Good News Day

Monday–yesterday–was another of my long, “I’m on the road and can’t really get anything done” days.  I had to visit my HRT doctor, and it’s a nearly two-and-a-half hour drive to her office–I’m in The Burg and she’s off in the Swamps of Jersey–so there’s a bit of driving.  A lot of driving, actually, and it’s pretty much heavy traffic the whole way there and back, not including the rain I was in last night.  Needless to say, by the time I returned to my hovel at seven-thirty PM, it was hard to get worked up for anything in the way of writing.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good day yesterday . . .

See, my visit was to go over my labs, which I’d taken a couple of weeks before.  Lab work is important, because you don’t want to worry that what you’re doing to your body is killing you.  And it can . . . Bit of full disclosure here:  back in April and May of 2014, this year, I was on a DIY hormone regiment for about six weeks.  I did it because I wanted to get on them, and as I always do, I dug into my research and figured out just how much I could handle without hurting myself.

Wrong thing to do.  I stopped taking the hormones right before I started my lab work, and didn’t get back on them until I started my injections.  One of the thing my lab work discovered was my iron and some of my liver functions were way the hell off.  The liver function was due to taking oral hormones (after you’re fifty they break down in your system differently and are metabolized by your liver as well), and the iron came from mistakenly taking a women’s vitamin, which are full of iron that I don’t need.

The moral of that story is don’t do meds on your own.  The other moral of the story is that in April I was pretty much an emotional basket case because of lady hormones taking over my body, and let me tell you, it wasn’t fun.  It also makes me understand far better the sort of hell women go through from time-to-time, and makes me want to slap guys with large, smelly tunas every time I hear them say, “Wow, you’re moody today.”  Hey, try this stuff for three months, dude, and tell me how you feel.

But the news yesterday was good.  Hormone levels are where they should be; liver function is good save for a slightly elevated bilirubin, which may or may not be genetic and/or affected by my lack of a gall bladder, my weight is continuing to drop, and even my blood pressure was down a bit–and while still high, it wasn’t up in the hypertension range.  It was all great news.

That's why I look so happy here--glowing even, as some people say.  I'll take that.

That’s why I look so happy here–glowing even, as some people told me yesterday. I’ll take that.

It’s back to the writing tonight.  Today I’ll ponder over some of the comments I’ve received concerning Annie’s and Kerry’s relationship.  It seems as if there are a few people who thing something bad is going to happen to them.  Since I already know everything that’s going to happen to them, I’m sort of sitting here smiling and thinking, “How are they gonna feel when I get to this scene?”

But really:  nothing bad happens.

Well . . . nothing too bad.

Welcome to My Trans World

I’m doing things a little different today, mostly because I promised some people that I was going to answer some questions for them, and this is how I handle that particular request.

As everyone–or just about everyone knows–I’m a transwoman.  I’ve been out online and with friends for about two years now, and in March of this year I began living publicly as a woman.  I started on hormone treatment back in July, and I’ve just passed three months on hormone replacement therapy.

You can imagine that mot many people know the ins and outs of what I’m going through.  It’s rare that people other than close friends know anyone trans, and until recently trans people in media were either played for laughs or we were psychos who usually committed the murder in whatever drama was bring presented.  In other words, the majority of people who we might encounter in real life don’t know much about us.

This all came about a few weeks ago because there were people in one of my Facebook groups asking me about the stuff I do concerning my hormone injections.  I was getting other questions asked as well, and it made me realize that, yes, people are curious, and not in a morbid way:  they really want to know about these things that are happening in my life.

Since yesterday was my shot day I decided to put together a few videos that show the steps I go through for my injections, and also answer a few questions that have come up from time-to-time.  So, if you’ll step this way . . .

 

This is a video going over the stuff I need for my injections, and I actually take you thought the process.  You never see the injection, and I give you fair warning it’s happening in case you want to look away.  As I say you don’t see anything, so safe all around.

The next two videos answer questions about hormones and injections, and–particularly with the second video–I get into the good and bad parts of going through hormone treatments.  I give warning in the second video that discussions may get a little graphic, but only because I’m talking about naughty bits.

Okay, now we get to the one video that’s probably Not Save For Work or Kids.  I get into a rather frank explanation of physical sexual responses, and how mine are changing.  It’s pretty interesting, but as I said, it’s frank, so let me warn you once more:  Sexy Talk Ahead!  That’s even the name of the video.  Click at your own risk.

And last but not least, a video that answers a question that I’ve been asked more than a few time:  why are you doing this?  For me, the answer isn’t surprising.

There it is:  a part of my world as it currently exists.  I hope it’s informative, and that it leads to more questions in the future that I can take time to answer.  Because, believe me, the more people know about the sort of things that led up to my decision, and the aftermath of said decision, the more the stereotypes can be cast aside.

Like I say in one of the videos, once you get to know me I’m really a nice person–

No different than you.

The Hesitancy of Drama

I know some of you are wondering, “Are we going to see what’s coming next for Annie and Kerry?”  And the answer to that is, “Nope.  Not today.”  The why of that is both complicated and . . . not.

Part of what happened, for me last night, was having to help out a couple of friends who were having a rough spot of it last night.  I was up until midnight speaking with first one, then the other, consoling, offering advice, and offering general reassurance.  It’s the sort of thing I do these days, but more and more I seem to give this advice freely.  And without hesitation.

"Okay, I'll help you hide the body, but you're driving.  Got it?"

“Okay, I’ll help you hide the body, but you’re driving. Got it?”

It’s easy to write off a lot of things that happen online as just another form of drama, and seeing as how I keep our Facebook Drama llama calmed down most of the time, but my friends were in the middle of real concerns, so no drama:  it was hurt and anxiety all the way down the line.  I stepped in and did what I could to help ease the pain.

Speaking of drama, however . . .

I did manage to write a little.  We’re only talking about two hundred words, but I’ll get to more tonight.  There is a problem that I’m encountering, and it’s one I’ve hit before:  the feeling that I’m about to say or show something that’s a little too personal.  I’ve done this before with other stories, and I feel it coming on here as well.  Because what is about to happen is personal–not only for my kids, but for me.  I’m about to unbare some souls and show some feelings that haven’t popped up before, and . . . it’s nerve wracking to pull this out and wave it about.

Though I’m much better with my emotions these days–never might there are times I have the emotional stability of a twelve year old girl going through puberty, I’m talking about opening myself up to others–there are times when I feel I’m putting to much of my own soul out there on the page.  I saw something, show something, put a hint or two here and there:  that’s all part of the plot.  But there are things that Kerry says in this scene which is a little gut wrenching for me, because they’re things I’ve felt and even said from time-to-time.

When Kerry says no one has ever loved him, or that they wish he wasn’t there, I’ve heard those things before.  I’ve had those words ring in my ears, either coming from someone else, or from my own mouth.  It can be a tough thing to write about an emotionally detached eleven year old boy, and remember what it was like when that boy was you.  And then to go back and write this . . . it’s not the stuff of nightmares, but it leaves me uneasy leading up to and for a little after I finally get it out of my head and down on paper.

Tonight, for sure, I’ll get there.  I’ll stay off the computer and put on the music and just write.

Things need to be said.  And writing is where I get my support.

Besides . . . Annie will be there.  And she’s the best support I have.

Out of the Evenings and Into the Dreams

I got out last night:  it was warm enough when it started that I put on a skirt and my sandals and grabbed my computer to dine and write.  Probably not as much as I could have, but it was still a good deal–over eight hundred words, all of them original, all of them–well, good is always a relative term, isn’t it?

The important thing is I finished the penultimate scene of the chapter and managed just under two hundred words into the final scene, the one that’s gonna open things up and probably raise more questions than answers.  But that’s always a problem with this kind of tale; there’s unanswered questions, and sometimes those questions lead to more questions.

Not to mention they keep adding to the word count.

Not to mention they keep adding to the word count.

Now, the last time we checked Annie was told she was going to spend the night in Bed #1, in Bay #1.  The next word out of her mouth is probably the same as that of most readers . . .

 

All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie sat staring dumbfounded at Coraline. When the head nurse mentioned her tower Annie was certain she would be forcibly put to bed. This was, however one looked at the statement, unexpected. “Why?”

“It’s actually pretty simple. One, I’ve got Bianca and Thebe spending the night down in the Dining Hall. Since we’re going to have fifty or sixty students sleeping down there tonight, I thought it might be a good idea to have them handy in case some of the students are still bothered by the events of the day.” Ten minutes earlier the Headmistress had stepped into the hospital and explained that a number of students wanted to know if they could spend the night in the Dining Hall; they cited the fact they’d been locked up in the towers all day, and most were feeling a little anxious from the experience.

“Then there’s Maddie.” Coraline looked up to the ceiling, beyond which was the Second Floor and the ICU. “Her vitals are stables but low. I asked Gretchen to keep an eye on her tonight, so she’ll be up there all night.

“I’m off to the Instructor’s Residence after this because I am not an AP and I’m pretty much dead on my feet and I feel like I’m gonna drop in another couple of hours. I can be here inside of a couple of minutes if there’s an emergency, but I need to crawl into bed and get some rest tonight.

“That means everything on the hospital side is accounted for—save . . .” She pointed at Kerry once more. “Our sleeping lad here.

 

There you have it:  not enough people to keep an eye on everyone.  Coraline’s got everything covered with explanations, too:

 

“The stuff we used to put him under should wear off in another couple of hours, but the pain meds should do a good job of keeping him under. However, that’s no guarantee that he won’t wake up in the middle of the night, and between the meds and the concussion, if he does come to he’s likely to be a little disoriented. If that’s the case, it might not be a bad idea—” She slowly turned to Annie. “—if he had a friendly face to help get him back to sleep.”

Though Annie was excited to hear this, she also worried that there was a catch. “Won’t someone say something?”

“Like what? That I let you spend the night here? Remember, you’re part of the triage team now: you did a great job—save for one moment that we won’t discuss . . .” Coraline stared off into space for a moment before returning to the conversation. “That makes you part of my medical team, and that gives you certain . . . privileges when it comes to being here. That means you can sleep in Bed #1, and you’ll both have the bay to yourselves. Should Kerry waked up you can help calm him and get him back to sleep—and if you run into a problem you can’t handle, you’ll know to contact Gretchen and she’ll have Bianca or Thebe come up and help you.” Coraline snapped her fingers. “Simple as that.”

Annie stood slowly and smoothed out her uniform skirt before going over and hugged Coraline. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Coraline put her arms around the pleased little sorceress and hugged her back. “You’re welcome.” She released Annie and patted her on the shoulder. “Grab your jacket and let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

 

I guess this means we can start calling her “Nurse Annie,” though that’s stretching it a bit.  But then I’m good at stretching–just don’t ask me to wear yoga pants when I do.

Finally I started the final scene of Chapter Twenty-three.  What’s going on during Dreams on the Ward?  Take a look:

Not here:  this is just proof I wrote this.  Look below . . .

Not here: this is just proof I wrote this. Look below . . .

 

Annie opened her eyes and lay still under the covers of her bed. She listened for unusual sounds, but heard nothing save the slow breathing from the bed next to hers. She cast a glance towards the ends of their beds looking for movement, but there wasn’t anyone inside the curtained-off ward bay except for Kerry and her.

Whatever had aroused her from her slumber hadn’t come from outside. That left only one possibility . . .

Annie carefully slid the covers back enough to uncover her upper torso and propped herself up on her left elbow. She checked the time on the clock on the night stand between their beds: 00:38. A little after midnight. The attack day is finally over. She spied Kerry’s glasses in front of the clock where she set them when she took them off to clean his face. Annie stared at them for close on to thirty seconds, resisting the urge to reach over, pick them up, and try them on as she done two months ago on their flight out of Amsterdam.

 

There you have it.  Annie’s awake, looking for whatever it is that woke her up, and thinking about trying on Kerry’s glasses.  What happens next?

Just you wait and see.

Matters of Imaginary Life and Death

If you’re expecting to find stories here today, you’re sadly mistaken.  Yesterday–and last night–were some of the strangest there were, believe me.  It seemed as if I spent part of the day busting urban myths–which, by the way, I love doing, particularly when they’re of the heinous and vile kind–before getting into a discussion at the end of the evening where the term “Moving the Goalposts” became not so much an expression as a spectator sport.

"No, seriously, you win.  You've already expanded the argument past three stadium and a cricket pitch!"

“No, seriously, you win. You’ve already expanded the argument past three stadiums and a cricket pitch!”

At least the most interesting thing I learned last night if that if you have uncontrollable hiccups, the only way to stop them is by internal digital massage of your rectum.  Yes, that means exactly what it says.  You’re welcome.

"Go to the other room; I'll be in shortly.  That's a little nurse's humor!"

“Go to the other room; I’ll be in shortly. That’s a little nurse’s humor!”

Since tonight is “Go Out to Eat and Write Night,” I promise to finish up the current scene and start on the next.  I mean, I should be able to rip off over a thousand words tonight, I promise I’ll get cracking on the last scene in Chapter Twenty Three.  I wouldn’t lie.  Mostly wouldn’t.

However, I was working on a few things last night, if only in my head and talking scenes out loud.  One of them had to do with characters having babies–yes, that does happen, particularly to characters in my world.  It seems as if a few people have children:  the Headmistress does, as does Professors Simplen, Salomon, and Kishna.  Though the families don’t live at the school, some of the instructors teleport home and visit when they can–Professor Simplen does this a lot of Sundays.

I was imagining two of my characters discovering they were in a family way, and how they were affected by their feelings, and how they found themselves at that point.  That’s actually what a large part of my non-computer evening was about, and it was fun to be able to do something like that once more, because I’ve been away from doing things like that for the last month, and I need to get back into doing these things.

And then there were my dreams . . .

For some reason I had an extremely vivid dream last night, and it seemed to have something to do with an end of the world event–or maybe it was just the state of Pennsylvania finally running out of money and being unable to do anything.  I know part of it happened down on Second Street here in The Burg, because I recognized a few of the restaurants–one of which was on fire.  Someone must have been displeased with their appetizers.

But a large part of it had to do with getting a family out of the area and to–somewhere else.  I think Boston, because I heard that name come up a few times, and I knew we were heading east. The only problem was no one seemed to be in much of a hurry to get their asses in gear.  It appeared I was the only one with an agenda, and everyone else was like, “Eh, end of the world, let me finish this email.”  Really strange situation, and I couldn’t understand why I was there for a group of strangers who didn’t seem to care that I was there.

Had to be a group of editors.  Just had to be.

On Beyond September

It’s that time again, thirty days hath and all that.  The last month has been nuts, and it doesn’t look as if October is going to get any better–at least not on the surface.  I may need to start planing so I can get through the month with all my intact.

Not much writing last night because . . . honestly, I was in the middle of an emotional meltdown for most of the evening.  Hormones:  what can you say?  They can bite you hard at times, and it’s usually the Monday after my Friday injection that I start feeling the hammer drop.  But I pulled out just long enough to get a good thirty minutes in and pen all of the follow:  Annie in the Aftermath of the Morgue Comment . . .

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie sat and ran Coraline’s last statement back a few more times: Someone not as smart would have put themselves in the morgue. And as the head nurse had said, she knew it to be true—just as she knew that Kerry was responsible for all his actions that led to where he was now. It didn’t do any good to blame Emma for his condition, because there were any number of things that could have put them next to The Diamond that wouldn’t have had anything to do with an idea she dreamt up. He could have ran when Emma was attacked—what did Nurse Thebe say? Abominations create a fight or flight reaction. Kerry decided to fight. He fought a creature that was scaring him to death, and would have killed him given the chance. And the whole time he managed to keep his wits about him to save Emma and fly off and have his accident . . .

“You should be dead.” Annie leaned forward, watching Kerry’s quiet, sleeping face. “You’re not because you struggled to stay alive and won.” She slid her chair towards the bed so she could run her fingers over his exposed right hand. “You came back to me; I know why. I wish you could talk. I wish you could tell me I helped keep you alive, that you were thinking of me—”

“Okay.” Annie quickly pulled away from Kerry and sat back as Coraline silently appeared at the foot of his bed. She glanced between Annie and Kerry before continuing what she was going to say. “Here’s what’s going to happen: first, you and I are going to get diner, and don’t tell me know, because I’m pulling my my Chief Medical Officer rank here and ordering you to get something to eat.” Coraline crossed her arms in a self satisfied way. “That means you can’t say no—you got it?”

Annie nodded slowly. “Yes, Nurse Coraline.”

“After that, you and I are going to head over to your tower—”

“Why?” Annie was almost ready to bound out of her chair, ready to challenge her.

“Because you need to pick up your pajamas, your robe and slippers—” Coraline shrugged. “Maybe your tooth and hair brush . . . ‘cause you’ll need need those if you’re gonna spend the night here and keep an eye on him—” She pointed at Kerry. “From there.” She pointed at Bed #1 behind Annie.

 

Wait, what’s this?  Annie gets an overnight in the hospital?

Seriously, what the hell is this?

Seriously, what the hell is this?

Just hope I can get thought the night in the right mind so you can find out tomorrow.

Travels of a Crocheting Groupie

Over the years I’ve done some strange posts.  I’ve written about a variety of things, most of them revolving around writing, but sometimes I go places and do things that are interesting to others.  And there have been times when I’ve reveled things about myself that have surprised and sometimes shocked people.

This post . . . it’s a little of everything.  A tail of travel to exotic movie locations, a look at things on a long journey, and a bit of strange, personal information about me.

So, let’s get to the full disclosure:

I am a crocheting groupie.

I’ve been a member of a group on Facebook, HodgePodge Crocheting, for as long at the group has been around.  Why, you ask?  Do you crochet?  No, I am not a hooker, which is what we call someone who does.  Then why are you there?  Because my bestest friend, Tanya, owns the group, and she included me in the group when she put it together.  In fact, there are only three other people who joined before me, and the owner of the group is one, so there.

For the longest time I was a private groupie, because I wasn’t out as a woman yet, and the thousands of people in the group–yes, that’s true, we’re over three thousand strong–weren’t aware of my status as a transwoman.  But one day I jumped in on a question about gender identity in young kids, and that was it:  I was off and running.

These days I’m the Memestress and Keeper of Helena, our own Drama Llama, one of the Lorekeepers of TARDIS Knowledge, and a member in good standing.  I’ve also been promising to show off our groupie tee shirt . . .

See, a while back we sold tee shirts to our members, one with the group logo and the wording that proclaimed that we were proud HodgePodge Groupies.  Many members have already shown theirs, and I was getting questions about when I was going to show mine.  The answers were always the same:  I’m going to show it soon, and I’m going to do it at a famous movie location.

A couple of weeks ago, it was time to get to some picture taking.

To get to where I needed to go was gonna take some time, so I headed out early, pretty much as the sun was coming up, and began driving west:

Look:  mountains ahead!

Look: mountains ahead!

As you can see the Pennsylvania Turnpike is curving up into the mountains.  Just behind that “Blue Mountain” sign is the first of four tunnels I needed to traverse.  There are two just on the other side of the sign, then another about ten miles beyond that, and then further to the west, the Allegheny Tunnel, which is the longest on the turnpike.

Now, what do I do when I’m out driving for long periods of time?  Wouldn’t you know it, I shot a video!  First off, it’s not the car moving, it’s the camera:  I was holding it in my right hand while I drove with my left, and kept the vehical on cruise control.  The music is loud because that’s usually how I keep it when I’m driving.  Don’t try this at home, kids:  I’m a professional.  And at about forty-four seconds you’ll probably notice some caterwauling which is me doing my best to sing.

My best isn’t that good.

Beyond that is Sideling Hill–a place I visited last year–and this place:  Breezewood, home of a lot of places to stop and eat, as well as Gateway to the Abandoned Turnpike.

You should see this place at night--I have.

You should see this place at night–I have.

I needed to get a bit of breakfast and some coffee, and since I was running just a little ahead of schedule, it was a good place to relax and decompress.  Because I had a long ways to go to get to my first stop . . .

Right here, just south of Pittsburgh.

I heard the shopping here was a little "dead".

I heard the shopping here was a little “dead”.

I know more than a few of you are saying or thinking, “Cassie, why’d you drive half way across the state to visit a shopping mall?”  Because this isn’t just any shopping mall:  this is a famous movie location.  Monroeville Mall was the location for the filming of the original Dawn of the Dead, the second of the original George Romero zombie movies, released in 1978.  Filming took place from ten PM until 6 AM; at which point the mall Muzak came on and since no one knew how to switch it off, that was a wrap.

Since I was in the area I thought, hey, stop in and look around.  See if any of the undead are still around . . .

Zombies?

Zombies?

Yoo hoo?  You around?

Yoo hoo? You around?

Calling all Walkers.

Calling all Walkers.

Since it's fall, all the girls who love fall will be here trying to get their pumpkin spiced candles.

Since it’s fall, all the girls who love fall will be here trying to get their pumpkin spiced candles when they’re undead.

The mall has changed a great deal since 1978:  new stores, new look, probably even a layout change here and there–though the food court still looked pretty funky, so I gotta wonder if there’s been many updates there.  Since I didn’t see any zombies, I bought a pair of boots and a pair of flats.  Because . . . shopping.

Here we have Dawn of the Bitchy Resting Face.

Here we have Dawn of the Bitchy Resting Face.

But this isn’t where I really wanted to show myself wearing my groupie tee shirt.  I said I was doing it at a famous movie location, and I knew just the place.  Because before you can have a Dawn, you need a Night . . .

Night of the Living Dead wasn’t just a genre changer, it was a genre maker.  Before this movie zombies were some drugged-out losers controlled by a bokor.  Everything that we know and love about zombies started with this moving, and while many have added to the mythos, without this little film you wouldn’t today have a guy on TV running around drilling zombies with a crossbow, a woman lopping off heads with a katana, another guy running around yelling “Coral!” and a woman who wants you to just look at the flowers.

Romero started the zombie apocalypse with a virus brought back from space (just like Robert Kirkman would lie about a few decades later when he pitched The Walking Dead and said the zombies were begin created by aliens) and before you knew it, the dead were crawling around looking to add to their numbers and fill their bellies at the same time.  He didn’t have a lot of money for filming, and he pretty much had to just shoot wherever he could–like an hour up the road from Pittsburgh in Evans City.

All of the shooting took place outside a house that is no longer standing, and inside a house right inside town that is still there.  But George needed some place special for the opening shots, which would involve–what we didn’t know at the time–the first attack by a zombie on a living person in cinematic history.

Where would you do that?  Where do you think?

"I need dead people.  Where's a good place to find them?"

“I need dead people. Where’s a good place to find them?”

Welcome to the Evans City Cemetery, and that sign in the above photo was in the movie.  This is it:  Ground Zero for Zombie History, because up the winding road and at the top of the hill is where George filmed Barbara and her douchey brother Johnny visiting their father’s grave before Johnny stupidly joins the ranks of the undead.

Here’s the small chapel in front of which Johnny and Barbara stopped:

It looks a lot better when it's not in black and white.

It looks a lot better when it’s not in black and white.

Here’s the lucky couple paying their respects:

Johnny can't even remove his driving gloves.

Johnny still being a douche, however.

And the site today:

Much better in color.

Much better in color.

And then Mister Don’t Say the Zed Word shows up and Barbara trying to escape from the horror:

Run, Barbara, Run!

Run, Barbara, Run!

And almost forty-five years later, Cassidy is trying to do a Barbara.

Zombies?  Are you there?  This is Cassidy.  Come and get me.

Zombies? Are you there? This is Cassidy. Come at me, bros.

Famous movie locations:  since a lot of my friends, Tanya among them, are huge Walking Dead fans, where better to show off my HodgePodge Groupie tee shirt than the site of the first cinematic zombie attack.  And am I worried I’ll be attacked by the undead?  No.  Not only because it’s a bright, sunny day, but . . .

Back off, Walker dudes:  I got my hooks.

Back off, Walker dudes: I got my hooks.

And I bought a big one just in case things get serious:

I'd be about a million times more bad ass if I had a katana.  And I was a bad ass woman who knew how to use it.

I’d be about a million times more bad ass if I had a katana. And I was a bad ass woman who knew how to use it.

I even managed to get my get my favorite traveling companion in one shot, my trusty CR-V with almost 150,000 miles on the odometer.

 

A girl and her car can't be seperated.

A girl and her car can’t be separated.

So there you have it:  travels to Zombieland, with stop-offs for breakfast on the way out:

Good morning!

Good morning!

And a stop for pumpkin spice latte on the way back:

Here

Good afternoon.

All that took place two weeks ago, on a Sunday, the 14th of September.  But I wasn’t quiet done . . .

See, today–the day of this post–is my friend Tanya’s birthday, and one of the things I wanted to do was wish her a happy birthday in a special way.  Because she’s . . . well, she’s a friend like no other, and you do lovely things for those friends.  I had intended to film a message for her while I was snapping pictures back in Evans City, but then realized, “Nope, I’m in the zombie graveyard, I need a better place.”  Which brings me a little closer to home:  near my apartment, down in Riverside Park right by the river.

So, without further ado, my birthday greeting.

And there you have it:  the travels of a crocheting groupie out to show off her tee shirt to not only her friends in her group, but to her friends on this blog . . . and most importantly, to try and make today a special day for my friend and, in many ways, my creative muse.

Until next year . . .