It’s taken me a few weeks to get back into gear, what with coping with current situations, and Diana’s temporary leaving. But I’m back in harness, and should be able to keep going with some careful juggling of money.
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You’ll find several churches in the Ville de Coeur regions, and one cathedral, which I discovered through the Destination Guide. (Yeah, we’re spending a lot of time in the Mediterranean lately. That’s how it’s working out.) This church (which holds services most Sundays at 11:00 a. m. SLT, as I understand) is a fairly faithful recreation of the Real World’s Amalfi Cathedral, also called Il Cattedrale di Sant’Andrea (dedicated to Saint Andrew).
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Sometimes you just gotta go an’ have a beer. When you haven’t had a client in weeks, though … well, the cheaper the beer, the better it tastes.
Read the rest of this entry »Many miles away
There’s a shadow on the door
Of a cottage on the shore
Of a dark Scottish lake
The Police, “Synchronicity II”
Hey, we can all use a giggle or two right now, lol.
“… [I]n the absence of sensory information, the imagination always tends to the grotesque.”
Patrick McGrath
I am that woman who would wait for dawn,
Nor slept while the slow moon rode into sight;
Who, fighting weariness, gazed full upon
The starry circle drawn around the night.
I saw the Milky Way fade like a cloud,
And, drowsy-lidded, watched the distance grow
Between me and the Pleiades, nor bowed
To heavy hands of sleep upon my brow.
Then, when night grew more stilly palpitate
Listening for the faint birth-cry of morn,
And the cock crew, I, at the very gate,
Fell into cloddish slumber, all out-worn.
Even as I slept, soft as a look or sigh,
The Dawn with Love beside her passed me by.
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Sara Bard Field, “Could You Not Watch With Me One Little Hour.” Poetry, vol. 25, no. 4, 1925, p. 191.
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I’m wearing:
Total ARC: 43,900
Photographed at The Four Seasons (Orinoco Valley region)
It appears that I’m doomed to frustration whenever I encounter the Tokyo transportation system. The best I can figure out, I’ve missed my train.
The good thing is that someone stops by and notices my problem, and she helps me work out when the next train in the right direction will come along.
I’m wearing:
Diana wears:
Zana Sherman was fortunate that this weekend wasn’t as academically busy as it would become closer to the end of term. It seemed that her social calendar was compensating, by sending her invitations to meet with people she loved or enjoyed. Aside from Alon Cohen on Friday night, though, she was holding things to only an hour or so, and joining up with them on the way to other venues, such as the laundry or the Psych House … the graduate students’ name for the departmental offices. Even for a college student … at least one as diligent as Zana … socializing wasn’t everything ….
But she stretched the limits at Saturday lunch, because the meal was with Dara Furtano-Fa. The relationship with “Big Sis” ran back to when Dara had saved the lives of both Zana and her mother on the construction stage of The Land of Fantasy, her mother’s famous theatre. Not only had Zana met Dara that day, but the accident had set events in motion that led to Dara’s getting the cyborg conversion she had desired … and all that had arisen in the ‘borg community since.
Both women had a fondness for a restaurant in Vidran’s Arosen sector that offered what the owner called “Mongolian grill,” but served up al fresco. They were deep in discussion at a shady table outside the restaurant, situated on a food court in one corner of the district’s park. “And so the term’s going well so far?” Dara asked as their tea arrived. The sun of Videra’s primary glinted off her sunglasses, worn mostly for fashion’s sake, as ‘borgs’ eyes were quite capable of handling bright sunshine. (The sun also gleamed off the integuments of both women, golden on Zana and silver on Dara; they had chosen the shady table to spare the eyes of other diners and passersby as much as possible from the reflection.)
Read the rest of this entry »Zana stepped back into her apartment the next morning, thoroughly relaxed by the night’s activities … all of the night’s activities. It had been a stressful term so far, even for a cyborg; of course, graduate studies were always stressful, but psychology was tougher than most. And add into that my personal psychotherapy starts in two weeks, she thought as she moved into her bedroom to change out of her finery, into a casual unitard. God knows what little gremlins will turn up then! She had always considered herself well adjusted and mentally healthy. Who but God could guess what a qualified psychotherapist would find …? Then her lips quirked back in a mercurial change of mood. Although her career would be made, perhaps, as the author of the first case study on a ‘borg in the literature!
The small jest improved Zana’s mood; but she still felt the need for some encouragement, or at least a shoulder to cry on for a few picoseconds. Glancing again at the holographs on the mantel, she regretted not returning home to her parents’ house. Still, there were other ways of getting together with family … not as satisfyingly tactile, but they would do in a pinch …. She said to the room, “Computer, please call Ariel Sherman, home code, full holo.” She sat on her couch as the computer beeped.
Shortly, a full-body image of her mother, wearing a green casual outfit and a purple silk duster, appeared in the holoprojection field created by the comm program. “Hi, sweet one! What makes you call on this fine Saturday morning?”
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Zana Sherman checked herself over a final time in the mirrored closet door of her bedroom in her university apartment. Everything was nicely in place, everything was covered that needed to be, and the tips and tricks she had picked up from her mother’s makeup artists at The Land of Fantasy Theatre had allowed her to “put on her face” in under 10 minutes. Well, that and a ‘borg’s speed and accuracy, she added with a smile. Never let it be said there aren’t any advantages to being a member of this species.
She tapped at the panel, switching its surface back to a door instead of a mirror, grabbed her ident fold and slid it into a carry-pocket on the inside of a feathered sleeve, dabbed a few drops of cologne on her throat, and swung out of the bedroom. Thankfully, the 48th Century C. E. didn’t require university students to live in hovels; everyone had a personal set of living and sleeping rooms, with a mini-foodsynth for eating. It still wasn’t luxurious … especially compared to what Zana was used to at home … but it put a decently comfortable roof over one’s head, and good enough food, if not up to the same standard as, say, La Paloma Azul in downtown Vidran. Each living room in the complex even had an electric fireplace.
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My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Gatling Gun of Love and Mercy.
My Johari window -- visit and offer your ideas on my personality
