLdGzlDxNNDbttE65Dg0DjO4UUxMmas_shNFp7iMNnMqaQdRj-YbhFxfBJpy0j_UC-BihDY7GVaPaCDqfn33dIk1BF29MCM-cblonaKhboB6DIm-TQus4VyW8-sgr-/s1600/DSCN1157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULfH5fslFb-tmSxzLdGzlDxNNDbttE65Dg0DjO4UUxMmas_shNFp7iMNnMqaQdRj-YbhFxfBJpy0j_UC-BihDY7GVaPaCDqfn33dIk1BF29MCM-cblonaKhboB6DIm-TQus4VyW8-sgr-/s200/DSCN1157.JPG" width="200" /></a>Saturday morning, during an all too brief sunny patch, DH and I took the cats out on the dock. They wandered and rolled and sniffed the warm air. And then, Erie, our 17 year old, deaf gal fell off the dock into the water. We've had a cat fall in once before. He popped right back up, head above water and swam. Not Eratosthenes. She hit the water and panicked. She began spinning, unable to tell which way was up. She sank fast. DH sprinted to her, threw himself down on the dock and could only barely reach her. He grabbed her by the tail and hauled her up.</div>
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I got there in time to gather her up in my arms, and realize she'd inhaled some sea water. Instantly, I switched my hold on her - her butt up near my shoulder and her head hanging down at my waist. Water drained out of her lungs through her nose. </div>
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We rushed her inside and wrapped her in towels while we heated fresh water. Puget Sound water temperatures run about 50 degrees. We knew we had to get the cat warmed up, so DH filled the kettle and put it on the stove. It takes very little time to warm water to a comfortable bath temperature. As I was already soaked through with sea water, I took the cat and the kettle into the head for a warming, freshwater rinse down.</div>
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Erie wasn't at all impressed with the need to rinse the saltwater out of her fur, never mind that the water was warm. I bundled her up in a fresh towel to begin drying her off, but by this time, she'd recovered enough and had gotten mad enough that she wanted nothing more to do with me. She stomped off, her fur standing out in stiff spikes, and found a secluded location where she could lick herself dry. We tried to help by applying the blowdryer, but that merely offended her further. </div>
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For anyone writing about boats, falling into the water is one of the dangers. Most boaters are very good about wearing life jackets while the boat is moving. Few of us wear life jackets just walking around the docks or while working on our boats while at dock. Yet, according to the paramedics who responded when my dad fell in (that's another story for the post specifically about lifejackets) said that 90% of all accidental 'in the water' incidents happen at dock. A number of pet companies make life preservers for dogs. These are jackets with big loop handles on the back, so you can grab hold and lift the animal out. No one seems to make them for cats - assuming you could convince a cat to wear one anyway.</div>
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Madam Erie will no longer go out on the dock without a halter and leash. If I could find or make a little kitty-sized life preserver, she'd never go out without that on, either.</div>
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Really. Next time. I promise you some info about multihulls.</div>
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<br /></div>Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-53867227856567678142012-06-15T08:38:00.002-07:002012-06-15T08:38:45.139-07:00Working in 1376Taking a break from sailing jargon, I'm over at<a href="http://www.word-whores.blogspot.com/"> the Word-Whores</a> today (again, safe for work and totally PG-13 this week) talking about the weirdest job I've had. Let's just say it was in 1376.<br />Marcella Burnardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05061631584953668058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737969228017842153.post-61250673592793982312012-06-11T15:50:00.001-07:002012-06-11T15:50:31.700-07:00Love While Ye May<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31lwG9VTLq9DpfqCEznh3uN6zrUSfep_olagdS_VIbpCuanLyixAUO9niDdkyGArxRRAHfLORMijDgukZMxfJDrYq5RZwk-nqmwLyGfzc4IXnweMMLB9WHb_owd8PV_WC4t8QPQeNhjfB/s1600/DSC_0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31lwG9VTLq9DpfqCEznh3uN6zrUSfep_olagdS_VIbpCuanLyixAUO9niDdkyGArxRRAHfLORMijDgukZMxfJDrYq5RZwk-nqmwLyGfzc4IXnweMMLB9WHb_owd8PV_WC4t8QPQeNhjfB/s200/DSC_0009.JPG" width="200" /></a>Madam Erie had a bath yesterday. She wasn't impressed. In fact, no matter where you are in the United States, you might have heard her opinion on the matter. I wouldn't have subjected her to the indignity except that she's old, arthritic, and we've just learned, heading into chronic renal failure. Her coat was greasy, dirty and matted. With her kidneys challenged, her skin needs to be kept clean so it can assist in detoxing her system to some small degree. We switched on the onboard water heater, and snuck around gathering the towels and soap while debating the potential retributions the cat might visit upon us after the deed was done.</div>
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As with many things, gathering my courage was harder than the actual activity. No blood was shed. That isn't to say that the wet, soapy, slippery cat didn't try to make a dash for it at every opportunity. She did. But I prevailed. A much cleaner, sweeter smelling and totally PISSED OFF Eratosthenes emerged to be wrapped in towels and fussed over. She wasn't buying what we were selling. It took most of the day for her double coat to dry - double coat means she has layers, the guard hairs you see and a shorter, denser undercoat. She wanted DOWN and far away from anything on two legs. </div>
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I was loathed for an entire two hours.</div>
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She forgave me when I showed her a sunny spot for her snoozing pleasure. And today, the entire thing is a bad memory. It's clear she feels better now that her coat is cleaner. Of course, it won't be the last bath. It can't be. Her disease is a process. Caring for her is also a process, one that's lasted thus far for seventeen years. As a friend once said, "You love 'em while you've got 'em, then you give them back to Bast." That's our plan. </div>
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As for retribution? Erie spent a few hours last night howling, just to be certain we comprehended the depths of her post bathtime despair. Bribes eventually satisfied her thirst for vengenace, however, and we arrived at detente in time for lights out. </div>
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That's when the cat snuck around and left a ginormous hairball right in the middle of the hallway for me to step on in the middle of the night.</div>
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