I’m still trying to decide whether to work with eFiction for my fiction, or just categorize and tag posts accordingly. Ditto for Coppermine Gallery, where I currently have my concert photography and all of my older Poser Artwork. I also have a lot of legacy pages that I’m trying to figure out what to do with.

Once I get everything migrated from my old website and once I’m sure everything is working correctly, I’ll be deleting it. I’ve had a personal web site since 1995 in one form or another. The first few incarnations I hand-coded in Notepad. After awhile I found that hand-coding almost 90 pages of Moody Blues concert photography was just too much – and I switched to Frontpage – which is what I coded the old website in, later updating with MS Expressions. Now I’m moving onto WordPress, and I think I am really going to enjoy this.

More later…

Until then this site is going to be amazingly dull. Patience, grasshopper!

Several years back Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer and had surgery to remove it. At the time the doctors pronounced him clean of all cancer, and we thought that was that.

Almost three years ago Dad was diagnosed with bone cancer, having metastasized from the original prostate cancer. Suddenly, things weren’t as hopeful as we’d thought to begin with.

Dad’s fought long and hard, trying everything they had to offer to keep him alive. He was reduced from the strong, vital, sarcastic, vivid man I’d grown up with to someone who is now more frail, drugged, in constant pain. He was larger than life, and people that met him never forgot him. I inherited my sarcastic tongue from him, as well as the desire to make people laugh no matter what.

Bob Sailor – autumn 2005

Dad wasn’t perfect. He had a horrendous temper and was quick to lash out when we were young. The neighbor kids both worshiped and were terrified of him. He worked hard, loved to work, to keep busy. He also played hard. He was always playing catch, or tetherball, badminton, croquet, lawn darts (yup, we owned ‘em), horseshoes, pinochle, you name it. The same aforementioned neighborkids were known to knock on our door and ask “if Bob could come out to play.” In the same vein when Dad threatened the neighborhood bully who had been mean to his daughters one too many times with, “If you step into this yard I’ll cut your ears off,” they believed him. We didn’t, but we did find it pretty funny.

Bob Sailor – about 1965

Dad was also one of those people that always had something happen to them. The stories of his youth in rural Southern Illinois are for the ages. He went to school in a tiny one-room schoolhouse. By the time he made eighth grade he already knew the material, simply from being in the same room. However, he graduated from high school one year behind. The reason? At the age of fourteen he was struck by a car. He was hitchhiking home from a high school dance, got out of the car, and was struck by a carful of his friends going fifty miles an hour, sans headlights. Dad later recalled one girl screaming over him and the others trying to shut her up. The next day his Dad, my Grandpa Sailor, found Dad’s tennis shoe in the exact spot where Dad had been standing. He’d literally been knocked out of his shoes. The other shoe was found out in a nearby field. Fortunately for Dad that night the regular, older doctor was out of town, leaving one of them there young doctors to handle things. I say “fortunately” because the old doctor was one that always amputated. Dad’s right calf was shattered, and his right arm broken. The young doc decided he wanted to save the leg. Afterwards, and for the rest of his life, Dad listed to one side when he walked, because one leg was a half inch or so shorter than the other. Thirty years later he was still pulling bone fragments out of his skin as they worked their way to the surface. His right arm didn’t extend all the way. But, he had both legs.

A few short months later, prior to Dad’s fifteenth birthday, Dad’s “rabbit dog” (beagle) brought Grandpa a rabbit to clean. Days later Grandpa was dead – of complications arising from tulremia, also known as rabbit fever. A couple of months later Grandma gave birth to my Aunt Brenda, so you can see what kind of year 1945-1946 was for them.

They all saved their money and bought themselves a 1939 Plymouth, Dad having been driving since he was twelve, like most farm kids back then. Since he was up to his ass in a cast he decided to teach Grandma how to drive. They went for a spin behind the barn, near the fishing pond. Dad told Grandma to turn, and she did, and did, and did, and landed straight in the pond.

However, if Dad had not been hit by that car, and set back one year in school, he would never have met my mother. He was from a dirt poor background, the family scrabbling for money and food from the small farm they had. Mom was from a semi-prosperous dairy farm, and four years younger than him. They met in high school and started dating; at the age of nineteen Dad went up to Peoria to get a job with Caterpillar, with no car, no nothing except his clothing. A few months later he went back for Mom. By then he was going on twenty, and she had turned sixteen four days previous. That was in 1950.

Bob and Treva Sailor – October 29, 1950

BTW, they’re still married.

Longevity runs in Dad’s family, and I had always thought he’d make his nineties, like his mom, his aunts and uncles. Or, because he has semi-blocked arteries, he’d keel over from a heart attack. Cancer never occured to me. It should have. Dad smoked from his early teens until he was thirty-eight years old, and according to his doctors that was a huge factor.

Mom told me they didn’t ask how long he had. She offered to take him to the hospital and he told her he was tired and he just wanted to go home. If that didn’t tell what was on his mind I don’t know what does. When my son heard that he said that it sounded as if Grandpa had given up. I told him that Dad hadn’t given up, he’d surrendered and there was a difference. He’s fought and fought, and he’s had enough.

Bob Sailor – May 2009. Mom is in the background and my nephew Travis off to one side.

I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I especially want to apologize to , because there were things she and I wanted to do this spring that never materialized. Oddly enough, I do read my flist almost every day. I’m just too preoccupied to post. Birthdays have came and went.  is going to have a baby – imagine that, the Queen of Smut, bless her heart! People are going to school and coming back from school. People are migrating to Twitter and Dreambandwidth. I’m still thinking of migrating to my domain with WordPress and posting links to fic, artwork, thoughts, at the journals. Star Trek is back – and yes, I watched TOS when IT WAS ON THE AIR. Neener. *g* My first fan fic/artwork was Star Trek – a badly written Mary Sue, but hey, I was only about ten? Eleven? I bought the James Blish books when they were released, ditto the Alan Dean Foster ones (TOS fans know which books those are), have the Technical Manual, the Blueprints, The Medical Manual, and have the entire series on VHS… I mean, I was serious Trek, here. Needless to say the new movie pleased me to no end. Spock kissing Uhura? BOO YEAH! Nyota? WTF? I’d always heard her first name was Penda. Silly me. But, this is an alternate universe, y’know.

I still love House… I mean, I coulda named my cats Kirk and Spock, y’know? House and Wilson are doing very well, thank you. House likes to cuddle and rub in bed before he goes to sleep. Wilson is my oversized lap cat. He’s also a familiar. I thought so at the start, and now I’m convinced of it. That’s another entry for another day.

My sound card died two days ago and I have another on order. Too expensive locally, when I could get a really good Soundblaster X-Treme for very cheap on eBay. I CAN’T LISTEN TO THE HOUSE SIXTH SEASON PROMO. Just watch. Which is frustrating. I hate Hugh’s hair. No curls! Oy!

Oh, and I have some kind of bug. My sister and her husband had it last week. A killer headache worthy of standing up to any migraine (and my sister used to have migraines, so she’d know), a fever and nausea. Ugh.

Everything is the same, yet it’s all different.

Goddess Bless

Dr. Gregory House

60% Eccentricity, 50% Confidence, 40% Kindness

Take The House, MD Personality Test at HelloQuizzy

It’s titled “Creating Jamie” and I hope both of you enjoy it.

Next two are for – the first one was with the House Big Bang entitled “Deaductive Reasoning” and is currently out at the site. This work is titled “Not The Cabinets!” and I took it from one of the funnier scenes in the fic.

Aaaaand… a new one! Finished it today after a lot of pulling and prodding to get that damned leather duster to look somewhat decent. (Damn thing wouldn’t bend at the knees right, she mutters.) It’s from her fic “Interlude With a Vampire” and is called “The Borgia Lieutenant.”

And… that’s it. Thanks for looking and remember, comments are always LOVE!

The following person would like to join the amorousintent_adult group:
Email address: crawfordjeremyXXXX (email id blocked by me)

comment from user:
jeremy crawford 28 male love to read fanfiction.

This membership request requires your approval because the
amorousintent_adult group is restricted, which means you must
approve each new member.

Okay, Ladies of Amorous Intent Adult – do I let the twerp in or not? Might be a blast.

For those that don’t know, just go to the above community. Pop some popcorn, first. *g*

I gave up after awhile in getting it down to 10. I wound up with 11, plus my son  and my beta-reader . I could have gone further. Aarrggghh!

Now, go ye hence and make your own lists – and make someone’s day.

As for me, well…

, another birthday fic? Can I take another year to write it? Seriously, I DO happen to have an old plot bunny, never finished, that *sort* of falls into the H/Cuddy category. It’s called “The Sisterhood of House Survivors,” and I’ll work on it sporadically and actually get it finished for you.

Eventually. *g*

The move went pretty good overall. I now live in a very old, very awesome historic district of Springfield, Illlinois called Old Aristocracy Hill. About four blocks east is Lincoln’s Home. Three blocks NW is the State Capitol Building. A block and a half NE is the Governor’s Mansion. Seven blocks away is the Old State Capitol building, and across from that is my workplace.

The building I live in has been designated a Historical Landmark. I asked the owner why (other than the fact that the building is nearly 90 years old) and got the rundown:

It was the first skyscraper in Springfield (all five stories of it *g*.)

It has the first elevator that when you push a button, it goes to the floor you want – and it’s still in service. That’s a fact – I use it everyday, sliding gate and all. I believe that elevator was one of the first of its kind in the States.

There are other tidbits he told me about – from the ancient boilers they finally had to replace for economical reasons to more modern, efficient ones; to the local elevator inspector bringing friends in just to show them the ancient elevator. The building is solid, poured concrete, walls and floors 12-18 inches thick. The apartment trim is actually painted metal. Supposedly if there was a fire the only thing that would burn is the contents.

It’s also a government bomb shelter and can with stand some sort of ridiculously huge blast.

If there’s a tornado my walk-in closet would probably be as safe as going to the basement – that’s how solid the building is.

Security in the form of two maintenance men given the extra duties of security guards patrol the halls at night.

I really think this building is Springfield’s best-kept secret. No fancy advertising, no pool or tennis court, no elaborate “extras” that modern apartment complexes offer to get you and your money. Just an old, formerly swanky building with a Ragdoll Lobby Cat, an old lady who runs “yard sales” from one of the side doors, and overall, faded, old antiquity that I am really enjoying.

I was lonely the first week. I remedied that a week ago by going to the local shelter and adopting a brown mackerel male tabby they’d called Paws. His new name is House (did you expect anything less?). At the time I didn’t adopt his brother, not really thinking that after nine solid years of being together that they might miss each other. House is happy here, but he’s off his feed a bit and I’m sure he’s pining for his brother (or sister, not sure which yet). Right now brother Socks is in isolation until he gets over his upper respiratory infection. The shelter has instructions to call me when he gets well so I can adopt him as well. Anybody wanna guess what I’m gonna name him (or her, if female, won’t matter to me)? *snicker*

Peace out…

I’m sitting at my computer desk, still connected, while around me my sons, my daughter-in-law, my brother-in-law and one of Rich’s friends are loading up all of my belongings into a Budget Rental van.

In a few short hours I’ll be residing permanently in our state’s capital, about an hour from here.

I’ve moved away from my home town area, but that was because my ex joined the Army during the 80′s Recession.

Now I’ll be on my own, literally. I do plan to adopt a cat from one of Springfield’s animal shelters, though. Have a little lady already picked out, in fact.

Wish me luck!

My job has turned into something wonderful, and it was definitely the correct move to make. Mediacom has gone steadily downhill since I’ve left, with the employees bearing the brunt of cutbacks. Rich reports that his group is now working four phone queues at once, plus reports, call backs, etc. They’re remodeling, and the two tech support groups got booted from their cubicles so Sales could move in and take over. Instead, they’re working side-by-side on conference tables. I don’t know which stupid management person came up with this solution, but whoever they are should give up THEIR office and try working that way – for several months, apparently.

Back to my job. The commute is 68 miles one-way, which translates into 2.5 hours of  driving each day. I’m so brain dead from the drive that I’m barely functioning at the end of the week.

That’s about to change.

With the tax refund I’ve put moving into motion. I found a very old apartment near the Capitol Complex – about a block and half from the Governor’s Mansion (the one that Blagojevich wouldn’t stay in), seven blocks from my work place. The building I’m moving into is over 80 years old and was very swanky in its day. Now, the entrance is old, a bit dark and musty, but it’s clean. The old upright piano is there, along with antique furnishings that have probably been there since the building opened in the 1920′s. I haven’t asked if the fireplace is usable or not. And, there’s a Lobby Cat, a Ragdoll by the inventive name of Rags who already loves me because I hand out tummy rubs. The owners are in their sixties and very proud of the old “Grand Dame,” as my sister dubbed it when she went apartment-hunting with me.

It was love at first sight when I saw the building, and it was the only place I looked.

The apartment is one-bedroom, with a big livingroom, smallish bedroom, average-sized bathroom and the most fucking tiniest kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life. I swear, if I hadn’t lost weight I probably wouldn’t be able to move around in it.

Radiator heat, window air conditioners, 12 inch concrete walls and 16 inch concrete floors – and that spells QUIET! Utilities are furnished except for cable, internet, phone. Rent is only… drum roll… $525 a month. I’m happy – I want to live on the cheap so I can get all caught up on all of my bills, buy a car, and actually start a savings account. This apartment will enable me to do so.

And… IT HAS CLOSETS! More closet space than I have now, and I have a lot. The most awesome ones are the big walk-in closet in the livingroom, and this wild combination of coat closet, linen closet, storage drawers and cupboards lining the hallway to the bathroom.

The move is March 1st, and then I’m finished with commuting – for the first time in a veeerrry long time, I might add.

Even better, I can have a pet – and of course I’m going to get a cat. Bonus points go to this landlord – the initial pet fee is $50, but if you adopt from a shelter and show him the paperwork, he drops the fee. Now THAT is freakin’ awesome.

I did have one little annoyance late last night. The twit who posts the news for the  decided to poke fun at my recent art post by calling it “House jisms in Wilson’s Eye and Laughs.” Yes, I suck at creating tears, but as I informed her, her reaction was a bit over the top. I also told her I wanted it fixed asap, and within ten minutes it was. I probably scared the shit out of her by being *polite.* Still, that was an obnoxious and childish thing to do and I shouldn’t still be po’d, but I am. I’ll get over it, but I also kept a screen cap in case she pulls another stunt. :grumble:

ETA: OH! Never let a goofy old broad and money come into play. Sometimes they go and play with it. Yup, these oughta be FUN!

Like since Michael 4 came out, I think it was…. October?

It needs work. It will *always* need work but I think I’m finally getting there.

The fic it’s based on is ‘s Forevermore, one of those fics that wouldn’t let go of me until I did something about it. It’s very well-written, to say the least. Also, I related to Wilson in many ways; my dad’s cancer is growing worse, he’s in a lot of pain and getting weaker, and we don’t think he’ll see another Christmas.

So, I related – and like I said, I did something about it.

It’s sizeable, but I hope you find it worthy of the time.

Comments are love, and my crack.