All We Really Are Are The Memories That We've Made

Friday the 13th

2009-11-13T21:58:11Z

Usually Friday the 13th is a Good luck day for me. I've never had a problem with it before.

That ended today.

I rushed through my morning work so my desk would be clean before I left for work; I ended up working a little later than I'd planned, so I didn't get home until noon. That was okay, still had plenty of time...

NOT. I pulled into the driveway and noticed the back gate was open. Uh oh, I thought, Sam has escaped. No. He was inside sleeping on the bed, having allowed someone to KICK IN our back door and take our 32-inch flat screen television. Fortunately, apparently nothing else has been taken (including this laptop, which would have caused me Great Tearing Of Hair, since a) not paid for yet, and b) MY NANO IS ON IT!!!) However, only the television was taken, so there is that; we still have an old console TV in the back room which can be hooked up when I get home (cable, so no worries about the lack of HD), and I have to hope, pray, and trust that since the Tivo was apparently untouched (praise the Lord!), it will be recording my shows while I'm gone. I hope.

The TV was only three years old. We got it for our Christmas present the year before we had the house remodeled. *sigh*

I had to race around calling the police and TRYING to get hold of my insurance agent; fortunately the officer arrived to make a police report very quickly(and he was very nice), but I could only leave a message for my agent before Barb had to take me to catch my plane to Orlando.

So now I'm in the airport. I knew there would be a fee for a third bag, and I figured I'd suck it up, because, hey, I needed three bags coming home last time. I didn't realize said fee was FIFTY BUCKS. Yikes. So much for having any money to spend while I'm there. Fortunately, the ship basically gathers all your on-board charges and then charges at disembarkation, at which time my paycheck will be there so I'm not worried about that, and Mom usually picks up the tab for most everything else, and I'll have to be a leech this time out, because I'm so, so broke. Insurance will cover the broken back door and the TV, of course, minus deductible, but DAMN. Now I HAVE to stop putting it on the "eventually" list and get those security doors for the front and, apparently, the back as well.

I'll admit I know that Sam is a friendly, completely non-aggressive dog who would, of course, let anyone at all ransack our house, but I'd always depended on the simple presence of a dog to keep people out of our back yard. Bad idea.

(Seeing Jonathan in the bright daylight of the airport terminal tells me how dirty he gets sitting around the house... and my, I have greasy fingers.)

I didn't have a chance to eat before coming to the airport, as I planned, and I stopped being hungry anyway, after getting home and seeing everything; so I got here and was forced to pay for greasy airport food (speaking of greasy fingers).

Plus, while in the first week of NaNo I made impressive strides, this week I've done diddly squat, and my current word count is only 24,668. I also didn't finish my Writer's Group (or even start it, really) -- bad timing, having the deadline come in the middle of NaNo -- AND they just announced that the flight is completely full, and are asking for people to give up their seat. Why will airlines overbook like this? Sadly, I also didn't remember to check in online last night, so I'm in Group C, position 19 (and those who have flown Southwest know what THAT means).

So now I have to leave Barb to handle the insurance (I left a message for my agent and her the policy information), and I realized when I was standing in line at Security that in the midst of all the wackiness, I FORGOT MY iPOD at home. No music for me this trip (I have a few things on the computer here, but most of my music is on the external drive, at home). And thanks to the idiots who ruined liberty for all, my hands are all dry from being washed and my lotion is all in my checked baggage.

Whine, whine, whine.

At least the wi-fi at Sky Harbor is free.

I can't send an email here (although apparently I can receive it), so I wanted to send a picture of the television to Barb in case the insurance folks need it...

ARGH

2009-11-11T11:52:33Z

I can't get Firefox to open.

Grrrrr.

I don't like IE.

And now I have to dash off, dash it all. Why must computers confound me when I'm in a hurry?

I can't remember the title I was going to use for this post

2009-11-11T03:09:23Z

Word count: 22,461

Am too tired to write more tonight, although I want to.

Am also too busy and too feeling insane in preparation for vacation to focus on either NaNo or my writer's group, which technically is due this weekend, but I really, really doubt i'll be able to finish it before I leave. Oops.

I have one suitcase packed with all my fancy duds; I have to go buy See's for Mom and decide on all of the casual duds I need to bring (this, that, the kitchen sink, etc., etc.).

* * * *

Caturday Meme

2009-11-08T03:37:51Z

I was tagged by nutmeg3, so I meme...

The rules (copied verbatim!):
FIRST: If you've been tagged, you must write your answers in your own LJ and replace any question that you dislike with a new, original question.
SECOND: Tag eight sexy people. Don't refuse to do that like a pansy.
I tag (not in alphabetical order, and some because I know they, like me, are doing NaNo and have this much time to waste): cornerofmadness, sillymagpie, evil_little_dog, framefolly, tiirz (and anyone else who feels like doing it. No pressure).

Who sleeps in bed next to you?
rahirah.

What did you last eat?
Two homemade Mexican Wedding cookies

What kind of books do you read?
All of them.

If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be?
Pretty much right where I am, in my living room with my cat and my wife on the sofa next to me and friends in the room around me.

What's really creepy?
Many insects.

Name one odd item within five feet of you.
Artichoke hummus.

What's your current fandom / obsession / addiction?
My own universe.

What did you really want to do today that you didn't?
Get the last few discs from Netflix watched so I can return them and suspend the account for a few months (to save some bucks).

What are you most excited for?
My upcoming vacation (cruise!).

What websites do you always visit when you go online?
lj, the dragon cave, Twitter, NY Times.

What was the last thing you bought?
Some stuff at Target: a wreath hanger, a little purse, some lotion and hair products for the trip.

If you could have any pet, what would it be?
One that wouldn't get old and die.

Your past life: Tell me about it.
I think I was a cowboy who was shot at the Bird Cage Theatre in Tombstone, Arizona.

What do you want right this minute, off the top of your head?
Money, to get and do anything we want.

Where is the place you like to return to in order to calm down / relax / etc.?
The top of the Rocky Mountains.

How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll centre of a Tootsie Pop?
Three.

What's something you'd like to say to someone right now?
I need to get to work and stop goofing off online.

Are there any bits of childhood that you miss?
My dad and my brother. Cheyenne winters and Frontier Days. The wild land of Zuni. The mountains.

Say something to the person who tagged you.
You gave me encouragement and the courage to actually start pushing my writing on people other than my friends. You totally rock.

Who are you? Who who, who who

2009-11-08T01:01:43Z

Word Count so far today: 13,672

Yesterday there was a lot of excitement at my office, as this fellow was spotted on campus:

Most everyone had never seen a Great Horned Owl in the wild, much less during the day, so everyone was coming out to see it -- I don't know when he came, or why he decided to spend the day in one of our palm trees, but there he was. Fortunately, my supervisor had a real camera, because the ones we were trying to take with our cell phones sucked.

This morning we were up bright and early (much earlier, really, than we'd meant to, because for some reason, neither of us could sleep much past 3 am) and headed out to Tempe for the Breast Cancer Walk. Pink was in abundance, and a lot of awesome guys defied tradition and wore pink, as well. It's not a strenuous walk, but I was glad when it ended. I stiffened up in the car on the way home, though, mostly I think because we spent 20 minutes in the car trying to get out of the parking garage. (Seriously, if you are EVER in a parking garage in downtown Tempe, always try to exit on ANY street but Mill. Every time we've tried to get out an exit that feeds onto Mill, it's hell. Fortunately, we managed to get out of that line and headed out the Ash Street exit, which took two minutes, and we were back in Phoenix in a shorter amount of time than we'd moved four feet inside the garage waiting to exit onto Mill.)

Then I went to get my hair done. I was going to stop at Bed, Bath & Beyond on the way home, but the parking lot was ABSOLUTELY FULL (all the way out to Camelback), with a dozen or more parking sharks circling, so I gave up and came home. A while later, after hanging the laundry, I went over to Target, which was much easier to get into, and found what I needed there. Every time I hear something dire about the economy, I go to a store and it's packed to the rafters with people buying things. To this I say WTF?

I forgot until just now I was going to go to Trader Joe's and get more Greek yogurt. Well, perhaps tomorrow.

Despite the too-high temperatures in Phoenix this last two weeks, I'm starting to feel the holiday love. I adore buying gifts (even when I don't like the bills!). *happy smile*

One week until the cruise! I'm starting to obsess about what I need to bring, what I want to bring, and what I really don't need. I will need to bring computer, a book or two (will be writing more than reading, but still, some places one is more practical than the other), and then the usual run of clothes, casual to elegant, etc. I'm going to bring my sparkly red gown, because I haven't had a chance to wear that one yet and I'm dying to, and I'm not sure which other one. Maybe the silver one again.

I have Mexican Wedding cookies in the oven, and dinner will be pasta with sausage.

Mountainsides put arms around the unsuspecting city

2009-11-06T03:00:23Z

This morning we said goodbye to Cuervo. In the last few days he took a serious turn for the worse and last night he was just barely able to walk, hardly able to eat, and just so draggy and sick we made the hard choice. *is sad*

It colored my day, and all little annoyances turned into big ones, and I had to take a time out for myself and go cry in the bathroom.

This morning they were talking to us about how FMLA (medical leave) works, and while the nurse was there, a brief mention was made of whether or not same-sex partners were covered; she "thought they were." Then we get a "clarification email" which contained this line:

“Immediate family members” (for Category A absences) include the employee's:

· Spouse - a husband or wife as defined or recognized under State law for purposes of marriage in the State where the employee resides, including common law marriage in States where it is recognized

Sounds like, for all my company's touting "diversity and inclusion," when it comes to brass tacks it's all bullshit. This also made me very unhappy.

Word Count: 12,115

I liked the first episode of V. Still loving FlashForward. (Ooo! Ooo!!! OOOOOO!!!!) Am filled with a certain amount of satisfaction that, apparently, the only team who can prevent the Yankees from taking the World Series are the Arizona Diamondbacks (at least, our 2001 team could).

Tomorrow is Friday. Saturday I walk the Cancer Walk with Barb and then I'm getting my hair cut because I want it to look nice for the cruise. Only one week away, and I have lost no more weight. At least I think I look pretty good, anyway; and I have a whole week!

Another title, another show

2009-11-04T04:01:09Z

Word Count: 8,212.

Random thoughts:

On October 24, 1940, the forty-hour work week was begun as a provision of the Fair Labor Standard Act, which also established a minimum wage of twenty-five cents per hour. A steady decrease in time spent on the job was recorded over the preceding century. The rise of labor unions caused an acceleration of this trend, resulting in a 35-percent reduction of manufacturing work hours between 1900 and 1940, and many economists and politicios assumed this trend would continue. In 1933 Congress even considered the Thirty-Hour Work Week Bill, which was derailed by business interested after it was okayed by the Senate. But expectations persisted. In 1956, for example, conservative vice president Richard Nixon confidently predicted that Americans would work a four-day week in the “not so distant future.” Three years later Edmund Ziegler agreed, writing in The Nation, “The extra day of leisure for Americans will have an effect as profound as that produced by the automobile.”

I feel this one keenly:

On October 28, 1853, six years after leaving the solace of Walden Pond, Henry David Thoreau wrote in his journal: “My publisher has been writing from time to time to ask what disposition should be made of the copies of A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers still on hand, and at last suggesting that he had use for the room they occupied in his cellar. So I had them all sent to me here, and they have arrived to-day by express, filling the man’s wagon – 706 copies out of an edition of 1000. . . I have now a library of nearly nine hundred volumes, over seven hundred of which I wrote myself.” Looking on the bright side, the reclusive philosopher added: “Sitting beside the inert mass of my works, I take up my pen to-night to record what thought or experience I have had, with as much satisfaction as ever. Indeed, I believe that this result is more inspiring and better for me than if a thousand had bought my wares. It affect my privacy less and leaves me freer.”

And now to bed.

Daily word count, and OMG

2009-11-03T04:06:35Z

Words so far: 5,392

Did not have as much time to write as I'd hoped. When I got home I found Cairo outside and only Silhouette inside. I couldn't find Cuervo anywhere. I fed Silly, searched for Cuervo, brought in the laundry, folded, put things away, watered the garden, then looked out the window and there he was, just sitting there. So I brought him in, washed his face (he doesn't seem to be doing it on his own anymore, although I did see Cairo wash it for him earlier today), and fed him. Darned cat.

Back to writing.

It's NaNoWriMo!

2009-11-02T03:13:03Z

Let the wordage begin! I actually spent the morning cleaning the house a little and doing laundry, then finally sat down to write some; then we had to do the shopping for Barb's mom, finish the laundry, and some other miscellany.

Word count for today: 2,887. I doubt I can keep up that speed every day when I'm not just sitting around watching television. We shall see. *knock wood*

Buenos Dios de los Muertos!

Back to my diet tomorrow. I'll weigh in and see what kind of damage I've done with my laziness last week...

Time is only linear for engineers and referees

2009-10-31T02:45:29Z

BBC has finally announced an air date for the next Doctor Ten special. November 15. I started to squee then realized I will be on a ship at sea and will have to wait a week!!!

I realized I still don't have Season Three and Four. Maybe when I have money again, perhaps after Christmas. I don't like falling too far behind because then it costs so much to catch up!

This article goes along with one of my calendar entrees, which sadly I didn't have time to transcribe today, about how the American work week would "shortly be four days," an observation which was made early in the 20th Century. Ah, well.

© 2009 Time Incorporated. Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning. All Rights Reserved.

PROFITS ARE DOWN at Hillenbrand, America's largest maker of caskets. Admittedly, this fact sounds like the setup for a punch line, but the cause of the shortage in stiffs contains lessons for politicians and business leaders alike. Hillenbrand's CEO, Kenneth Camp, explained his company's main problem this way in a recent conference call with analysts: "Continuing lower death numbers." As we grind through the longest recession in 75 years, Americans across the land are not dropping like flies. In fact, there's a virtual epidemic of people not dying.

This rise in the living was predictable. The truth, little known but well documented, is that death rates decline and healthy living habits improve in tough economic times. Extensive research by Christopher J. Ruhm, an economist at the University of North Carolina, shows that a one-percentage-point rise in the unemployment rate reduces the death rate by 0.5%. Those are U.S. results, but other studies show the same effect in Spain, Germany, and the 23 OECD countries in aggregate.

People live longer in recessions mainly because they become healthier, not because they face fewer external causes of death, such as auto accidents, which decline because people drive less, for example. What's more, the evidence of improved health shows up in ways beyond lower death rates. As unemployment gets worse, general medical problems become less prevalent: When the economy gets sick, people get healthier.

An important reason seems to be that people adopt smarter lifestyles in recessions, especially those people with the worst health habits. Chain smokers cut back. The indolent go to the gym. Even the severely obese start to lose weight. Combine those improvements and you get a healthier nation, even in the short period of a typical recession.

The obvious question is why people improve their habits when times turn bad. Statistical analysis shows that lower incomes aren't the reason; strapped consumers apparently aren't getting fitter because they must bike to work and survive on oatmeal and turnips. Instead, one reason seems to be extra free time. Having no job means more time to hit the gym or just go for a walk. Exercise leads to weight loss, and research shows that it correlates with less smoking (though which causes which isn't clear). Being unemployed or underemployed also means more time for sleep, which improves health.

Policymakers in Washington and CEOs can draw two important lessons from the recession's effect on health.

Healthy Living, Not Health Care, is the Issue

A lesson for health-care reformers is that their focus, our system of insurance and care, isn't the root cause of America's high medical costs. The recent downturn in dead people is a reminder that the No. 1 culprit for rising health-care costs is lifestyle. It's significant that recessions reduce smoking, inactivity, and obesity. "Those three things drive chronic conditions," says Cleveland Clinic CEO Dr. Delos Cosgrove, "and chronic conditions account for 75% of the cost of health care in the United States." If reformers haven't figured out how to alter U.S. lifestyles--and they apparently haven't--they shouldn't expect dramatic results by changing how those costs are paid for.

Longer Hours can Lessen Productivity

A lesson for companies is that it's possible to make employees work so hard that it's bad for the business. If employees can't find time for physical activity--or are exhausted after grueling 60-hour workweeks--the employer will pay a price in lost productivity and higher medical costs.

As for Hillenbrand, the recession may be thinning profits, but the company is adapting to the long-term trend. A few years ago it introduced its Dimensions line of caskets for the extra-wide loved one. Sales are brisk.

We had to run out to Costco and get cat food, lest we be mobbed by a pack of angry felines. Whilst there had the usual run of freebies -- that's usually a weekend lunch but tonight it was appetizers. There was pancetta (yum), little pizzas, Chai tea, sesame dressing, chips and salsa -- seriously, you can get a good meal at Costco if you hit it at the right time. We bought some popcorn, lovely flavored stuff, because I agitated for it and my wife is too good to me.

Today was running around in costume, eating candy, eating a large lunch with cake (retirement party), then more food. I need to be VERY GOOD next week if I want to proceed to my goal, which seems to be receding rather than coming closer (oops).

Two weeks from tomorrow

2009-10-30T04:12:15Z

I'm finally getting caught up on a rather large backlog of Craig Ferguson episodes, and I was quite concerned to find out that using green ink is a sign of weirdness. Or perhaps I simply am weird. *grin* (I may have to watch that episode again. It was amusing.)

I still have a slight sore throat--it's never turned into anything, so I am left assuming that it's just bad allergies. I've bounced between feeling crappy and feeling okay all week; this has left me too groggy most mornings to get up and work out, and then add a strong desire to suck down the Snickers that someone brought to the office and left on the community snack table (I deliberately bought Halloween candy I didn't like for my own desk, but Snickers are a weakness), so I'm stalled. However, I (so far, knock wood) haven't gained anything back. I have two weeks before the cruise. I probably won't make it entirely to my goal, but if I can get a little further in the next two weeks, I'll feel good about myself. But I still baked cookies this evening because, well, I wanted to.

My massage therapist says I am awesomely better. I fell asleep on the table this evening and didn't even feel my foot massage (this is good and bad).

I hope I have a little money come the new year for actual yoga classes, because I'm certain this was very good for me. It's just SO EXPENSIVE!!!

Chapter Sixteen

Bonnie and Bobby Ryan were married at the Sands Hotel on October 2. Their quiet ceremony was paid for with O'Connor money, and most of the family came. None of them raised an eyebrow at the sight of Sean Patrick giving her away. Bonnie knew she didn't love Bobby the same way he did her, nor the same way she had loved Sean Patrick, but she did love him, and cared for him; the day he'd asked her to marry him, with a beautiful and modest diamond ring, she'd agreed almost before the words were out of his mouth.

The wedding night was the first time Bobby made love to her. It had been nearly twenty years since Bonnie had been with a human man; Bobby was thicker, heavier than Sean Patrick, and his body was hot next to hers, his skin scorching. He touched her with reverence, as though astounded she was his. Bonnie had somewhere forgotten that men did sweat during sex, and found herself reveling in Bobby's exertion, how hard he worked to please her, and when he shouted out his climax she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him with abandon, and when she said "I love you!" she meant it with all her heart.

It turned out Bobby joining her in the garden during his previous visit hadn't just been good manners. He was possessed of a real green thumb, and loved puttering in the dirt. Somehow he managed to pull from the rocky, alkaline Las Vegas dirt the most beautiful roses her little garden had ever produced. He claimed her bare backyard as his own and soon it was a plush, tropical paradise where they put a table with umbrella and chairs and spent long, happy afternoons with the newspaper or books they both liked to read. Bobby wasn't as wealthy as Sean Patrick in his own right, but his family money gave them a comfortable income. Sean Patrick had signed the house over to her completely, with only a provision in her will that would allow it to pass back to his keeping after her death. Bonnie was happy with that arrangement.

For a few years they continued going to Malibu for Christmas, but Bonnie found she was a little uncomfortable having both Sean Patrick and Bobby in the same room with her, although she couldn't explain why. Eventually she begged off, stating a desire to share the holidays with her new husband alone. She kept up with the children, though, and knew when Matt started boxing on the amateur circuit, and when Seana married, and when Tara won high marks at school and eventually a full scholarship to UCLA. Bonnie never knew when Sean Patrick was in Las Vegas, although she had an idea that Bobby sometimes got together with him for drinks when he was in town.

Letters came regularly from Seana, who had become the image of her mother, if rounder and more matronly than Blythe had ever been. When she and her husband James came to Las Vegas, Bonnie was delighted to welcome them, playing happy grandmother to their son Jimmy, because somewhere in the last few years Las Vegas had become a playground for families, which Bonnie thought sent a bit of a mixed message; still, it was fun to walk the Strip these days, as old hotels were razed to make room for new, the lush tropical Mirage and its child-friendly partner Treasure Island going up across from the Sands and the gloriously elegant Bellagio taking over where the Dunes had once stood. Sometimes she missed the old days, but the excitement and fun of the new Vegas pleased her, and somehow she knew it pleased her vampire, too, even though she hadn’t talked to him in some time.

Life was certainly nothing like Bonnie had ever expected it to turn out. She had more than just her beautiful house and real security, she had a loving husband who was both endlessly wonderful and endlessly exasperating, always underfoot when she was trying to get something done but always there when she needed him for anything, from opening jars to painting the ceiling to simply holding her at night when for no reason at all she found herself crying. He never asked and she was glad because she couldn't have explained it at all.

They had been married nearly twenty years, longer than she’d ever been with Sean Patrick, when a gloriously engraved invitation arrived with a Burbank postmark. Bonnie opened it eagerly, assuming that it was going to be at last announcing Matthias' marriage, that perhaps his estranged fiancee had returned and they'd reconciled, but when she read the golden words on the dark indigo paper she dropped the invitation and stood there, staring at the foyer wall.

"Bonnie? Honey?" Bobby's voice came to her from far away, barely audible through the rushing sound in her ears. She felt him taking something from her fingers, and sort of saw him bend to pick up what she'd dropped. Then she heard him, loud and clear. "Well, I'll be God damned."

Bonnie shook herself, blinked hard several times, and looked again at the marriage invitation Bobby held. "Sean Patrick O'Connor and Della Ardala Kelley request your attendance at the celebration of their wedding, December 26, 2003, at St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church, Los Angeles, California. There will be a reception following the ceremony at The Nightmare Saloon in Burbank."

"Who is this Della?" whispered Bonnie. She blinked hard and swallowed. She hadn't thought about Sean Patrick in a long time. She knew, of course she knew, that he'd moved on to other women, but always those "safe" women in the chicken ranches of Nevada where prostitution was legal and he could pay and walk away. But to think there really was a woman, a woman he would actually marry...

"I wonder if she's a vampire. I'm gonna give Matt a call," said Bobby, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Are you all right, honey?”

Bonnie blinked again. Tears were pricking her eyes and she couldn't keep them back as she looked up at her husband. "Yes," she said, knowing she was lying. Bobby chuckled slightly and hugged her, pressing her against his chest. Bonnie wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Why do you put up with me?" she murmured.

"Because I love you," he replied. "And I knew what I was getting when I signed up for this, you know." He bent his head and kissed her hair. Bonnie turned to face him, to catch his kiss on her lips.

"Shall we call Matthias?" she asked.

"I think so," replied Bobby. He didn't let go of her as they walked to the kitchen, where he sat her tenderly at the table and made her a cup of tea before he picked up the phone. Bonnie put honey and milk into her tea and nibbled on the saltines Bobby laid on a plate in front of her. Bobby picked up the phone and punched “three” on the fast dial.

"Cousin Matt. Let me put you on speaker, so you can talk to Bonnie, too," he said, clicking the button.

Matthia's voice had dropped maybe three octaves when he'd hit puberty, and it rumbled out of the phone, "Hey, Bonnie-girl. We've missed you, you know."

"Hello, Matthias, darling," she replied, leaning her elbows on the table.

"I assume," Matthias went on, "you've received an invitation, and that's what I owe the honor of this call?"

"Talk to us, boy. What the hell's going on?" asked Bobby. Bonnie looked affectionately at her husband, as always pleased that he didn't apologize for his somewhat salty mouth.

"Couple months ago vampire slayers came to Burbank. Don't worry, they didn't get him, obviously," Matthias started, "She was one of them. But Sean Patrick figured her out before she figured him out. She just came to the bar to dance, didn’t know who he was. But he picked out Moira's granddaughter from a distance."

Bonnie almost dropped her teacup. "Moira's granddaughter?" she gasped. Pain savaged through her breast, making her throat constrict and her ribcage crush her lungs, forcing all the air out of her body. The bright kitchen dimmed to a dark, grey point.

Matthias' deep voice rumbled on, "Small world syndrome. Anyway, they got on, he changed her mind about him, there was some blood spilled, and she ended up a vampire. He asked her to marry him."

"Slow down there, boy," said Bobby. "The whole story, from the top."

"Yes, sir."

Bonnie listened as Matthias spoke, but she only heard how this woman had gone with Sean Patrick to Las Vegas, and there they had fallen in love; how she had thrown herself in the way when a vampire hunter shot at him and taken the crossbow bolt herself, and how Sean Patrick had made her a vampire to save her life. She tried to swallow the pain that was threatening to strangle her, then leaned against Bobby's hand when he reached out for her. She hadn't seen Sean Patrick in years, had traded him for the best husband any woman could ever have, she shouldn't feel this way.

"I hope we'll see you here," Matthias was finishing.

"We'll sure try, Matt, we'll sure try," said Bobby.

Bonnie could feel her husband's eyes on her and struggled to gain control of herself, to fight back the pain that was constricting her chest, but it was too powerful. The tears that had been threatening to prick her eyes were starting to spill, and she tried to hide them from Bobby. He hung up the phone and gathered her into an embrace. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about, love," he whispered. "He was a big part of your life for a long time."

"You've been a part of my life longer, you know," she replied, snuffling into a napkin. "I should be happy for him, I know better than anyone how much he needs someone to take care of him. I should..." She couldn't hold it back anymore. She burst into tears and buried her face against Bobby's shirt. His thick, strong arms tightened around her. "I can't go," she choked out. "I can't."

"That'll hurt him," said Bobby.

"I know, but it'll hurt him more if I go there and his new wife sees me," said Bonnie. "It wouldn't be right, the mistress going to the wedding, even more than when he took me home to meet his family! No, Bobby. I absolutely cannot go."

He took the napkin from her fingers and wiped her eyes. "All right, honey. We won't go."

"You will go," she said decisively. "And give Sean Patrick my regards. Tell him why I can't come."

He smiled at her, one rough thumb brushing her cheek. "I live to do your bidding, honey. But you know he misses you. He always wants to see you when he comes."

Bonnie shook her head. "It wouldn't be right." He smiled a little, making Bonnie close her hands around his and squeeze them both tightly. "You do know I love you, right?"

"I'm reasonably confident of that, Bonnie," he said, smiling. His hazel eyes, so unlike his cousin's, crinkled even more at the corners than they used to do, more than Sean Patrick’s ever would. There was such wonderful age, compassion, and affection in his face, the face she'd come to love so, and she realized with a start she didn't really know what Sean Patrick even looked like anymore.

Impulsively, Bonnie leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. "Thank you for putting up with me."

Bobby kissed her back, caressing her face with his hard, sun-browned hand. "I don't put up with you, darling, I love you. If you don't want to go, then I don't mind, if you don't mind me going off to a wedding in Burbank without you." His tone was teasing. He gripped the back of her neck and pressed his forehead against hers.

Bonnie spent the next two weeks changing her mind back and forth between wanting to go and wanting to avoid the ceremony as much as possible. In the end, she packed an overnight case for Bobby and kissed him goodbye. "Bring back pictures," she told him.

"I will, honey," he told her.

Bonnie called Matthias on Christmas to wish him a happy birthday. "Why aren't you here, Bonnie?" he asked her. "I know he wants to see you. I'd love to see you again, too. It’s been years. I think it was Tara’s graduation, wasn’t it? That was back in ‘97."

"It has been a while, Matthias."

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Matt?"

"Your granddaddy was Matt to me, I think he always will be," Bonnie replied, laughing. "I still remember you as a little boy, demanding we call you Matt now after he died."

Matthias laughed. "I really do miss you sometimes, Bonnie. You were like a second mama to us, you know that, don't you?"

"I can't be that anymore," said Bonnie. "I just can't. Not with him getting married."

Matthias was silent a few moments. "When I get married I want to see you, Bonnie. Even if he and Della are there."

Bonnie's heart constricted. "I'll come," she said. "You know I'll come. Has Rebecca come back?" she asked.

Matthias laughed, sounding more carefree and relaxed than she'd ever heard him sound. "Nope, Becky's gone forever. I want you to meet Cody, you'll love her. I sure do."

"This time for sure?" she teased, although he sounded like a man in love.

"This time for sure," he responded, with a great deal of heart.

"Happy birthday, Matthias."

"I love ya, Miss Bonnie," he responded. Bonnie blew him a kiss and hung up the phone.

Bobby returned with the promised pictures, which Bonnie looked at hungrily, but what she saw was a young boy she didn't know. It was him, certainly, as always eternally unchanged, but to her eyes he looked like a child, barely old enough to be the groom. She studied his face, tried to remember the dashing man who had swept her off her feet almost forty years ago, but she could hardly reconcile this boy in the snapshots to her memories. "He's... not changed at all," she said.

"Did you expect he would?" asked Bobby.

"You and I did," she replied. She looked at Matthias in the picture, standing proudly next to his uncle. He certainly was everything his mother hard predicted he would be, the handsomest man alive; he certainly had changed. He was tall and broad, his honey hair bleached by the California sun, which had turned his skin a warm pale brown.

"We're human, Bonnie," said Bobby. "He's not."

Bonnie drew a deep breath. "I've always known that, honey, but for some reason, this makes it very real." She reached down to the bottom shelf of a bookcase by the living room door and took out a photo album, flipping through it to a picture of her, Sean Patrick, Three, and Blythe. They were dressed for dinner, formal, and she carefully laid the wedding picture of Sean Patrick and his wife down next to the old snapshot, covering her own picture so she had twin Sean Patricks standing together.

No one could have guessed that more than thirty years had passed since the picture in her album had been taken. Even the Western-style tuxedo he'd worn at his wedding was similar to the suit he'd worn then; it was only when she moved the newer picture and looked at her younger self, long blonde hair swept up and pearls around her throat and in her ears, slim and pretty in her blue gown, was it obvious. Now she was rounded and her long hair was threaded with silver, the sun had worn lines in her face, and Bobby thought she was beautiful. She looked up at him, watching her, and she thought he was beautiful, too, with his grey sideburns and the deep wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. They were growing old together, and their lives were as perfect as human lives could get.

Bonnie tucked the wedding pictures into the album and put it back on the shelf. "Let's go out to dinner," she said, brushing off her hands.

Bobby grinned broadly. "That sounds like just the ticket."

I should get this done here this week, since NaNoWriMo starts on Sunday.

I also have to remember to order my free download of Windows 7, which came with Jonathan here. (Not, to be honest, that I've actually been upset with Vista...)

* * *

Feel crappy now

2009-10-28T01:37:15Z

Didn't sleep well last night. Kept waking up. Then when I decided to skip the gym and sleep, some moron across the street decided that 5 in the morning was a good time to move heavy furniture, and parked a very loud truck right outside our window and spent half an hour with the engine running, chains clanking, and the ramp making noise. GAH. I hope they were moving OUT, because that is not a way to endear oneself to one's new neighbors.

I have to go to yoga tonight and I'm decidedly not in the right frame of mind. I've felt seriously freezing all day and while, yes, the weather has suddenly turned cold and everyone else in the office was complaining about it being freaking cold, this doesn't feel RIGHT. And now my throat is hurting, too. Will not be sick. Will not.

We will find out about Cuervo's blood test results on Thursday. Fingers crossed. Apparently he demonstrated his pooping and barfing skills to the vet, but the entire staff just LURVES him because he's such a darling.

Hopefully the crapiness is just lack of sleep and if I can get some rest tonight, I will feel better tomorrow. Blah.

A good vet is worth her weight in gold

2009-10-27T02:25:48Z

Cuervo (points to icon) had his checkup today. I took him in fully expecting to say goodbye to him -- he is down to five pounds and is basically a walking, eating, pooping skeleton... but the vet wants to run some tests and see if there is anything we can do that won't break the bank, so she's keeping him tonight (fasting) and tomorrow he gets a full run of blood work and a poop scan, especially since she said he was still bright-eyed and not lethargic at all (despite the watery eyes and sneezing, which, considering Phoenix air, isn't that unusual), and he's eating and drinking well, SO... there may actually be hope. Plus, he was being his usual adorable self, rubbing his head and nose and self against the vet and the tech, so... he's spending the night there so he can fast for the blood work (and fasting here, with the other two bottomless food machines, would not be easy).

I did seem to regain a pound over the weekend, but overall prognosis is good. I was in the gym first thing this morning and had a good workout, but I was feeling snacky/deserty this evening so had some chocolate. Sometimes you just gotta have a little chocolate. Otherwise, not bad. Had some leftover chicken with rice & gravy and a salad, much the same as we had on Caturday with the gang -- I make a danged good roast chicken, I do.

Working for Caturday!

2009-10-25T02:14:42Z

Wha'd'do, Everybody! (No, I don't know what it means, but it's what Wavey says, and I love Wavey.)

Very little exciting happened today for a Caturday; we went out to the Goodwill 50% off sales to see if I could find me something for a passable banana costume (our intrepid team at work are being "Monkey and Bananas" on Friday), and I found bright yellow shorts, a bright yellow hoodie, and a bottle holder which, stuffed and sewn to the hoodie, will make a reasonable stem. And, with the stem removed, these will actually be used as real clothes -- which means I got a multipurpose costume for quite a bit less than it would have cost me to buy a "real" banana costume at the Spirit Halloween store. I also found some nice new tops, a couple of nifty bottles (one of the full-sized Wheaton reproduction bitters bottles I actually collect and a nifty green glass one from Amsterdam, two for a buck, where either one would have probably been at least $4 in an antique shop). Then we went to Costco to get a few necessities, and now I am completely broke because of Homeowners Insurance, but hopefully that means we've reached the end of Hideous Expenses Involved With Homeownership for the year (termite treatment, property taxes, insurance) and now I can focus on the upcoming cruise and, then, OMG, CHRISTMAS!

Six Past Doomsday

They all tell me he’s the same. Exactly the same. That there’s no difference at all.

They’re wrong.

Oh, he looks the same, and mostly acts the same, and what they see on the surface, yes. In almost every way he’s an exact duplicate. He’s just as filled with restless, kinetic energy as the real one. He yearns to do good in places where he’s not welcome, and usually things turn out right for him because he’s still brilliant. Or bloody lucky. Or both.

It’s just that sometimes, well– I knew him better than they did, you know–sometimes when I look into those great big shining eyes I don’t see... forever.

That was what always set him apart, the way I could tell it was still him after he Regenerated and became someone new and different yet still the same. Those eyes that had seen forever behind and would see forever ahead and knew all of time inside and out; they were a different color and a different shape but when I looked deep inside, I could still see the depths and breadth and width of all time in them. In his eyes I could see to the very edges of the universe.

This copy, this exact duplicate, might have the memories and he certainly has the face and he has the amazing hair, but he can’t duplicate those eyes. He doesn’t have the same future. When I look into this set of big brown eyes, I don’t see it all anymore, all that knowledge I had, for a short time; he took that all away from me so I only dream about it now, when I was merged as one with the Time Vortex. I know it happened, I just can’t really remember it, but I could always see it in his eyes.

So I know it’s not him, not really. What’s really funny is once in a while he sounds like he comes from Chiswick. There’s not as much of Donna in him as there was the Doctor in Donna, but she’s there, nonetheless, and that positively makes him different. It’s the human part of him. I like it sometimes. It makes him approachable, a little more real, and it’s that man I live with, the man I agreed to marry, whom I tolerate and still call “Doctor” although he’s adopted the oh-so-average name of John Smith. But even though I do love him, he’s not really the man I fell in love with.

I didn’t intend to. When he first regenerated I didn’t like him. I wanted my Doctor back, that determined, fragile, tender, dangerous man with his infectious love of all existence. I soon learned the new Doctor was much the same, just, well, really handsome. Not that he wasn’t before, understand, but then he was sort of more like a big brother to me, someone I loved and could lean on, but wasn’t really IN love with, not yet, not until it was too late to realize it.

I don’t know exactly when it happened. I know I started to feel a little jealous when I learned he’d traveled with girls before, and I was weirdly jealous when Mickey started traveling with us, which was very, very odd, but I couldn’t help myself. Sarah Jane told me he’d traveled with a LOT of girls before, and who knew how many between her and me? All different, all ages, all manner of feelings going on there. I had to accept the fact that he’s over nine hundred bloody years old, and some twenty-something from London is hardly going to have been his first.

Still, I always felt like his first, the first one who he really almost said “I love you” to. I know he didn’t say it to any of the others. Of course, he still can’t say it, not really. He whispers it at night, so only I can hear, and he never says it out loud.

The first time I heard he loved me was when the Daleks said it, and I was a little too traumatized at the time to pay a great deal of attention, but in the years since I’ve thought a lot about our travels, when I lived in the other world, the universe I was actually born in. I think about how he tried to save me by putting me out of danger and I moved heaven, earth, and the time vortex to save him, instead. It wasn’t just a different face he wore then.

He was everything to me. I’ve learned somehow to love this almost-him, this kinetic stranger with his wonderful hair and his big eyes and his grand ideas. I love the way he approaches every problem as though it’s a dragon to be slain, even if it’s just figuring out something as simple as a school chemistry exam. What else could he do but teach? He’s not an alien any longer, so he’s of no import to the Torchwood of this world, and it seems this universe never had any Time Lords of its own. (Since I know that the Torchwood of my home universe was formed because of what happened in Scotland during that werewolf business, I often wondered how and why it had come into existence in this one; eventually I learned that apparently in this universe Queen Victoria was actually bitten by that werewolf because the Doctor and I weren’t there to stop it. Things changed from there. I took a history course at university.)

I live with this strange human who is my Doctor and yet he’s not. He’s now only an “ordinary” human who lives a “normal” life without a blue box and a free pass to hop throughout all time and the entire universe, righting wrongs and leaving a swath of destruction, death, and broken hearts behind him.

So. John Smith and me. He’s been a good husband, if rather distracted. He’s prone to fits of restless energy, trying, always trying, to make his “piece of TARDIS” grow into a fully-fledged time machine. It hasn’t grown so much as a hair in the years since the doorways between the universes were closed, this time permanently. Sometimes he’s depressed, so pulled into himself and hating this world he’s forced to live in, where he has everything he always desperately feared, a job and money and a mortgage, just like he worried would happen to him if he ever lost his TARDIS, that I can’t reach him at all. I don’t think he’ll ever get over it completely. I know I never can, and I only traveled a few years, relatively speaking.

The real Doctor traveled several of my lifetimes before he met me, and who knew how many more he’d go before he was finally at the last of his Regenerations? He said goodbye to me, and that was more, I knew, than most of them had gotten.

I thought about that farewell, the first one when my heart was torn out, and then the unexpected, horrible second goodbye when I felt an even keener sort of pain. “I can’t love you, Rose, not the way you want or need, so here’s an exact duplicate of me and that should suffice.” As though he were saying, as he so often did, that we “stupid monkeys” didn’t have the brains to fathom even his simplest thought. That much, at least, hasn’t changed. My “John Smith” doesn’t see, any more than the real Doctor did, why it was an insult, how an “exact duplicate” isn’t exact enough, and how I would have far rather simply been his companion for all time throughout the universe no matter the dangers than be consigned to an lifetime with him-as-ordinary-man in a nice flat in a nice estate in a slightly skewed London.

Our life has become exactly what it never had been, never should have been, going to work and out to shops and eating chips, watching his piece of TARDIS lay there inert and realizing that it takes generations–probably Time Lord generations–to grow a TARDIS, and neither of us have that kind of time anymore. That little chunk of stuff that looks like coral may become a time machine someday, but if so, it’ll be for our great-great-grandchildren.

That’s new for him, and I think he hasn’t realized it yet. It’s one thing that’s the same, sadly, as exact as everyone tells me he is. He still thinks like a Time Lord, and doesn’t realize the truth of being human, of being half-Donna from Chiswick, and for the first time, he really doesn’t understand something: he doesn’t have the time.

wildrider @ 2009-10-23T20:27:00

2009-10-24T03:42:38Z

This morning at the gym I was watching CNN, during a story where they were talking about the negative impact that being on a reality show has on children (another Balloon Boy story). I watched for a few minutes thinking, "DUH, just ask 95% of the children who grew up on SCRIPTED shows!" Heck, you can count the Show Kids who turned out "normal" on one hand. Why would a "reality" show be any different when it comes to the stress on children growing up in front of the camera? If anything, I'd think it'd be worse.

More exciting entries from my Forgotten English Calendar:

How things change… not!

The Great Disappointment

As morning dawned on this date (October 23) in 1844, many early Seventh Day Adventists were bewildered and distraught because the second scheduled Second Coming, as predicted by their leader William Miller, had fizzled. Many of these followers had, in preparation for the first Judgment Day on March 21, 1844, settled their earthly accounts, said good-bye to their friends, sold or given away their possessions, donned their white muslin “ascension robes,” and listened eagerly for the sound of Gabriel’s trumpet. According to John farmer’s Americanisms Old and New (1889), “The highways and byways were thronged with anxious crowds of men and women, while the trees in the orchards and the roofs of houses were filled with the more impatient Millerites, who thus hoped to be nearer to their new home in Heaven.” A few years later, Mark Twain lampooned this non-event in his Innocents Abroad, saying, “A multitude of people in America put on their ascension robes and made ready to fly up to heaven.”

Think Frank Sinatra and Elvis were the first to make the ladies swoon?

Birthday of Franz Liszt (October 22, 1811 – 1886)

Hungarian-born composer who followed the example set several decades earlier by dynamic soloist Niccolo Paganini. Liszt, whose performance histrionics included the tossing of his gloves to ecstatic female fans, possessed a pianistic virtuosity and unique personal charisma that inspired fainting spells.

The French in particular seem to have responded to Liszt, perhaps due to a tradition that is explained by the etymology of the verb “to faint” in William Matthew’s Words: Their Use and Abuse (1884): “Faint is from the French se feindre, to pretend, so that originally fainting was a pretended weakness or inability. We have an example of the thing originally indicated by the word in the French theaters, where professional fainters are employed, whose business it is to be overcome and to sink to the floor under the powerful acting of the tragedians.”

Think we have frivolous lawsuits NOW?

The Defense Rests

On October 17, 1521, French lawyer Barthelemy Chassanee honed his legal skills by defending his most unusual clients—rats that had ravaged a barley crop earlier that year. In Autun, France, the farmers were out for revenge, but not surprisingly the “defendants” failed to appear, prompting Chassenee to argue that the summons was invalid because it failed to have been served on ALL the rats. After another summons was issued, Chassenee pleaded cleverly that “evilly-disposed cats” owned by the prosecutors had kept his clients from appearing through intimidation, for which he demanded a bone guaranteeing the rats safe passage to court. When prosecutors refused to provide such an assurance the judge had no choice but to dismiss the absurd charges. The first recorded animal trial—that of a hive of bees that had severely stung a man—took place in 864. These cases continued for more than a thousand years, involving pigs, horses, dogs, and even chickens, caterpillars, and gnats.

Waiting for Caturday

2009-10-22T03:00:23Z

I meme:

Your result for The What is Your Spirit Animal Test...

The Otter

Here's your results! Your spirit animal has a Nobility ranking of 11 out of 18.

Your spirit animal is the otter. Playful, curious and fun animals, they are truly the start of what can be considered a noble creature. Otters are good at figuring things out, and make great friends. You are lucky to have one as a spirit animal. Otters are fairly rare as spirit animals.

***Wondering how this animal was chosen for you? These questions were carefully thought out to see how important you hold certain virtues such as: humanism, self-knowledge, rationalism, the love of freedom and other somewhat Hellenic ideals. Some of the questions were very subtle. Your score was then matched with an animal of corresponding nobility. However, you shouldn't think this was a right/wrong sort of test, but more of an idealistic values test. It's ok to not hold these values, you'll just get an animal spirit of lower stature if you do!***

Take The What is Your Spirit Animal Test at OkCupid

Hmmm. I don't like their interpretation of the Hyena, who was the totem who chose me; and they don't even have the Great Sturgeon, which is the one I usually get.

I am very full. I ate too much this evening. I made no progress this week, but that's not why I went a little nuts tonight, I was just hungry today, and I was good most of the day. Now after a good dinner I am not hungry, but I want dessert anyway. Of course, it's coming to the hardest time of year to actually lose weight... 25 days, 7 pounds to go. Hmmm, again.

Barb's succinct pre-review of the upcoming "Disney's A Christmas Carol": "Christmas Carol meets Football in the Groin."

wildrider @ 2009-10-19T20:06:00

2009-10-20T03:42:36Z

I stole this meme from the lovely Alpha mustangsally78:

Your result for The Social Persona Test (Version 2.5)...

The Ice Queen (NLAF)

Normal Liberal Alpha Female

Okay, let's face it. Some people wonder why water doesn't make you melt. However, alpha females are so rare that a little witchy-ness is worth it. You likely have strongly held convictions and care about society, politics, and the world at large, which only increases your attractiveness. Like everyone must do, just keep in mind that you may not have all the answers. And for crying out loud, don't take everything so darn seriously. Despite a difference in interests, The Lord of the Misfits is best for you, as you would never be able to put up with the Frat Boy (NLAM).

You are more NORMAL than QUIRKY.

You are more LIBERAL than TRADITIONAL.

You are more DOMINANT than PASSIVE.

When picking a date, consider: The Lord of the Misfits (QLAM)

(Image from Narnia wiki)

Take The Social Persona Test (Version 2.5) at HelloQuizzy

Somehow, not sure that's me. I really don't picture myself as Jadis (although she totally rocks). The quiz author apparently knows there are typos (wrong there, wrong yours, "weird" spelled i-before-e, etc.), but I wonder why one of the world's largest religions isn't mentioned in the "religion" section, I assume it's just lumped under "eastern religions" (Hindu). Oh, well.

I still can't remember what I actually wanted to post in my previous post, so there it is.

We'd get Major Violations if my kitchen got inspected and held to restaurant rules. I can see a ton of cleaning supplies up by the food on our kitchen island from here.

Finished a quickie review of Pete Anderson's new album, "Even Things Up." Hot blues guitar, awesome.

Aieeee! Monday!

2009-10-20T00:06:34Z

Okay, first I didn't get to bed early enough because I slept late yesterday, but I still woke up all right in time to get to the gym (and discover that spreading newspapers around the cat boxes seems to help with the "accidents." And I far prefer picking it up and throwing it away than continually scrubbing the grout).

Got in a good workout. Got to work on time. Got most things done, but seemed to behind all the way until the end of the day -- and left a lot of stuff undone. Feeling unaccomplished.

Am actually liking New Supervisor. Maybe folks were right when they said she's changed. *knock wood*

Stopped to change my card at Massage Envy and found out they already tried to run my membership. Oops. Got that fixed.

Jonathan re-booted himself overnight and closed all my programs, then wouldn't come up. I had to pop his battery out so got the "Windows didn't close properly! Doom! DOOM!" message; but he's working fine now (talk about panic, I've only made ONE payment!)

When all things listed out, it seems better than it feels. For some reason I feel just slightly off -- not QUITE grumpy and out-of-sorts, but just not right... (And these CATS won't leave me be!)

The Cricket Wireless store just down the block was apparently robbed last night. Yeek. (And is also apparently merely the latest in a long string of cell phone store robberies, which are getting increasingly violent and daring.)

Damn, and another shooting a mile or so west of that, where the freeway exit is. Gad.

It was 100 degrees again today.

Tomorrow I get to go back and get an ultrasound, because apparently the mammogram wasn't as clean as they told me it was when I was there waiting for an ultrasound when I WAS THERE that they told me I didn't need.

I can't access our wireless printer from this computer for some reason.

Kick your feet back, be astounded

2009-10-19T02:06:43Z

I was pleased to step on the scale this morning and see that yesterday's excess did not make me backslide any. (Getting through the weekend without REGAINING anything has long been a problem!)

I've spent part of the day cleaning, part of the day doing laundry, and part of it just sitting in front of the TV catching up on Tivo, several episodes of Craig Ferguson, two episodes of Fringe, and now Criminal Minds. We just started watching Fringe; I should have started it sooner, but I wasn't grabbed by the first episode and never came back until recently. Last night I managed to clear a lot of stuff off, but I'm still backed up some.

I've been poking at my computer on battery out here for hours and still have 37% battery power left. I love Jonathan. <3

Finally realized I actually wanted to know what happened in the final season of Passions (sue me, I was hooked until it moved to Dish Network), so I've been watching the odd video they have on the website featuring "highlights" from the final season; I need to find a summary page.

There's still a bunch of stuff I need to do around here, but all in all, a pretty good weekend.

Have not really done any writing this weekend.

Oh, for serious (and possibly not-so-serious) Doctor Who Fans, this is (so far!) a great read, and shows an amazingly dedicated fan. And he's a good artist and writer, too. The Ten Doctors -- this is someone who KNOWS his Doctors!

Undermining the Morals of Society

2009-10-18T03:59:45Z

A year ago today marriage for same-sex couples was legal in California, and on a bright, clear, beautiful October morning, I said "I Do" in front of a justice in the old Orange County Courthouse to my partner of 20+ years. Less than a month later this right was changed for others who hadn't jumped to the altar as we did; new lawsuits are being brought against Prop 8, and someday all the laws may change and, perhaps, "equality" will mean something. In the meantime, I have a marriage license from the State of California.

And now, I also have a stomach full of really nommy sushi, a killer Mai Tai, and am waiting until I have a little space to have some of the pumpkin bread pudding we got today at CostCo. Mmmmmmm.

I finally got around to looking at my flist manager, and noticed several folks have friended me lately -- thanks, and welcome! I have friended you back.

We're making some progress on making the office into a real room. Also cleaned the living room. Did some little shopping, got some stuff at Costco, a new tablecloth at Tuesday Morning, and made a quick trip to Trader Joe's. And yes, a cozy romantic evening for me and my lovely wife is lazing around on the sofa in our jammies with our computers. (Well, it HAS been 20+ years.)

We broke down and turned the air conditioner back on. It's been 100 degrees the last two days. While it's snowing in other places. Yeeg.

A goodly part of the day has been spent also cleaning up after a sad, sick, incontinent cat. Poor Cuervo. Poor us. Then the toilet backed up, too. But on the whole, a pretty good day.

* * * * *

Pumpkin bread pudding + homemade hard sauce = YUM.

You'll be glad that you did

2009-10-16T02:45:07Z

Yesterday as I turned onto our street, I noticed two large birds lazily circling pretty much directly over our house. This intrigued me, and as I came closer, I saw them dip and weave together and apart, still just lazily circling. I pulled into my driveway and saw they were kind of over the street, kind of over the condos across, and while they were dipping and weaving and circling, I figured by their size and shape they were ravens and not eagles or hawks; they stayed long enough for me to get the binoculars and check this (ravens), before they just flew together a moment, then started heading north until I couldn't see them anymore. It was nifty. And going by my "good luck omens" that ravens seem to be for me, that means something really good should happen tomorrow (superstitious? Me?).

I rock. Although today there was an anniversary breakfast and then our Fall Festival lunch, so I ate quite a bit. Just a salad and toast for dinner. I made some yummy rye bread which is yummy as toast.

Am WAY behind on Tivo watching. I think I have ten episodes of Craig Ferguson, not to mention all of this week's shows and some of last week's, now including NCIS since the yoga class sillymagpie got me into is on Tuesday nights. We've started watching House live so I don't have to sit through the annoying junk between How I Met Your Mother and The Big Bang Theory; I used to like Two and a Half Men, but it's getting very old and lame -- still funny at times, but not like it used to be. Starting to become deeply unbelievable (not that it was ever anything more than a farce, but even so).

Chapter Fifteen

Bonnie had started to realize what exactly people meant by "the time goes faster when you're older." It seemed hardly a blink before another holiday season came and went, this time spent by the family in the big new house Sean Patrick had bought in Malibu to raise his little family in. Even Matt was dragged out of Texas, for the first time, she was assured, in decades. The old man seemed older now, less aggressive and a lot wearier, but he was still cantankerous enough to find fault with almost everything Sean Patrick was doing and had done with the kids thus far.

Bonnie was glad to go, because Las Vegas was lonely without Sean Patrick, and despite all the various hobbies she'd taken up, from gardening to playing piano, she found herself wishing for his visits, which were fewer and further between, now that he was a daddy.

She realized the irony–now she had what she'd wanted all along. She was the second family, and his visits had gone from leisurely weeks of dining out, shows, and dancing to hastily snatched weekends in bed, relieving his monumental libido before sending him back to his children in Malibu. He was still the same Sean Patrick, just a lot less available. But always, she was welcomed at their little ranch, and the children loved her. She rode their horses with Matthias and Seana, and played games with Tara, who was already smarter than she was. Bonnie adored them all.

When he came to Las Vegas, he always brought gifts, of course, and her monthly allowance was never late. The house was as well-tended as ever, and when she had a leaky roof or a plumbing disaster, it was dealt with instantly. Bonnie joined a book club, but she really couldn't find close friends with whom she could share everything, and when Sean Patrick arrived unannounced while she was hosting, it was impossible to explain him.

"You can tell them I'm your nephew or something," he told her later, after they'd left.

"Not after that kiss," she responded, then caught herself when she realized it was a matronly, indulgent smile, the smile of an older woman. She felt her spine start to stiffen. Sean Patrick raised an eyebrow at her.

"I thought that didn't bother you anymore," he said.

"That was a few years ago," she responded. "I'm over forty now, Sean Patrick. You may make me feel like a girl, but I'm not." His response to that was to make her feel very young, indeed.

She couldn't deny the years passing. They were mostly good years, filled with warm Las Vegas sunshine, passing acquaintances who sometimes became, if not close friends, at least people she could go to a movie with or have over for dinner, and the holidays were always spent with Sean Patrick and the children, who were growing like weeds and seemed to be flourishing under their uncle's care, along with his stern but marvelous Spanish housekeeper and her small brood, who all lived at the little ranch, making it a true pocket-sized version of the hacienda back in Texas. The main difference that Bonnie could see was the nearness of the ocean, which seemed to be assisting with turning the children from Texans into Californians.

It was early one March they got the word that Matt Junior had peacefully passed away. "He was sitting on the porch watching the chickens on the lawn. Everyone thought he'd fallen asleep, but when Teresa went to get him for supper, he was gone," Sean Patrick said over the phone. It was a sad occasion, but felt much different than the last time. With Matt's death, the wake truly was the celebration of a long life well-lived. For the last time the entire family gathered under the old hacienda's roof.

"I think this is saddest for me," Sean Patrick confided to Bonnie. The stories about old Matt were actually making the gathering laugh as they remembered their patriarch and his long, iron-fisted reign of the O'Connor Ranch, lovingly known as "The Ocee." "This has been my house for longer than most of these people have been alive."

"Most of?" Bonnie echoed, her eyebrow arching. Sean Patrick blushed, but nodded in acquiescence. Bonnie smiled as Bobby came up to them carrying two glasses of wine.

"Ma'am," he said politely, handing one to Bonnie. She took it with a smile.

"So where's mine?" asked Sean Patrick.

"Get it yourself, you lazy SOB," replied Bobby in a calm manner.

"That's the respect I get," replied Sean Patrick with a chuckle. He winked at Bonnie and ambled off toward the refreshment table.

"We seem to only meet at funerals," said Bobby.

"Sean Patrick told me you've been invited out to Malibu for the holidays," she replied. "But you've never come."

He shrugged. "I just don't have the heart to travel at Christmas time," he replied. "It was my Meg's favorite time of year."

"I can't blame you," she said, patting his hand. He chuckled slightly. "Maybe you can make it next year. We sure would love to have you."

"You know, I think I'll try that," he said. "It'd be nice to make some new memories."

Bonnie stayed with Sean Patrick for several weeks while he finished all the business involved in turning the private residence of the O'Connor family into the O'Connor State Park and Historical Preserve. Bonnie took care of the kids, playing in the yard with Matthias and Tara while Seana sat serenely in the shade of the porch, learning to crochet. Tara had turned into an eight-year-old tomboy who could throw and wrestle and keep up with her older brother in nearly everything. Bonnie sat on the steps near Seana, watching as Matthias wound up and pitched to Tara, who connected with the pitch perfectly, sending the ball soaring down the avenue of sycamore trees.

"Power swing, there, gal," came Sean Patrick's voice from the doorway behind Bonnie.

"Thanks, Daddy," called Tara. The other two still called him "uncle," but to Tara he was her daddy, and nothing could change her mind.

"We're getting ready to wrap things up, kids. About time to say goodbye to Texas."

Matthias scowled. "I want to stay here," he said, his tone rude. Sean Patrick's eyebrows dropped, the crease appearing between them.

"Now, don't start," he said, drawing a deep breath and obviously counting to ten before he went on, "The renovation crews will be coming in starting Monday, and it won't be anyone's home anymore. There won't be anyone here, Matthias."

Matthias crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his uncle from the safety of the full sunlight. "I'm Matt now," he said, daring, belligerent. Bonnie sucked in her lips to keep from laughing at his expression, which was hovering between defiant and hesitantly cautious, as though he were ready to run in case Sean Patrick decided to brave the sun. "Granddaddy's dead. I'm Matt. I'm the head of the family now."

Sean Patrick considered this, then nodded. "You're right. You are Matt now," he agreed without argument. "But you're still only fourteen, and until you're twenty-one, buddy, you answer to me, not the other way around. Now round 'em up, Seana. We're gettin' ready to head this chuckwagon west."

"Yessir," she said instantly, rolling up her crochet and putting it in the pretty flowered bag she carried.

Sean Patrick sat down on the steps above Bonnie. "He's a handful," he said.

"He's got a good heart, though," she responded.

"He's his mother's son," he agreed. He drew in a deep breath. "I'm gonna miss this place, Bonnie."

"I know. Your heart's here."

He just nodded.

They all flew back to Las Vegas, simply because Sean Patrick's car, the big Chevy he'd been driving since the children came to live with him, was still parked at Bonnie's house. It was the first time the kids had been there, and Seana fell in love with it as much as Bonnie herself had at the same age. Sean Patrick loaded them into the back of the Suburban along with his luggage before kissing Bonnie goodbye. "Next time maybe we can just have a little fun," he said. With the usual "See ya soon!" he drove away, and Bonnie closed the door to find the house was lonelier than ever.

A few weeks later Sean Patrick called and asked, "Are you going to be busy next week?"

"When am I ever too busy for you?" she responded.

He laughed. "Not for me, honey. I'm buried in paperwork. That idiot stockbroker my accountant’s office stuck me with lost me ten grand last week and I'm still picking up the pieces. But I talked Bobby into finally taking himself a vacation, even mixed with a little business for me, and he's coming up to Vegas. Since I can't be there to show him around, I told him you could."

Bonnie blinked. "Bobby? Bobby Ryan?"

"Yes, Bobby Ryan. My cousin. What other Bobby would I be talking about?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking herself and laughing a little. "Yes, of course I can! I like Bobby."

"Good! If I can get away, I'll be up there, but I make no promises."

Bonnie didn't like the way his voice sounded, the strained edges around his cheery tone.

"Are you all right, Sean Patrick? You sound tired. Are you getting enough blood?" It was a matter-of-fact question she'd asked of him many times over the years, often not receiving a satisfactory answer. She didn't get one now.

"Sure." He coughed a little, typically evasive, then said, "I gotta run, honey. Hope to see you soon."

"Feed," she admonished him before he hung up the phone, and she was left fretting about her careless vampire. He wouldn't do anyone any good if he didn't take care of himself.

When Bobby called her, he was almost apologetic. "I figure I could make my way around on my own, but Sean Patrick insisted I call."

"I'm glad he did," she said. "I would have been hurt if you'd come all the way to Vegas and didn't call me. Where are you?"

"The Flamingo," he responded. "Nice place."

"I've never seen much of the inside of the Flamingo since all the renovations. How about we meet in the lobby in an hour? I'll take you out for dinner."

"Okay. I'll be there."

Bonnie dressed quickly, semi-casual for the new Vegas, which had been gradually changing over the last few years from an elegant adult playground paradise to a casual hot spot. It was no longer necessary to dress up for dinner except in a few remaining swanky places, but Bonnie always liked to look nice when she went to the Strip, with or without Sean Patrick.

The Flamingo was still a glorious pink palace, just across the street from Caesars, directly in the center of the Strip. Summer had been hot this year, but Bonnie, born and raised here, didn't mind it. She drove the little convertible Sean Patrick had given her last year for her birthday and parked, making her way through the casino from the back lot toward the lobby, where she found Bobby looking around curiously. His face lit up when he saw her.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he said, kissing her cheek when she came up to him. "They told me it was hot in Vegas, but heavens to Betsy, it's hot."

"You do get used to it," she replied, taking his arm when he held it up for her. "What do you feel like having for dinner?"

"I'm good with just about anything," was the predictable response.

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Of course. But if I take a Texas boy to a steakhouse I know what his response will be," she said, chuckling. "Not as good as Texas beef. I've heard that."

Bobby laughed. "It's possible we deserve that. But I'm actually pretty easy-going when it comes to food. Do you know a good Italian place?"

"I do! That sounds terrific." They walked, across the street and up the long sweeping drive of Caesars. They stopped at the fountains, where Bobby tossed in a half dollar.

"For luck," he said.

Bobby was quite a bit less worldly than Sean Patrick, so for a change it was Bonnie who took the lead, choosing the wine for their meal and recommending what to order. After dinner they walked through the casino, sometimes stopping to drop a few coins in a slot machine or two, having drinks, and eventually making their way back out to the Strip, where they walked and talked for hours.

When they finally got back to the Flamingo, Bonnie said, "I hate thinking of you staying here all alone. I have plenty of space at my house. You could come out and stay there, once you're finished with your business."

Bobby actually blushed. "I don't know, Bonnie," he replied. "That might not be right. I mean, well, you– " His voice faded out, and he fidgeted a little nervously, before rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "I'd love to see your place, of course."

"Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll do whatever you want."

"That'd be great, honey," he said. He kissed her cheek. "Thanks for a nice time."

Bobby stayed in town a week, but stalwartly refused to spend a night in her house, although he did come out and see everything, and spent a whole day working in the sun with her in her garden, weeding and trimming and hauling clippings to the curb. They had dinner at home that night, and he helped her clear up and do the dishes, his company comfortable and homey. Bonnie enjoyed every moment he was in town, especially when she realized that no one stared at them walking together, not like they had begun to do with her and Sean Patrick.

"I hope you come again, soon," she said when she saw him to the airport.

"I will, Bonnie. I had a grand time," he said. Then, to her surprise, he bent and kissed her on the lips. She responded without thinking, a kiss that was somewhere between a friendly platonic kiss and a lover's kiss, leaving her confused and flustered as he boarded his plane. She stood at the gate until the plane left the runway.

The next time Sean Patrick came to town, he was tired and out-of-sorts, and spent most of the time sleeping, gratefully drinking the blood she warmed for him and made him drink. It was only beef blood she bought from a nearby butcher, but it seemed to help ease the tension in his shoulders and took away some of the strained look on his face, not as good for him as human blood but it definitely helped.

"Matthias is running me ragged, woman," he said when she gave him a second mug of blood. "I knew that raising a teenaged boy wasn't gonna be easy, but good God in heaven, I didn't think it would be this hard."

Bonnie smoothed his shaggy hair back from his face and kissed his forehead. "Well, relax, honey," she told him. "Senora Salazar will take Matthias in hand while you’re away." His housekeeper had a boy of her own Matthias’ age, and knew what she was doing.

Sean Patrick nodded, sleepily, and patted her hand. "Thank you, darlin'," he slurred. He was asleep the next time she came into the room, so she carefully took off his boots and covered him with a blanket, leaving him sleeping in the armchair as she got ready for bed.

Two days later Sean Patrick sat her down, his expression serious. "What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Honey, how do you feel about Bobby?" he asked.

Bonnie looked at him quizzically. "Bobby? He's lovely, why?"

Sean Patrick smiled. "Because he really likes you, sugar, and don't think that I'm completely blind to the fact that I really do look like your son now."

Bonnie felt her face heat up. "You told me it shouldn't bother me," she whispered.

"But it does, and I know it does. Not to mention that everyone at Matt's funeral told me so, and Bobby... Well, my cousin Bobby asked me if it would be all right with me if he took to courtin' you."

"What?" Bonnie gaped at him.

"It's strange, I know, but our whole relationship has never been all that normal, honey, let's face facts," said Sean Patrick, holding both her hands in his. "For me, I'd keep coming to see you as long as you live, because honestly, you're just as beautiful to me now as you were eighteen years ago when I first set eyes on you."

Bonnie warmed to the compliment. "Has it really been eighteen years?" she asked, shocked, although she knew it was true. "Sometimes when I see you again after a few weeks you do look so very young to me," she said, caressing his face tenderly. "So boyish."

"Bobby told me you two get on like gangbusters. He really cares about you, but he was afraid to say anything, he didn't want to tell me, even, but I wormed it out of him. I told him I'd ask you, and I'd leave it up to you. Is it time for us to end it, honey? If you say yes, I'll step aside, and if you agree, then Bobby would be honored if you'd consider, well, dating him." He smiled a little.

Bonnie couldn't think of what to say. Of course it was a thoroughly bizarre situation, one she'd never heard of before, because who could say that their perpetually young vampire benefactor was trying to set her up with his own cousin? But it had been nice, going out on the town with Bobby, who was as courtly and polite as Sean Patrick, but looked and acted her own age, and was as relaxed and comfortable with getting older as she was, not endlessly active and restless as Sean Patrick. There had been times in the last year when Sean Patrick had come and she'd simply not been in the mood for sex. As aware of her moods as he always was, he never had pushed her, but she knew when he'd left her house he'd gone to one of the chicken ranches outside of town.

Finally, she spoke, "I don't know what to say."

"Take your time, honey. I sure have plenty, and I'll do whatever you tell me to do. For myself, I'd be honored either way, if you want to keep with me or if you want to become my cousin. There ain't a member of my family who won't welcome you into our midst, and you know that."

"Oh, I know. That doesn't worry me. I've never not felt right at home with your people," she said, again caressing his face. "I just don't know yet how I feel about Bobby. I know I like him, I know I'm comfortable with him, and I certainly enjoyed our time together, but I don't really know him very well. Not like I know you."

"That's why he'd like to court you, honey," said Sean Patrick. "See if like becomes something more. Bobby's been mighty lonely since Meg died, and I think you've been lonely here, too. I haven't been as attentive as I could have been since Three and Blythe died."

Bonnie looked at him and felt oddly like a widowed mother being set up with a new boyfriend by her own son. She could see it easily now, how people must think they were mother and son, and as the years went on, she'd become grandmother; and he would always, always be just as he was now. She'd known for a while now that they were coming to the end, it was just something she hadn't wanted to face. "I'm going to miss you," she whispered, her choice of words making the decision for her. His eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, she thought she'd made the wrong decision. Then he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, holding her tightly.

"I'll miss you, too, Bonnie."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him, wanting to break things immediately but wanting, just one last time, to be with him, to feel that closeness, to feel– "Sean Patrick," she whispered into his air, tilting her head to the side, "feed on me. One more time."

It was sex without sex, this feeding, as he held her tightly and drank her blood, binding them together anew, a friendship deeper than any she'd ever experienced. She felt his love for her, but there was also a sense of relief. He wanted to be sure she'd always be taken care of. They both cried a little, kissed, and then he was gone.

Was falling asleep in front of the news earlier. WILL go to bed very nearly as soon as FlashForward is done.

Take a giant step backward to go forward

2009-10-13T03:06:57Z

I need to get some sugar pumpkins and put them up, and then perhaps make some pumpkin bread and such like autumnal things.

Despite the fact that it's been lovely the last week, temps in the 80's and low 90's, they assure us we may have one more jump into triple-digits (and, to perhaps soothe the horror of such a thing, we are also assured that this would not be the latest on record).

Dogs + ticks = Ew. Enough said.

Dear writers of House, M.D.: Chase and Cameron are boring. Bring back 13 and Taub. (I'd agitate for Kutner, but I know he won't be coming back.) Although I will admit that Chase is better now than he was before, Cameron is still uber annoying boring.

Last night Barb made a magnificent cake, and all I got were the (admittedly delicious) crumbs.

Chapter Fourteen

It was actually not a very long flight, barely two hours, but for Bonnie they went by in seconds. She felt like she had hardly closed her eyes when Sean Patrick was shaking her awake. "Come on, honey, we're here," he was saying, close to her ear. She blinked a few times. They'd crossed two time zones, but there was still some light in the sky. The pilot dropped them down over the increasing spread of San Antonio and there was a bump as they returned to Earth.

Sean Patrick reached past Bonnie and lifted the window shade. She could see several people waiting by a large car, and recognized several tall O'Connor men among them. "Looks like Dave's here," he said, speaking of Three's next-oldest brother.

They were ready to whisk their vampire into the safety of the waiting car, but Sean Patrick paused to give the pilot a check. "Thank you," he said, polite as he always was.

"Nice doing business with you, son," replied the pilot, folding up the check and tucking it into his jacket. He nodded to Bonnie and turned back to his plane. Bonnie found herself enveloped in a warm embrace; she looked up to see David O'Connor, whom she'd only met briefly, the first time she'd come to Texas.

"Thanks for coming with him," said Three's brother, sounding as ragged as Sean Patrick did. "My brother and his wife really cared about you, Bonnie. Thanks so much."

"I loved them, too," she managed. She was led to the limo and found herself sitting between Sean Patrick and a slim, greying red-haired woman she remembered meeting some years ago.

"Joanna, isn't it?" she asked softly. The woman nodded.

"You remember my husband, Hank?"

Bonnie did; the blond, buck-toothed man was older but no less spry, his blue eyes no less sparkling. The two held hands across the space between the facing bench seats as they drove to the main house.

"I'm glad you two came," said Sean Patrick.

"I can't believe Little Matt's gone," said Joanna, letting out a long breath. "I can still see him strutting around the ranch like the cock of the walk." Tears started, and Hank tightened his grip on her hand.

"I can't believe you still call him Little Matt," said Sean Patrick, trying to smile. Joanna reached across Bonnie to grip Sean Patrick's hand. Sean Patrick bumped Bonnie with his shoulder. "He was Little Matt when my brother Matt was still alive."

"And our current Matthew was Junior," chimed in Hank. "I'm glad Three decided to alter the tradition just a little." They rode the rest of the way in silence, Bonnie leaning her head on Sean Patrick's shoulder while Hank and Joanna held hands.

When they reached the driveway, they found a lot of other cars there already. Half the family seemed to be on the porch, waiting; in the shadows she could see a hunched, thick-set figure. Someone else leaned over it a moment, then the figure rose, slowly, laboriously, to its feet. It was hard to reconcile that broken, staggering old man to the vibrant Matt she'd known, but there was no doubt it was him. He lurched forward as the limo stopped and Sean Patrick got out. For a moment the two hesitated, their long-time bickering hovering between them, and then Matt simply embraced the vampire, pulling him into a tight hug, which was returned without a word.

The big house was full of people, not only O'Connors, cousins and second cousins and Blythe's family, more Irish mixed with pure East Indian. There were actual dignitaries in attendance, reminding Bonnie that Blythe had been an ambassador's daughter; the former Ambassador himself and his lovely Indian wife were there, dressed in deep mourning and looking as lost and broken as Matt did, parents who had lost children, no matter how old said children were.

Bonnie found herself in an out-of-the-way corner, a niche by the doors that led out into the interior courtyard of the hacienda. Sean Patrick was of course surrounded by people, mostly other businessmen of the family asking for his advice and giving their own in return. Matt and Blythe's parents were holed up together in another corner, talking softly together, and everyone just hovered, waiting. They were going to bring the bodies here, from the mortuary, for services, but Three and Blythe weren't going to be interred at the family cemetery on the hacienda grounds. Instead, they would be laid to rest at a nearby city cemetery. Bonnie knew they'd been sent home from Dallas while she'd been flying here.

The rest of the family circle she felt only a vague part of, an outsider being made welcome, but not really a part of them. She sipped at the wine punch that was being served by teary-eyed Mexican servants and wondered how she'd managed to become even a tiny part of this other world, a world she knew she didn't belong to.

"Hiding?" asked a soft voice.

Bonnie looked up to see kind, sparkling hazel eyes grinning at her. They belonged to an older man, with grey at his temples, and a nice smile that bore a faint, vague resemblance to the O'Connors in the room. "Hello," she said, managing a slight smile.

"You don't remember me," he said, sitting down in the other spindly chair in the alcove.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. It was a while ago now, before my wife died."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie repeated.

He smiled a little, sad, but that sort of expression that said he had learned to live with the pain. "Thank you," he said. "Anyway, I don't blame you for not remembering me. I'm sort of surprised you remember anyone from that first trip. Sean Patrick threw you into the family circle without a net."

Bonnie couldn't help but smile at that. "I suppose he did."

"I'm Robert Ryan," he said, holding out his hand. "Bobby to most folks around here."

"Bobby," she said, taking his hand and shaking. "I think I do remember meeting a Bobby."

"You've met at least a half dozen, I'm afraid," he said, his smile turning real. Like his distant cousin, his eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners. "Robert is one of the top five most used names for boys in this family, along with Sean, Patrick, Mark, and William."

"What about Matt?" she asked.

"Oh, no. Matt's reserved for the Head of the Family," he said, his tone turning briefly sober as he nodded toward the front of the room.

Bonnie thought about that, and realized that it was true; she'd met a number of Seans and Patricks, but the only Matt was the Patriarch himself and his immediate heirs. She suddenly recovered her manners. "I'm Bonnie, by the way."

"Oh, I know you, honey. You've been putting up with our vampire for a long time now," he replied.

"You said your name was Ryan. That's Maria's side of the family, right?" asked Bonnie, trying to remember the genealogy on Sean Patrick's wall, his mother's maiden name, from the Irish man who'd married her Apache mother.

"Yep." He snatched a passing tray of bacon-wrapped steak bites and started sharing it with Bonnie. "So I'm a second or third cousin, somewhere in there. We never can decide how that goes." He shrugged. "Would you like some more wine?"

"I think I'm all right." They sat for a while, chatting, watching as more people arrived, then the solemnity as the caskets were carried in and laid on the tables prepared for them. There would be a viewing, an almost public event; Bonnie could see some of the servants putting out pedestals with the guest books and white pens, where people coming through would sign and the lists of donations and gifts would be catalogued. Tears filled her eyes again. "I'm going to miss Blythe so much," she whispered.

"I know what you mean. She was pretty damned special," replied Bobby. He didn't apologize for the "damned," as Sean Patrick would have done. Bonnie rather liked it.

"Yes, she was. And so was Three."

"And not because he was a 'great philanthropist,' like the papers said," Bobby continued, letting out a long sigh. "Because he was just himself."

Bonnie nodded, thinking of Three, with his mild good humor, his friendly eyes, tousled hair, perpetual air of relaxation, his gentle manner, his giving nature, his sly sarcasm, his adoration of his wife and his kids, and she blinked a few times. "Those poor kids."

"Look at 'em," said Bobby, nudging her. She looked at where Matthias and Seana were clinging to their uncle. "I think he'll do a fine job by 'em, you know that?"

"I know he will," said Bonnie. "There's always been a daddy under there, waiting to get out. Tara's been put to bed, I assume?"

He nodded. "She's so young, I don't think she fully understands what's happening. Matthias, he knows."

Bonnie looked at the boy, who had been wearing a fierce expression all evening. He was practically glued to Sean Patrick's side, a scowl etched across his handsome face as though it was the only expression he knew how to wear. His sister clung to Sean Patrick's other side, still crying, Sean Patrick's hand stroking her long black hair. "I think Seana knows, too."

"She's always been the sharpest of the three, honestly," said Bobby. "Matthias is a smart boy, but Seana, she's something extra special. They're both gonna look just like their Mama, light and dark. Heartbreakers, both of 'em."

Bonnie nodded again. Matthias already had his mother's exotic good looks, dusky skin and almond-shaped brown eyes; with his blonde hair, high cheekbones, and square jaw, he undoubtedly was going to be, as Blythe said he would, the handsomest man alive; Seana was nearly a mirror image of her beautiful mother. "Doesn't matter if any of them grew up to look like Three, as long as they have his heart," she said.

"That's what I say, honey."

They talked for a long time, pausing to get up and pay their respects with the others who had come, many of them eagerly looking around the O'Connor big house even as they filed past the caskets. Bonnie stopped at Blythe's, the disaster in front of her too great for tears. Blythe was just as beautiful in death as she'd been in life, but there was something essential missing from her perfectly made up face. Bonnie didn't know what injuries she'd sustained in the accident, didn't know what the mortician had to do to recreate her beauty, but she appeared unblemished, perfect. A waxwork of beautiful Blythe O'Connor. Bonnie swallowed a hard, harsh lump and moved on to Three's casket.

Three didn't look at all like himself. He was too slicked-down, too perfect, too made up. Three had always been a little sloppy, a little rough around the edges, and it was just wrong to see him like this, in a perfectly creased suit with not a hair out of place. Bonnie struggled to keep from reaching out to rumple his hair, make him look more like himself.

Sean Patrick, on the other hand, wasn't so inhibited. "That doesn't look anything like Three," he muttered, and deliberately dragged his fingers through the carefully pomaded curls, sending them leaping out in all directions. It immediately softened the stern appearance of the body, turning it back into the man they had loved. Across the casket, Matt gave the first real smile Bonnie had seen on him all day.

"That's a lot better," he said approvingly. "I wondered what was wrong."

That was all it really took. Everyone who had known the couple seemed a little more relaxed, and while the sorrow didn't ease, at least they weren't shying away from the caskets now. After viewing, Bonnie found herself back in her niche, nibbling on hors d'oeuvres and sipping wine. There seemed to be a hundred people here, listening to the priest's litany, and the long rosary, prayers Bonnie had heard during her trips to church with Sean Patrick, but didn't know the proper responses to. After the service, Bobby returned to his chair with a plate.

"Are you Catholic?" he asked.

"No, I'm not really anything," she replied, and told him about her trips to church with Sean Patrick. "But I wasn't raised in any church."

"We're all as Catholic as they come, both sides," said Bobby with a grin. "Irish and Mexican Indian, you can't escape it."

"I've noticed," she replied, and managed a smile.

"This isn't even the real funeral service," Bobby went on, taking a sip from his wineglass and looking around. "That'll be at the church tomorrow. We Irish Catholics make the most of our losses."

"I understand a wake is considered a celebration of the life," said Bonnie.

"That's what they say," replied Bobby.

"I'd feel more like celebrating if they'd been able to live more of it." Bonnie reached for another tissue, glad the ranch servants had put out boxes on every table.

Finally people started filing out, many of them pausing to put a hand on one or both caskets. It was getting late, and quiet; the children had all been sent to bed. Sean Patrick appeared, leaning on the wall and looking down at them. "I guess it's time to get a little sleep," he said quietly. "Hey, Bobby."

"Hey, Sean Patrick."

Bonnie rose, setting down her empty glass. She suddenly felt very tired, her short nap on the plane feeling like it was a million years ago. It had been a long and horrible day. The worst wasn't even close to being over. Soon her two dearest friends would be laid in the ground, in a city cemetery far from their loved ones here at the ranch; at least, Sean Patrick assured her, it was a family plot in the cemetery, and there were other O'Connors there, other family members. She said good night to Bobby, and to the others who were still awake, Matt and Blythe's parents, then looked up as Sean Patrick took her hand.

She was asleep almost before she landed on his narrow bed.

The actual day of the funeral was too bright and too sunny. It didn't have the decency to be dark and cold and raining; no, it was a beautiful autumn day, still warm as summer, so Sean Patrick looked peculiar in his heavy coat and gloves; no one said a word, though, not even the media from the city, come to photograph the funeral of San Antonio's great philanthropist. The children still clung to the vampire, making Bonnie feel like an outsider even though she was riding in the main limousine, right behind the hearses. The cars stretched out for miles behind them, intersections were closed off for their passage, and there were even crowds of curious onlookers as they pulled into the cemetery.

For once Sean Patrick hadn't fallen into one of his moods, and remained alert and strong for the children, despite the despair in his large, expressive eyes.

There was a canopy set up over the open graves, large enough to cover the immediate family and the all-important family vampire; Bonnie stayed back, in the bright Texas sun, watching the children sob in their uncle's arms as their parents were laid to rest. There were more prayers, more words from the many friends and family members, even the city's mayor spoke a few words about one of San Antonio's first citizens, "an endlessly generous soul, who gave of himself quietly, without fanfare, asking nothing in return; he never needed to be thanked, he got his joy from seeing happiness in the people he helped."

Bonnie wiped her eyes. It didn't really help, since more tears were crowding after the first. Just behind her, the little quartet started to play a hymn, their mournful strings accompanying the coffins into the ground. Matt stepped forward, supported by his second-oldest son, and dropped something in on top of Three's casket. Likewise, Blythe's parents stepped forward, her mother dropping bouquets of marigolds for both her daughter and her son-in-law while her father dangled a gold chain a moment, then let it go. Then, slowly, more family stepped forward with their offerings, flowers and gifts and other personal items. Bonnie felt another sob strangle her when Matthias stepped forward and dropped a stuffed toy dog, a single daisy, and a small book. Behind him, his sisters watched with wide eyes as Sean Patrick nodded encouragingly. Then Sean Patrick dropped a bouquet of flowers, gathered the children, and herded them away from the graves, ducking his head as he walked into the sun, the brim of his hat protecting his face.

Bonnie watched him worriedly, but he was doing his best to keep his delicate vampire skin away from the direct rays. He handed the children over to their grandparents, then found Bonnie. "You don't mind going home alone, do you, honey?" he asked in a soft, strained voice. "I have some things to straighten out here, and then I'm going to have to head back to Burbank to get ready for the kids."

"I understand," Bonnie replied, nodding. She knew he'd make sure she had a first-class seat back to Las Vegas. He always did. He smiled and gently kissed her cheek. It wasn't goodbye, not yet; she stayed the rest of the week, but roaming the big house without Blythe was painful, and if it made her ache inside, she could only imagine how it was for the others who wandered the formerly friendly halls like lonely spirits. Sean Patrick spent most of his time with Matt, holed away in the old man's office, and for once they didn't argue constantly.

Bonnie had to admit she was almost relieved when she boarded the red-eye and went home. She drank champagne the whole way.

Not a busy day. No mail = little work for us; still, day went by quickly and we got a lot done, so yay.

It's only 8 o'clock and I'm exhausted. Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

No title for a Sunday afternoon

2009-10-12T01:54:48Z

Last night we went over to framefolly's place for a yummy Taiwanese dinner and some fun Wii games, so today I nurse a somewhat severe Wii injury (the bouncing Rabbids game did terrible things to my old shoulder pain -- I should take a long salt soak, but once again I have a TON of stuff to clean off the Tivo, so I'm watching TV, instead). So what do I do with a part of the afternoon while watching TV? Crochet. *is giant dummy*

We did some shopping today, groceries for the Mom and then to Michael's, where I decided to get the Dry Gulch Sheriff's Office instead of the "on clearance" Vampire's Caverns... it goes with what I have already better. If I'd had a lot more money, I'd have gotten both, but it seems like I NEVER have much cash around Halloween (and this is like the first year ever the Lemax Spooky Hallow stuff appears to be lasting INTO October instead of all being gone by Labor Day). On Friday I stopped by Old Navy to see what those sweaters I liked from the scary commercial were running, and found they were on sale, making them roughly half the price that people on eBay were trying to sell them for (weird). They had some nifty Halloween shirts on sale, too. As usual, I spent more money this weekend than I should have, but so it goes with the unrepentant capitalist.

We locked the cats in the office and sprayed the rest of the house for ticks, and have been killing off those who have been running from the poison all afternoon. Ew. Oops, I have to go hang up those clothes...

There! Clothes hung up, dinner fixed (and eaten), and back to updating. Not that I have a whole lot more to say, really -- not exactly a "lazy" Sunday, but I don't feel like I've done all that much with it. I did take some time this morning/afternoon to watch the Nickelodeon movie of Harriet the Spy on television, and I'm rather pleased with it -- I had expected it to suck like nearly every other adaptation of a book I ADORED as a child (Harriet is the reason I use my middle initial!), but while there were a few changes and updates, on the whole it was extremely faithful to the book. Michelle Trachtenberg was even a pretty good Harriet (damn, she was cute at that age), even though her hair was too long, and the casting overall was pretty flawless. I even liked Rosie O'Donnell as Ole Golly.

* * *

Couple of joints and a bottle of wine

2009-10-09T02:39:55Z

Ah, Thursday! That means tomorrow is... FRIDAY!

I wonder if Chuck Mead has a video up for "I Wish It Was Friday"? Good song. Fun, bouncy, great on my workout playlist.

Goody Two-Shoes - Adam Ant
Walk This Way - Aerosmith
Rock Lobster - B52s
Fireflies & Corn Liquor - Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash
1970 Monte Carlo - Bastard Sons
Distance Between - BSoJC
Wind it Up - BSoJC
Where I Found You - BSoJC
Borderline of the Heart - BSoJC
No Easy Road - BSoJC
Interstate Cannonball - BSoJC
Rock and Roll Music - Beatles
I'll Cry Instead - Beatles
Things We Said Today - Beatles
Any Time At All - Beatles
Wantin' Her Again - Ben Kweller
Dancing With Myself - Billy Idol
Rebel Yell - Billy Idol
Out of Habit - BR549
Goodbye, Maria - BR549
You Flew The Coup - BR549
Georgia on a Fast Train - BR549
Cherokee Boogie - BR549
Little Ramona - BR549
I Ain't Never - BR549
Let Jesus Make You Breakfast - BR549
Two Feet of Topsoil - Brad Paisley
Long Sermon - Brad Paisley
The Nervous Breakdown - Brad Paisley
Dusty Old Road - Brandon Silveira
Born To Run - Bruce Springsteen
Glory Days - Bruce Springsteen
Out on the Natchez Trail - Chuck Mead
I Wish It Was Friday - Chuck Mead
Old Brown Shoe - Chuck Mead
Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival
Lookin' Out My Backdoor - CCR (1)
Jimmy and Annie - Cross Canadian Ragweed
Alabama - CCR (2)
Crazy Eddie's Last Hurrah - CCR (2)
Brooklyn Kid - CCR (2)
Hammer Down - CCR (2)
Alabama (live) - CCR (2)
Fly Away - Dale Watson
Tell 'Em I Ain't Here - Dale Watson
Texas Boogie - Dale Watson
I Don't Rock No Cradle - Dale Watson
Hollywood Hillbilly - Dale Watson
Runaway Train - Dale Watson
Take A Look At Your Neighbor - Dale Watson
Kentucky in a Spin - Dale Watson (one of the BEST workout songs EVER)
Exit 109 - Dale Watson
Longhorn Suburban - Dale Watson
I'm Fixin' to Have Me A Breakdown - Dale Watson
Drag N' Fly - Dale Watson
Truckstop in La Grange - Dale Watson
Sit And Drink And Cry - Dale Watson
Whiskey or God - Dale Watson
Truckin' Queen (I Got My Nightgown On) - Dale Watson
38...21...34 -- Dale Watson
Heeah!! - Dale Watson
In The Jailhouse Now - Dale Watson
Love's Gonna Live Here - Daryle Singletary
There's Gonna Be A Few Changes - Dave Insley
Laid To Waste - Dave Insley
Roy Boy - Dave Insley (another top-notch moving song)
White Cross - Dave Insley
The World's Been Beatin' You Down - Dave Insley
West Texas Wine - Dave Insley
What's Left of Your Man - Dave Insley
Waitin' Where She Hides - Dave Insley
The Sporting Life - The Decemberists
Come On Eileen - Dexy's Midnight Runners
My Heart Skips A Beat - Dwight Yoakam
Gone (That'll Be Me) - Dwight Yoakam
Baby Why Not - Dwight Yoakam
Always Late With Your Kisses - Dwight Yoakam
Sittin' Pretty - Dwight Yoakam
Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Dwight Yoakam
That's Okay - Dwight Yoakam
The Late Great Golden State - Dwight Yoakam
Bossa Nova Baby - Elvis Presley
Tryin' To Get To You - Elvis
Tutti Frutti - Elvis
Blue Moon of Kentucky - Elvis
Moravia - Jesse Dayton
Tall Walkin' Texas Trash - Jesse Dayton
The One on The Right - Johnny Cash
I Was Made For Lovin' You - Kiss
Rock and Roll All Night - Kiss
Land Down Under - Men at Work
Beat It - Michael Jackson
Billie Jean - Michael Jackson
Billy, Don't Lose My Number - Phil Collins
Jar of Clay - Pinmonkey
Little Red Corvette - Prince
Mersey Beat - Reckless Kelly
Blue Collar Suicide - The Refreshments
Banditos - Refreshments
Wishful Drinking - Roger Wallace
Hang on Sally - Roger Wallace
I've Had Enough - Roger Wallace
It's Only Rock & Roll - Rolling Stones
I Palindrome I - They Might Be Giants
See The Constellation - They Might Be Giants
Istanbul (Not Constantinople) - They Might Be Giants
We Want A Rock - They Might Be Giants
Put Your Hand Inside the Puppet Head - They Might Be Giants
Don't Let's Start - They Might Be Giants
Runnin' Down A Dream - Tom Petty
867-5309 - Tommy Tutone
Mexican Radio - Wall of Voodoo
Good Hearted Woman - Waylon & Willie
Everything You Know is Wrong -- Weird Al Yankovic
Truck Drivin' Song - Weird Al

It's 118 songs; I run through them all in about a week, depending on how long I work out. I've changed it up a few times, but I'm in the process of loading iTunes and all my playlists onto Jonathan, so I may change some things. There are a few songs here that are indispensable on the ellipsis, especially "Dancing With Myself," "Kentucky in a Spin," "Roy Boy," and "Everything You Know Is Wrong."

October 8:

The Chicago Fire

On this evening in 1871 began the famous Chicago fire, which was believed to have been started by a cow owned by a Mrs. O’Leary. It recently came to light, however, that a more likely suspect was a one-legged ne’er-do-well neighbor of O’Leary named “Peg Leg” Sullivan, who testified that he saw the fire break out while he was at his nearby home. But careful sleuthing has determined that his story was not credible because his view was obstructed by other buildings. It is conjectured that he had gone into the barn housing O’Leary’s famous cow for beer just before the fire broke out and had knocked over the lantern himself, leaving the broiled cow to take the rap.

In America in 1876 (1877) John Leng wrote of an unusual problem that confronted the United States during Reconstruction: “From every country and city in the civilized world money came pouring in till in less than a fortnight we had to telegraph them to stop. As it is, we have $500,000 unspent, and if we had not telegraphed there would have been $5,000,000!”

Why is it whenever we (Phoenix, or Arizona in general) make the national news, it’s always something really bad? Yes, the entire country knows our county sheriff is as squirrelly as they come… but it’s embarrassing to see him on CNN saying that he’ll “uphold the law” no matter who tells him to stop, even the Federal Government and the Justice Department (because that’s just politics, it has nothing to do with the WAY ol’ Loopy Joe is going about enforcing these laws, of course...). *headdesk*

* * * *

Don't try to find it, make the time

2009-10-08T03:49:13Z

Let the home-made Christmas presents commence. I found a nice jeans jacket and I'm appliqueing onto the back the t-shirt Mom bought for herself at the Bette Midler show but then found was too small so she gave it to me. I've never worn it, and kept looking for a replacement for her, but finally thought of this, which is what I did with a favorite Dwight Yoakam t-shirt of mine that had been a large and thus became far too big for me when I lost the weight. And there's been some great yarns on sale at Big Lots, so I filled a bag with some and am working on the first one for someone; I have to go back and get some more, and there's another bag under my desk waiting for me to work on it. This is why craft stores have their holiday stuff up three months early.

Chapter Thirteen

It was a week before they finally arrived in the parking lot of his bar in Burbank. The trip from Las Vegas to the Los Angeles valley was much, much easier and faster than the drive all the way to San Antonio. At the speed Sean Patrick drove it hardly seemed to take any time at all. Another oversized muscle car with an engine that roared like a monster and an interior that had enough space to host a dinner party for fifteen, not his old Pontiac. Bonnie knew he'd had several cars in the last ten years, but couldn't remember what all they'd been, and he’d kept several favorites, with one was back in San Antonio and another garaged at her house, the others somewhere with him in Los Angeles.

He pulled into an empty parking lot, around the back of a very large warehouse, and into a parking space in the back, under a variegated metal cover. Bonnie looked at the dark buildings around them. There was light coming from a nearby stretch of highway, along with the noises of a large city, but it was somewhat distant. "Where is it?"

"This is it, honey," he said, gesturing to the warehouse. "Not very impressive with the lights off, I'll admit, but I'm proud of it anyway." He guided her across the darkened parking lot to a small door, where he unlocked a bolt and the knob and led her in. "Careful here, honey, it's kinda dark backstage."

There was ambient lighting, the glow of an Exit light and a track of tiny lights along the floor. Bonnie let her eyes adjust. "Where are we?" she asked.

"This is the dock and the backstage area," he replied, re-locking the door behind them. "The stage is over there, and this way," he led her through another doorway where he turned on overhead lights, "the hallway out to the main room. We're still doing some renovations back here, I want to put in some game rooms and private areas for parties. This is my office.

He opened another door and turned on the lights, letting Bonnie into a plain little room with no windows, a simple desk with blotter, and a few filing cabinets. The O'Connor genealogy that had been hanging on the wall in his bedroom in Texas was hung behind the desk. "Doesn't seem much like you," she commented. "Very plain and functional."

He chuckled. "I keep telling you I AM a businessman," he said. "But here. This is the real surprise." He went to the back corner of the office, behind the desk, and reached up. Above his head was an inset niche, where he pressed a few buttons. There was a click, and a hidden door opened. "Welcome to my home," he said, and turned on another light. Bonnie could see a narrow staircase of highly-polished wood leading down, and followed him into the most beautiful, luxurious living room she'd ever seen in her life.

"Oh! It's gorgeous!" she cried, applauding. Subtle lighting showed off polished stone floors with hardwood accents, and rich leather furniture with copper studs. Of course there was a huge television dominating the room, but on the walls were some beautiful western paintings, collections of arrowheads, and a display of old west weaponry. He showed her around to a good-sized dining room, a very large kitchen and wine closet, then down the hall to a personal office more like what she expected from him, lavish and masculine and stuffed with books. Across the hall was his bedroom, dominated by the biggest bed she'd ever seen. "At last, I see the custom-made bed!" she exclaimed. "It's breathtaking, really."

"That means a lot to me, honey, that you like it," he said, and she could see in his face that he'd been anxious, concerned about her opinion.

"What was that door in the dining room? We didn't go in there."

"That's just storage, a lot of the stuff I brought with me from Texas," he replied. "And some stuff I haven't unpacked yet, pictures and photo albums and the like."

"I can't believe how really lovely this all is," said Bonnie, spinning slowly around to admire the polished stone walls.

"And the bathroom's through there, if you need to freshen up," he went on, pointing to a door next to his wardrobe.

"Thank you, darling," she said, tossing her purse on the bed before heading into the bathroom. This was all more him than even his room back at the hacienda, because he'd made it from the ground up. She realized that, like her house had been for her, it was the first place he'd ever been in that was totally and completely his, and that was why he'd needed it. There was only one tiny mirror in the bathroom, on the door of the perfectly normal store-bought medicine cabinet, so that was what Bonnie used.

When she came out, she found him stretched out on the bed. It was tall, so much so she had to heave herself up onto it, and so wide and long he could stretch out his six-foot-four frame in any direction without any part of him hanging off. Bonnie scrambled to meet him in the middle, where he wrapped an arm around her. "When the bar opens tonight we'll go up and dance. Maybe I'll sing a little and you can see what else I love about this place."

"I understand already," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. She could feel him smiling as he kissed her hair.

The music was already playing loud when they exited his office that night, the huge main room of his bar filled with people talking, drinking, dancing, and laughing. Sean Patrick pushed open the swinging doors that led from the hallway to that bustling big room and the noise hit Bonnie like a freight train, but it was rather more invigorating than terrifying. Sean Patrick seemed to come to life as he mingling in with the crowd, smiling and shaking hands as people welcomed him back. He made his way to the bar that lined this side of the room and somehow managed to make himself heard. A bartender grinned hugely.

"Good to have you back, El Jefe."

"I couldn't get myself going when I heard the bad news, Willy," he said, his voice barely audible. Bonnie smiled as Sean Patrick drew her close to the bar and said, "This is my Bonnie. Bonnie, this is Guillame, but we call him Willy."

"About time we got to meet you," said the bartender, shaking Bonnie's hand.

"I'm glad to be here." She meant it, too, until she turned to see a young woman hurl herself into Sean Patrick's arms, kissing him possessively.

"Welcome home!" she said breathlessly when their lips parted. Her pleasant smile fell on Bonnie's shocked expression and she went on, "Cool! Is this your mom?"

For a second Bonnie's world turned upside down.

She knew, of course she knew, Sean Patrick now looked younger than she did, and had for some time. In Las Vegas occasionally people looked sideways at them when they went out, but Bonnie never paid much attention. She was, after all, only thirty-seven. She couldn't possibly look like she was old enough to have a son Sean Patrick's age.

Sean Patrick only laughed. "Good God, no. Bonnie, honey, this is Katie. She's a little scatterbrained."

"Hey!" the girl hit him on the shoulder, good-naturedly.

"How you doing, k-k-k-Katie?" he asked, stuttering her name just like the old song. Bonnie watched their banter and decided they were good friends, and good female friends to Sean Patrick were often "kissing friends."

He took to the stage with his guitar and performed a lot of the cowboy songs he loved, and the crowd loved them, too. They also seemed to love him, the girls screaming as though he were all four Beatles rolled into one. Bonnie had never really paid a lot of attention to his cowboy music, so it felt very much as though she was hearing him for the first time. It was certainly the first time she'd ever heard him backed not just by his lone acoustic guitar, but a full band of five other guys, playing that rollicking rockabilly stuff that had never so much as made a blip on her radar, and she found she wanted to dance and swing to it just like everyone else was doing, but she didn't step onto the dance floor until he took his break and came down to claim her.

They had been ballroom dancing many, many times in the last ten years; they'd also gone to some of the rock clubs in Vegas, but she'd never before danced like this with him. By the time the lights went down and the bar closed, Bonnie was more than a little tipsy, her feet were sore, and she was almost certain she had never had more fun in her entire life.

Still, at the end, in the bathroom, she found herself regarding her face in the mirror. It had been a long time since she had really studied herself, had really looked. For the last several years she knew she had been seeing herself through Sean Patrick's eyes, and gloriously enough, he found her beautiful. But now, really seeing herself, she saw the lines around her mouth and eyes. There was no grey in her hair, but was that the work of her dedicated hairdresser?

"Honey, you aren't worried about what Katie said, are you?" came his voice from behind her. He could always sneak up on her when she was looking in a mirror.

"Yes," she said. No point in lying to him. "We should take a portrait, then you can see it, too." She turned and looked at him, really studied at his young face. "You're so used to thinking of yourself as the hundred-year-old man, you've forgotten how you actually look."

"Who cares?" he waved it off. "I certainly don't. You shouldn't, either. Katie thinks everyone over the age of thirty is ancient."

Bonnie scowled at her reflection and his lack of one. Maybe if he could see himself he'd understand.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, hugging her against his chest, and whispered in her ear, "Forget about it, honey. Let's go to bed." His tone was decidedly lascivious. Bonnie rolled her eyes and turned in his arms.

"Oh, all right." She didn't say anything more because he kissed her, picked her up, and carried her to his giant bed.

She stayed in Los Angeles longer than she expected she would, because there was just so much to do and see. Sean Patrick took her everywhere, from Disneyland to the Hollywood Walk of Fame, from moonlight walks on the beach to dinners at famous restaurants like the Brown Derby or movies at Grauman's Chinese, where she behaved like any tourist, standing in famous footprints and snapping pictures. But finally the vacation was over and Sean Patrick flew her back to Vegas with the promise that he'd come soon.

Bonnie tried to get back into her old groove but things felt strange and off. She began to notice her lack of friends and spent a lot of time on the phone with Blythe, although the young mother seemed busier than ever. "I think Three and I will come up there in a few weeks just to get away from the kids a while," she said frankly one night, sounding exhausted. Matthias keeps me busy from morning until night."

"I take it the girls are a little less trouble?" asked Bonnie with a laugh.

"Decidedly!" replied Blythe, returning the laugh. "Seana can already be trusted to take care of herself, she hates getting dirty and she loves to read. Tara, bless her little heart, is turning out to be another O'Connor musician. She's only three and she already can tell one note from the other. She barely knows the words but she can hold the tune. But Matthias, with that temper of his, and he gets into absolutely everything."

"I'm dying to see them," said Bonnie, shifting the phone to the other ear. "I've missed you all so much."

"Sean Patrick wants to have Christmas this year at his place, and we're thinking about hauling Daddy there, too. Do them both good."

"I think Matt might actually like seeing how Sean Patrick's doing," said Bonnie. "His place is just gorgeous."

"I know the pictures can't possibly do it justice." Blythe gave a yawn. "I'm sorry, honey, but I'm just about beat. How about I call you later this week?"

"Go get some rest. Talk to you later."

As Bonnie set down the cradle, she was tempted to pick it right back up again and call Sean Patrick, but considering the time, he was probably up in his bar on stage, enjoying his crowds and not thinking about her at all. She sighed and looked around her dream house, feeling distinctly like there was something missing.

Sean Patrick had been her benefactor, her friend, and her lover for more than ten years. Bonnie had been living her life around his and sometimes, even before he'd overwhelmed her mind she sometimes couldn't be sure where she started after he left off.

She started really studying her face when she washed and brushed, morning and evening, trying to remember herself, the girl she'd been before she'd been swept into the vampire's dizzying whirlpool of existence, his family and his music and his emotional entanglements. It had been far, far more than she'd ever imagined, had ever dreamed. He'd kept his promises, of course; no marriage, no pregnancies, no fear that he'd ever throw her out of her house.

But she'd never thought about making him promise to keep her from caring about him and his family as she did. It had never crossed her mind that her "benefactor" would come to mean so much to her. Bonnie turned her face one way, then the other, examining the lines that creased her skin. She took care of it, of course; she used the creams that her stylist recommended and she shopped at the good cosmetics counters, since her allowance was so generous, but she still was starting to look like a woman who was nearing forty, while her benefactor looked barely twenty.

The disparity continued to trouble her while it didn't concern Sean Patrick in the slightest. He still took her out to the nicest places in Las Vegas, although Bonnie really did start noticing the way people looked at them. "I really wish you'd stop worrying, honey," he said one night, changing out of his suit. "Seriously, if it doesn't bother me, it shouldn't bother you."

"It's not just your friend Katie anymore, Sean Patrick," said Bonnie, hanging up her dress. "The waiter thought you were my son, too."

"Maybe we need to be more publically affectionate," he replied, his tone mischievous, grinning at her. "Look, if you really want me to stop coming around, you tell me so. I'll be hurt, but I'll get over it and move on. Like I've always told you, the house is yours. If we call it quits the only change will be you won't see me here anymore."

The thought of that made Bonnie's heart sink. "No, I don't want that," she said, trying to keep her voice light rather than give vent to the panic his words inspired.

"Then stop worrying. We'll continue just like we've always done."

And so they did. They passed Sean Patrick's 116th birthday, which marked their thirteenth anniversary as a couple. It was a good year, for the most part, and Bonnie definitely relaxed her concerns after a wonderful bartender commented what a handsome couple they were. And after all, why couldn't an older woman be seen with a younger man? "Told you so," muttered Sean Patrick in her ear, leading her to the dance floor.

When they were alone, it never mattered a bit.

Bonnie was deeply asleep when the phone rang. It was early yet, but the sun was up, letting light into her bedroom but the sun was kept well off the bed where her vampire was still sleeping. He rolled over at the sound of the phone. "Don't answer it," he muttered.

"I have to," she replied. "It might be important."

"Just Matt yelling at me again," muttered Sean Patrick. Just last night he'd had a shouting match with the old man over the phone, and it had taken her hours to get him relaxed again. Bonnie reached over and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

It was Matt, but his voice sounded odd. There was none of the usual gruff power in his tone as he quietly said, "Bonnie, honey, is Sean Patrick still there?" in a hoarse, shaking voice. For the first time since she'd met him, he sounded like the old man he was.

"He's here. Are you all right, sir?"

"Lemme talk to him, would ya, darlin'?" he just asked, his tone so quiet it didn't sound like him at all. Wordlessly, Bonnie handed the phone to Sean Patrick, who scowled at her as he took it. She shook her head at him in an attempt to tell him that there was something seriously wrong.

"Hey, Matt," he said, his expression saying he was trying to understand what she was trying to say. Then all the color drained from his face and for a moment she thought he was actually going to pass out. He sagged against her. "God, no. It can't be."

"What? What is it?"

He shook his head. "Of course. Of course. I'll get out of here as soon as I can. I'll charter a plane, I won't drive. I'll be there, Matt. I promise." He looked at Bonnie, his face grey, his eyes starting to fill with tears. "Yes, of course, she'll come. We'll be there. I don't care, I'm coming as soon as I can get a plane." He handed Bonnie the phone. She could hear the dial tone, and knew Matt had already hung up.

"What's happened?" she begged him. He clutched her hands in his, pressing his forehead against her knuckles. She could feel his agony, sweeping off him in waves, a disaster so massive he couldn't find the words. "Sean Patrick?"

"Three and Blythe... Three and... and Blythe... are dead," he stammered. Bonnie could feel her own face whiten as all the blood drained from it, her heart giving an odd, painful skip. "There was an accident... they were in Dallas... coming home from some party... Guy ran a red light, caught 'em broadside... Three died at the scene. Blythe made it to the hospital. They couldn’t do anything... She died about a half hour ago." He swallowed, his voice turning hoarse, and gasped, unable to continue.

Bonnie couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't even wrap her arms around him and console him. Blythe was dead? That couldn't be, it just couldn't be. Blythe was so vibrant, so alive! "She was my best friend," Bonnie heard her own voice. "My only friend. Oh, God, those poor kids!" She sounded alien in her own ears, a stranger speaking.

"Bonnie... I'm their Godfather," Sean Patrick whispered.

The implications of that took a moment to sink in. She stared at her perpetual bachelor, the vampire uncle, jovial and carefree, who had always dreamed of the one thing that was forever denied him: fatherhood. "You'll take them in," she said. It wasn't a question. She knew him, he wouldn't turn away from that duty. "You'll take care of them." He nodded, then coughed.

"I have to call the airport," he said. "I have to... get ready."

"I'll pack. You do what you need to do," said Bonnie. First things first. There was business to take care of, then she could collapse, and sob her heart out at the loss of the only real friend she'd ever had. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be. It was a mistake. “God,” she murmured, pleading to a deity she’d never believed in and suddenly hated for doing this to her, to him.

Blythe had never asked for anything from her but friendship, she'd shared everything and always been honest and supportive and fun. "She was only thirty-two years old," she whispered into the suitcase as she packed Sean Patrick's things. She could hear him on the phone, pulling strings only he could pull to get a private plane chartered that would get them right to the ranch in as short a time as possible. They couldn't just sit around and wait until sundown, they had to get out as soon as the plane could be fueled and ready.

"I need you ready in an hour," Sean Patrick was saying, his emotion-laded voice shaking. "I will pay you what you want for your trouble, God damn it. This is an emergency. I'll need limousine service directly onto the tarmac to meet the plane. Yes, God damn it, I am the fucking president. I don't care what it costs." It was the first time Bonnie could remember ever hearing him swear like that without apologizing for it.

He hung up the receiver, wiped his eyes, then picked it up again, this time to talk to the limo service. Then he called her maid, and his bar manager in Burbank, arranging their time away. After the last call, he gave vent to his tears, yanking several tissues from the box. He buried his face in them, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

Bonnie dropped his overnight case and sat on the bed with him, hugging him tightly. The moment she touched him, her own tears started.

"We can't. Not yet," Sean Patrick managed to gasp, trying to pull away from her. "Not yet. Too much to do. Have to get home. Then we can cry."

Bonnie nodded, but she didn't let him go. They gave vent to their sorrow for a few moments, then finally managed to get up, and get moving.

Bonnie had never seen the area of the airport where the limo took them. They drove around to an area where small planes were tethered to Earth between hangers, far from the large terminal and the big passenger jets. Sean Patrick huddled in the corner of the limo, swathed in his leather coat, wearing gloves and his cowboy hat and very dark sunglasses. The limo driver had given him an odd look, but said nothing as he accepted the twenty-dollar tip he was given. They were driven right up to a small four-seater airplane where a tall, heavyset man was waiting for them. He had an impatient look on his face, as though he'd been waiting on them, although Bonnie knew they'd made good time in the midday traffic.

Sean Patrick ducked from the dim interior of the limo and sped up the steps of the plane, out of the sun as quickly as he could, leaving Bonnie to direct the loading of their luggage onto the plane and talking to the pilot.

"We're going to San Antonio?" he gruffed at her.

"It's actually a small strip just west of San Antonio proper," said Bonnie.

"It's O'Connor Field," came Sean Patrick's voice from inside the plane. "They're expecting us. Shouldn't be too much in the way of air traffic."

"All righty, then," said the pilot, helping Bonnie aboard with an old-fashioned manner, "Let's get going."

Sean Patrick was sitting on the far side of the plane, with the shade drawn down, a scowl on his face. Bonnie sat opposite him, buckling her seat belt as the pilot strapped in and turned on the radio. She listened to the incomprehensible codes rattled off between the pilot and McCarran Tower. They had to wait behind a United flight, then took to the air. Bonnie looked out at all the construction, the new areas of the airport laid out below her. It would be huge when it was done, she mused, then pulled the shade down as the little plane banked and the sun angled through her window.

Across from her Sean Patrick was leaning on his hand, staring blankly at the back of the empty seat in front of him. His long limbs were folded up uncomfortably; no wonder he preferred large cars. He probably was used to flying first class when he flew.

"So what's the hurry?" asked the pilot once they were clear of the airport. She watched as he effortlessly leveled off. She could barely hear him over the sound of the engines.

"Death in the family," said Bonnie, gently laying a hand on Sean Patrick's knee before he could snap something he'd regret.

"Condolences."

Bonnie met Sean Patrick's gaze. His huge eyes were so filled with pain it made her ache. Then he sagged, and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe we should try and get some rest, honey," he said, closing his eyes. Bonnie realized they had only gotten a few hours' sleep this morning before Matt's call, and weariness suddenly attacked her, the misery weighing down on her shoulders and dragging her eyelids down. She was asleep before she realized how tired she was.

Television has been hit-and-miss so far this season. I'm finding myself absolutely riveted by FlashForward, and I love Glee. I still can't get into NCIS: Los Angeles; it's just not as good as its parent show (although I'll probably still try). I hope the bring Taub back on House, because the jump back to "it's three years ago!" isn't that exciting. I don't know why it is they feel they have to keep Chase and Cameron around. The Big Bang Theory is increasingly awesome, I'm still loving How I Met Your Mother (although I haven't seen this week's yet), but it looks like they've saddled Kelsey Grammer with another crap-fest -- so far Hank hasn't made me laugh once, and this episode was vaguely insulting (either that or the writers just pulled the plot from the discard heap from some 50's sitcom, where the man simply can't handle his wife *gasp* working). On the other hand, The Middle is funny, although a lot of that is because of Neal Flynn, playing a somewhat saner version of The Janitor. The rest of my usual viewing are moving along at a normal pace, nothing staggering yet (although Dexter promises to deliver another stunning season). I wish they DID have four-channel Tivo (I swear I read about one once, but I can't find it now), because then I would be able to say something about this season of Heroes, but it was the one that fell by the wayside... something had to give.

There were strange bees in the house. Barb wonders if they were a sort of fly. There are still ticks on the dog. Ew.

It rained a little this morning. The days have been actually very pleasant, but of course it means the office is now WAY TOO FREAKING COLD.

I weigh in this morning at 161. I have 39 days until the cruise.

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