AtlanticPuffin of Sleet

Well, here I am . . . still 70! I was hoping it might wear off after a good night's sleep, but no. I'm here for the duration. I chatted with Queenie. The Fireman is having cancer surgery in a couple of weeks. I don't think I had mentioned this here. It's been confidential while they got the diagnosis and so forth. Apparently firefighters are especially vulnerable to prostate cancer, because of the chemicals they're exposed to. They're keeping their courage up, but it's a heartache. It's one of those times when I really wish I lived next door to the beloved person, so I could just hang out with them, watch TV, bring treats, and generally accompany and distract. That's about all one can do at such times, and I know how to do that, but alas, right now I cannot. Phone calls are better than nothing.

I also had a happy Zoom with Moonmoth and the Nonesuch. I prepped dinner ahead of time, so we could eat when I got off the call rather than later. I browned some ground beef and sausage, and dressed up a jar of spaghetti sauce with mushroom and peppers, red wine, and an extra dose of herbs. So all the Sparrowhawk had to do was boil the pasta and make some salad. It worked out well and was tasty, and my stomach seems to be behaving itself. Perhaps the birthday champagne was medicinal!

A bonus birthday gift was an email from my editor to say he had in fact read the story last night, loved it, and will get me paid next week! He has a few minor edits to pass on, but otherwise is pleased. That is deeply satisfying.