mariness

As some of you know, fbhjr and malterre are celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary this weekend.

What I did not know, until this weekend, that a number of my writing friends and acquaintances were off to celebrate another wedding this weekend – held in the very same spot that fbhjr and malterre used twenty years ago. After I blinked a lot and realized that no, people weren't just having me on, I thought, now that is a good sign.

Meanwhile, I headed out to the Winter Garden Music Fest last night – the town's little three day "let's get some bands and other groups in here and hope that this encourages everyone to try out the local bars (yes, we are up to TWO of them now, although technically, one of them wants to tell you that it isn't a bar) and the local restaurants." Alas, all the interesting (from my point of view) music was on during the day, when it was really too hot; by the evening, the remaining bands were doing standard rock and roll stuff, with a couple of original songs thrown in here and there and a group sing of "Folsom Prison Blues." (Complete with toddlers happily dancing and wiggling to "I SHOT A MAN IN RENO - JUST TO SEE HIM DIE!) The evening was also when the crowds started to gather. But not oppressively, and a breeze blew through, and it didn't rain, all distinct positives. Also, pumpkin chai, which is a reason for living.

That did lead to one unexpectedly sad consequence, however: since the other human in the house - I hesitate to type this, but you, oh readers, deserve the truth -- actually went into his room and closed the door even though he was watching football an activity that by definition leaves a human with hands ready and able to pet a cat, and -- gasp -- left the Little One out in the living room all alone. (The Grey One, apparently unable to handle to angst, took off to the closet.) It was, I am assured, one of those tragedies that can only be handled through the judicious application of more lap time and, of course, tuna.

So today's excitement involved four cops pounding on my door asking for a [name redacted], which was followed by the four cops coming in and searching the house, while calling for backup to search the small house in the back and the back yard.

The whole thing undoubtedly would have gone better for everyone if 1) I had remembered where the hell my state ID was 2) not attempted to replace my ID with a pile of mail one piece of which was addressed to someone else entirely and two pieces of which had the helpful identification of "resident", 3) the Grey One not startled everyone by thumping thump thump to the floor and running away to hide ("What was that?" "Oh, the other cat. Sorry, she's terrified of people." "I think we just have to check.") 4) I could've remembered which of the various keys in the laundry room actually worked for the back house, 5) the Little One not wanted to help, and by "help" he meant, "pick me up and cuddle me" a concept he best gets across by headbutting cops, and 6) Dispatch had not given the cops the entirely wrong address.

Fortunately two of the cops recognized me -- "Still using that electric trike?" -- which was enough to convince them to call Dispatch. Less fortunately the entire thing and trying to find my ID sent me into a pretty bad coughing fit and made me dizzy, which then led to an exciting conversation about calling for an ambulance and the strong suggestion that I should not be driving and I need to be very careful on the trike. After this they took off, to the great distress of the Little One since the cop wasn't petting him anymore. And before people ask, no I have absolutely no idea what all of this was about.

After that it seems kinda an anticlimax to mention that the latest Freddy the Pig post is up at Tor.com, and that I have found a new love in the Olympics, rhythmic gymnastics, mostly because that doesn't look as if anyone is about to IMMEDIATELY DIE and also does not involve running on broken legs, always a plus. Sure, a bit of an anticlimax, but we aim to keep this blog complete. Kinda.

So the Little One and I were quietly minding our own business when the night filled with the sound of sirens.

This, in itself, is not so unusual - we live sorta near a road that is a direct route to a small hospital so ambulances go that way from time to time thrilling the local dogs who continually find this all very very exciting and would like more sirens yes yes yes BARK BARK BARK. But these were remarkably LOUD sirens, and given their supposedly emergency status, they seemed to be moving remarkably slowly. I looked out. A cop car, sirens on high, was creeping by - and I do mean creeping. I turned back to the cat. And then I heard the HO HO HO. I looked out again, to realize the cop car was followed by two fire trucks, another cop car and yes, Santa in a very lit up sleigh right in the middle howling HO HO HO.

What precisely Santa was doing here on a Monday night escorted by the cops I cannot tell you. Maybe he was being very naughty and Winter Garden decided to make An Example of him, and a Noisy One at that.

And there go more sirens, but more rapidly this time.