A very thoughtful Schlocker sent a gift to me, delivered through wine.woot.com: cheese!

There was a strong, soft, crumbly bleu, a deliciously nutty Gouda, and a chevre (goat cheese) called “purple haze” that I just loved.

Better still, there was a recipe for making horse-durfees* out of the chevre. Mix it with chopped pistachios, olive oil, and ground black pepper, then spread it on prosciutto and wrap it around steamed asparagus. I followed the instructions (had to substitute a deli salami for the prosciutto, sadly) and it was delicious! Sandra liked it too, and we’ve shared some of those yummy appetizers** with our greek-food-loving neighbors.

So… you know who you are. Thank you!

* I hate looking up the spelling of that stupid French word every time I use it. If you’re well-read enough to correct my spelling, then you know what I meant. If you don’t know what I meant by “horse-durfees” then just assume horrible things about what French people will eat before a meal, and you’ll be on the right page.

** I suppose I could keep using the English word, but that drops these delicious rolls of asparagus, goat-cheese, and pistachios in the same category as TGIF’s mozzerella stix.

If you recall my recent post about Morton’s Neuroma, you’ll be happy to hear that the pain from the treatment has subsided, and the pain from the neuroma also seems lessened.

In short, the borderline-excruciating treatment was actually worth it. I’m walking without favoring the foot now. It still pinches a bit when I run or stand tippy-toe, but it feels like the cortizone is doing its job.

This almost certainly means I’m due for another excruciating, limp-inducing shot in January, and perhaps again in February. Repeated cortizone treatments seem to be indicated if the first one is effective.

If you recall my slightly more recent post about the lipoma in my arm, you’ll be happy to hear that the stitches are driving me crazy, and I’m half-ready to pull them out myself. There’s no way I’m waiting until a week from Monday to have them removed. They keep rubbing on my clothing and my bedsheets, irritating me and irritating the wound (which is a healthy shade of pink, and not oozing one little bit.)

I’ll probably go after them with tweezers, an X-Acto blade, and a dental pick (these tools for working on miniatures are so dang handy) sometime on Tuesday. Don’t tell Doctor Harline. I don’t think he reads this blog yet, so I should be able to get away with it.

“Kiki,” our barely-teenaged daughter, stayed home sick from school on Friday. She was overstressed, under-rested, and probably had a cold, so we let her sleep in and do homework.

And then I took her with me for all of my fun stuff all afternoon long. The message I’m sending? “If you don’t get your homework done on time, and don’t feel good, you get to have a big play-date with Dad.” I’m obviously a horrible parent.

We had a great time.

First, off to the movies. We met my friends Richard and Rodney before the show, and snacked on some fried cheese and onion rings. Kiki enjoyed The Day The Earth Stood Still, and enjoyed making fun of it afterwards. She liked it more than the rest of us did.

Next, Kiki, Bob Defendi, and I had a late lunch at the mall. She complained that Bob and I were boring. Bob? BORING? Man, I could talk to Bob all day and never get bored. But yeah, if I had to sum up our discussion with a title it would be “marketing principles for independent artists and creators,” and I can see how a thirteen-year-old girl might find that a little dull.

Next up we went shopping, quickly, for Christmas presents.

At 5:30 (we’ve been together now since 12:30… FIVE HOURS) we headed over to Brandon Sanderson‘s place where Kiki sat quietly while Brandon, Dan, Jordo and I recorded two episodes of our (hugely popular!) podcast “Writing Excuses.” The subject matter? “Theme” was the first one, and “Violence” was the second. Neither came out like I expected, but both came out really good. You’ll be able to hear ’em on the 29th and the 5th.

I asked Kiki if that was boring, and she said it was not. She also said that she learned stuff. So we had her record a stinger for “Writing Excuses” in which she tells us it’s safe for kids. I mean, if it’s not boring and you’re learning, it’s GOT to be safe, right?

By 6:45 we were at Dragon’s Keep, where Kiki was supposed to finish the last of her algebra and I was supposed to be playing in Bob’s “Echoes of Heaven” D&D 4.0 playtest campaign. She finished her algebra before we even really got started, but found other things there to interest her, including Katsy’s chain-mail-making. She also listened in on the game and enjoyed it. Bob told me later that if Kiki ever wants to come back she’s welcome to. She’s a lot more mature than at least one of the other regular players.

We got home by about 10:30 pm, tired, but not tired of each others’ company. I’m calling a ten-hour Daddy-daughter date that ends in that frame of mind an unmitigated success.

Even if I did send the wrong message about ditching school.

Tuesday I had an injection to treat a case of “Morton’s Neuroma.” The podiatrist took care to explain that while “neuroma” sounds like cancerous words (“melanoma” leaps to mind) the “oma” part just means “diseased,” in a lumpy sort of way.

My family doctor said much the same thing when he explained that the weird little lump in my left forearm was a lipoma. Today he removed it (just in case, for biopsy) and I’m pleased to announce that it was a much more pleasant experience than having a nerve in my foot shot up with cortizone. This is probably due in no small part to the fact that I don’t walk around on my forearms. Also, there are fewer nerves there.

Still, the procedure was disconcerting. After four injections of local anaesthetic Doctor Harline cut my arm open with a scalpel, scissored the hole a little wider with a wicked-looking set of scissors, and then started kneading, like he was trying to pop the largest zit I’ve ever had. I asked him if he wasn’t supposed to call 1-800-BLUE-STAKES before digging around that way (he laughed quite genuinely — I am a professional, after all), but after a moment he DID pop the largest zit I’ve ever had.

The picture (safely sanitized in a specimen cup) is behind the cut.
Continue reading “OMA” week… “Oh My Achin’…” →