Silver Hammer!

I finally got around to checking out the Horror Writers Association newsletter for May in hopes of seeing my name there, and sure enough, saw this: 

The festivities commenced with WHC's Grandmaster Award to Joe Lansdale, and then our own Deborah LeBlanc took the stage to present HWA's Silver Hammer Award (to our database mistress Donna Fitch) and the Richard Laymon Award (to Lisa Morton). WHC's artist Guest of Honor John Picacio next presented our Specialty Press Award to Peter Crowther of PS Publishing.

W00t! (I can't link it here, as you have to have username and password to log in.) The hammer is cool (and I'll post a pic of it soon), but the card celebrating it given to me by S & J is even cooler.

In other news, T and I spent 3 hours at the doctor's office. T's side was still hurting (actually worse) and Dr. Aizenman gave him a 4:15 appointment, but said, “Bring a book, you'll have a long wait.” Sure enough, we got out at 7:00. The diagnosis: pleurisy! Ack! Aspirin will alleviate it, and was helping him feel better by last night. Poor baby, he's so tired of feeling bad. I was able to read the first 12 chapters or so of the 6th Dresden Files book, Death Masks.

The Dresden books are fascinating. Better written (after the 1st couple) than the TV series–although I confess I now picture Harry and the gang looking as they do on the show. His depiction of Michael, who is essentially a paladin, was the best I've seen–a Christian who is actually an interesting character, strengthened by his faith, but having doubts and generally acting like a human being. In this current book, he's joined by 2 others, an Asian (Japanese, I think) man and a Russian man. This last was chosen by Michael (not Carpenter, the other one) to receive the sword–but he claims to be an atheist, or at best, an agnostic. Dresden finds that highly amusing; he apparently does believe in God, but has issues with Him.

OK, back to work on the home page redesign. I am so not into it.

The fun never stops

OK, not to be whiny, but noroviruses are NOT fun. Ohhhh, no. Take it from me, who spent the past 2 days in bed. My muscles are still sore from…well, I'll spare the graphic details. I'm beginning to feel normal, slowly. 

Must tell this on myself. Insanely stupid story. J brought some lovely soup. T only let them come as far as the front door, as I was plague-ridden. I heard from the top of the stairs that she also brought pasta to stir in, as well as some Bombay mix that was actually from Bombay that she didn't care for. Ah how nice, a snack for T, thinks I.

That evening, I go down to warm up the soup for dinner, as T still isn't allowed to lift our Calphalon (not for another 4 weeks anyhow). Poured the soup into the Dutch oven. Huh, that's a lot of very odd looking pasta, I thought, picking up with square plastic container. Shrugged, dumped it in. Stirred it up. Smelled good. Stirred it some more, it started bubbling nicely. Then I noticed, on the right hand of the countertop (which is a mess, since neither of us have felt like cleaning up), a small baggie of little pasta. 

Great.

I'd just stirred the Bombay mix into the soup.

I told T. I've never seen him that speechless before. He literally did a double-take. His mouth moved. No sound emanated. “All of it?” he asked.

I confess, I cried. And laughed at the same time. (Is that called hysteria?) It was such a stupid thing to do, but I was feeling so worn down and overwhelmed by it all.

I'm better now.

But T loved the soup. I ate a lot of it too and it was very good. I think I invented Bombay chicken soup or something.