When your last name is Leach, “Leachie” is a natural nickname.
I think it started in Kindergarten, which is a natural time for kids to figure out that “Leach” > “Leachie”. It continued through school, and I think people even called me that in high school. Not a terribly complicated story.
However, my favorite user name is “Lleachie”. If someone on the web has the nickname “Lleachie”, it’s a good chance it’s me. It’s pronounced like “llama”, with one L. Except for one person from Poland who pronounced it “ill-e-ATCH-ie”, which I’ll forgive him for.
Summer is winding down fast. I am starting to look at doing beginning of semester stuff (although it is a bit early) and my annual trip to New York State to do moulage is looming. I know my days of leisure are coming to an end.
In the meantime, however, I might as well enjoy. Writing and resting are the order of the day. (Except for today; I have a couple school-related items in the afternoon).
I wish I could store up rest. It doesn’t work that way, but at least I can store up the memory of rest and let it sustain me.
I’m not going to talk about how much weight I need to lose, because it’s going to be an embarassing amount, but suffice it to say I’ve lost 20 pounds in the last month and a half and I’m not done yet. And I won’t be done for a while.
At my age, one loses weight for the health reasons and not for the looks. I’m never going to look slim because I’ve just been big for so long. But I admit wearing a smaller size would be nice.
So, this is the Big Audacious Goal for this year (and next). Not what I expected.
I’m writing a book right now, where the female protagonist is (among other things) a folksinger, and her significant other is an immortal who wants to be human because he thinks it will cure his loneliness. One song she performs at open mic night is Child 39a, an old ballad called Tam Lin.
The ballad is about Tam Lin, a captive of the fairy realm who holds a plot of land, and any unaccompanied woman who passes there has to give up something of herself, including her virginity. One woman, who gets pregnant, returns to demand he support his child. He agrees to marry her if she takes him from captivity. He warns her he will turn into all sorts of vicious forms, and if she continues to hold on, he is hers. This goes according to plan and they live happily ever after.
I realized in the middle of writing this section that their story is basically Tam Lin, with a few changes. He is held captive by his loneliness. She rescues him and holds onto him as several layers of his existence are shed — immortal, being made in the image of humans, and then his final layer — inevitably other. No vicious forms, but the alienness of his being stands in. In the end, their story is bittersweet as I suspect Tam Lin’s is — how do you live in the ordinary world when you have been touched by the fey? How do you have a relationship with someone that alien to you?
I’m using the song as a framing device. I would tell you it all fell together accidentally, but I know the subconscious of a writer is a powerful thing.
My absolute go-to food is one I seldom eat, but I will whip up a batch occasionally. It’s easy to make, and it absolutely soothes my nerves. It’s not for everyone, it’s a bit spicy, but it’s helped me through some rough times.
That food is namya. It’s Thai food, a light coconut curry sauce with fish to be served over rice noodles with cilantro. I think I’ve just lost some of my readers, what with cilantro and fish curry. But it’s flavorful and soothing, almost like chicken soup, but with a touch of spice.
As I said, it’s easy to make. take a can of coconut milk and pour it in a pan. Add a half-can of water. Put in a tablespoon of fish sauce, a tablespoon of red curry paste, some lime leaves, a chunk of dried galangal (if you have it), and sometimes I put in chopped cilantro stems. add leftover cooked fish or cooked ground turkey and simmer until hot and the flavors have melded a bit. Serve over rice noodles with cilantro.
You can use more curry paste if you want it richer, but that will also mean hotter (which is why you throw the other herbs in it instead). A trip to an Asian food store is a must before making this for the curry paste (although there is a brand of milder curry paste in US stores), lime leaves, and galangal.
This is my favorite comfort food. Often, however, I settle for something more mundane, like chicken soup.
I don’t play a lot of games (board or other). I play solitaire and some Yahtzee clone on my phone. I would play charades in a room full of people, no problem. But my favorite game to play is Scrabble.
I’m not a great Scrabble player. I know all the big words, but I’m not good at what gets the real points in the game — placing tiles that give multiple words. I knew a woman who had this skill, and she could play 600-point games. I never beat her at Scrabble.
I think being able to play multiple words by playing laterally is a spatial skill and this is why I lack it. I lack spatial skills, but my verbal skills are almost enough to get me through in Scrabble. Almost. Still, it’s my favorite game.
Am I seeking security or adventure? I’m 61 and pretty settled down. I also don’t have the endurance I want to have, so I think I’m on the side of security.
I never thought I would choose security to adventure. When I was younger (and unmedicated bipolar), I wanted adventure. I went on many (sometimes ill-advised) adventures in Chicago and various other places. I walked in dark neighborhoods at night, rode in a car with someone who shouldn’t have been driving, and talked down an oversize hippie who thought ‘free love’ was mandatory. Don’t get me wrong, I liked adventure, usually.
Nowadays, I do repeat vacations in the same place. I don’t go on roller coasters (although maybe I should fix that).
At least I am adventurous with some things. I am very adventurous about food. If Jamaican chicken curry is a sign of adventurousness, then maybe I am a bit adventurous. Just not the way I used to be.
I have three cats, who are right now in the living room — Pumpkin Spice is lounging on the back of the couch, Chuckie is helping Richard make coffee, and Chloe is lurking around. Richard is talking to Chuckie, making up all sorts of new names for him, all on the variation of “Doofus”. (A doofus is a goofball, or silly creature). I can’t imagine life without them.
Cats are lovely creatures, graceful (except for Chuckie), silly (especially Chuckie), loving (we’re not so sure about Pumpkin Spice), intelligent, and curious. They’re little creatures with their own personalities, and they like to play little games with us like “Let me into the bathroom” (Chucky), “Imma lick your face” (Chloe), and “I love you I hate you” (Pumpkin Spice). They’re like idiosyncratic little people in fur suits.
I don’t mind dogs. I pet other people’s dogs. But dogs seem so dependent. They’re loyal and attuned to their owners. Cats, on the other hand, are not owned. They coexist with us and develop friendships. Dogs seem more like a hostage situation, although I’m not entirely sure who’s holding who hostage.
Obviously, I vastly prefer cats. My cats like me at least a little. How could I do without them?
My Scrivener files are a mess. Something happened with syncing that they are no longer opening on my iPad, and I’m afraid that if I open them up on my computer, the same thing will happen and all the versions will be corrupted (through a sync).
So I’m going to have to make and move copies before I open Scrivener and see if I can transfer the moved files back in. Otherwise I’m not sure what I can do to de-corrupt too many files.
Words Like Me 