There are sweet potato pies and a big dish of mac and cheese in the oven. It's four days late, mind, but it's in there. The turkey is carved and awaiting re-heating. There is a delicious normality in the scents. I'm actually hungry enough to eat the two pies. Jon's bottomless pit has return as well. In the land of the studio/archive, Craig is well enough to have two forbidden tacos during the course of the day. They are forbidden by his health conscious girlfriend. And the other co-workers are back to eating their microwaved corn dogs and other questionable repast. Collectively, we're still trying to figure out what WAS that.
Shortly before we were felled, our company was planning on a big December shingdig for the studio, Dragoncor's new digs and the premier of Blood Oath. We'd begun interviewing caterers, and I was planning the press kits and guest lists. But before we really made any headway, I heard from a friend who does these sorts of functions several times a year. I had contacted her for advice. It was sobering. She strongly suggested that we wait until well into January. It seems, holiday party slots go quickly among the people we wanted to invite – for the ones still in town. Many try to hot foot it out by mid-December. She thought our date was good, but she thought we'd be lost in the competing parties. “Nothing is happening in mid-January,” she advised. I was relieved. My concentration was waning, and I was just realizing that I was really sick. Much to my surprise, everyone else involved was ecstatic to wait. We can all slow down and hone the presentation. I can really rest during the big Christmas break. But most groovy of all is being able to squeeze into a much smaller little black dress. Sweet.
I really appreciate all the very nice notes and concern. That helps a lot. I was really grumpy for a while. That's the funny thing about those romance stories where the hero or heroine is being nursed back to health. The patient is so surly as to be evil. The patient is not in the least bit attractive. I won't get into the scents and sounds. It's just ugly all around. But who would read a romance that included mucous or other even more odious fluids. I wouldn't (and I don't want to know about any such fiction either).
I've been working on a much longer blog about the writing and the projects and the joy of finding Soul Train reruns from it's ealiest days (nothing lifts the spirits like a little Funk). It should be ready by next week.