I spent last night at home (sick with a norovirus I apparently acquired from some naughty oysters), meaning my two cats started crying for their 6 p.m. dinner at 4:45. I stopped running long enough to feed them, then crawled back into bed.

A few minutes later Roxie the Genius joined me. As we were snuggling down, we suddenly heard Sylvia (my timid little black cat) meowing in the living room. It started with a few basic, low meows, only slightly unusual (since Sylvia never makes any sound)...

...and suddenly it sounded for all the world as if there was a small child in my living room jabbering loudly in its own small-child language. I mean, this lunatic noise was complete with vowels, consonants, inflections...It was utterly astonishing, and went on for about 30 seconds, during which time Roxie and I stared at each other in mute disbelief.

I got up then to see what could possibly have provoked this display, and of course Sylvia was seated placidly in the living room, giving herself her after-dinner bath, and looking at me with that "What?!" kind of expression. Utterly quiet. No sign of anything unusual, nothing outdoors, everything absolutely normal.

The only possible explanations are:

1) The thermometer was lying and my fever was much higher than a mere 99.6.
2) Sylvia was briefly possessed by the spirit of a very talkative child ghost.
3) There really was a child in here, and it's now living in secret in our kitchen cabinets.
4) Sylvia can talk, and forgot that one of the stupid humans was unexpectedly present in the other room.

I'm opting for #4. Now if I can just learn the language...

Dearest Darling girlghoul, the package arrived yesterday. Thank you so much! It will go perfectly with the outfit I have planned for tomorrow.

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I, much like just about everyone else on LJ, am not receiving comment notifications. This is somewhat annoying.

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Hmmm. Today's second pot of tea is the Double Dark Chocolate Maté from the Republic of Tea. It smells divine and tastes ... I think I needed to let it steep a bit longer. I also think I need a cupcake, but alas! I do not have one.

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Last night I went to the Wayward Coffeehouse and saw nice people! And was given a pre-release copy of the new Toy-Box Trio CD, muah-ha-ha! And then went home and ... stared at the next GCS column that I'm writing and listened to my brain go ::whiiiiiiirrrrr::. Let me put it this way: I was so fuzzy and brain-dead that my bathtime reading selection was Eclipse. Yes, from the Twilight series. I guess I felt like giggling and rolling my eyes a lot. But tonight will be a Writing Night. It really will. It HAS to be.

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My outfit today includes a pink and white striped men's Oxford shirt. Yes, really. Worn with a black fluffy skirt with pink and white striped trim, and a black blazer with pink and white striped buttons and a pink and black cupcake patch on the arm. I'll try to post a photo later.

Cold in Providence this morning, but also sunny, and it's much colder elsewhere.

Yesterday, I realized that a week of December had passed and I'd accomplished "nothing" but the editing, design, and layout of the "Sanderlings" chapbook. I still have to get the Next Novel started, produce Sirenia Digest #49, and write a story for a Subterranean Press anthology, all of this ideally before December 31st. These are the sorts of realizations that lead to panic.

Anyway, I began a new piece yesterday, a sort of zombie love story (played straight, not for comedy), which was inspired in equal parts by Robert Browning's "Love Among the Ruins" (1855) and Edward Burne-Jones' painting of the same name (1893-1894; also inspired by the Browning poem). I am presently calling it "(Dead) Love Among the Ruins," unless I decide that's too obvious or corny or whatever. This is only the second time I've tried to do "zombies," sensu Romero et al., for the digest, and we'll see how it goes. I managed only 470 words yesterday.

I'm beginning to think that the Next Novel will be titled The Wolf Who Cried Girl (though I've written a short story of the same name; the novel and short story would have nothing much in common).

My great thanks to Karen Mahoney for very kindly sending me a copy of Greer Gilman's (nineweaving) Cloud and Ashes (Small Beer Press; 2009). I started reading it late last night. I heard Greer read from it at ReaderCon this past July, and it is brilliant, truly. The sort of brilliant I may aspire to, but know that I will never achieve.

I do have some good news for everyone who's ever asked about the availability of my books in an audio format. Audible.com is buying audio rights to Threshold, Low Red Moon, Murder of Angels, Daughter of Hounds, and The Red Tree. I do not yet have release dates, but I assume it will be sometime in 2010.

That was the best of yesterday, really.

Last night, I had a minor seizure while in the tub, the first that's ever happened while bathing. And then there was insomnia, which kept me awake until sometime after 4 a.m.

Anyway...now I'm going to go play with dead things, and maybe hang some pictures.

::sob::

Hey Sailor! is running a sale. The mini b&w striped tricorn with the pink details and the tiny pirate ship is on sale. (clicky-link!)

::looks at pictures, whimpers some more::

Dear Sandy Claws, I have been ... mostly good this year. And have learned from my mistakes when I wasn't good. I am very deserving of a tiny tricorn decorated with a pirate ship, I really really am.

Love,

Cupcake Goth

We arrived at his room on the 3rd floor and he wasn't there--which was pretty scary, until we found out that he's been moved down to orthopedics, which means he's no longer being monitored specially for his heart.

He was sleeping when we arrived on the second floor and was told he hadn't eaten breakfast. He slept a lot today but I think that's a good thing, considering how active and relatively incoherent he was yesterday. When he was awake he spoke more clearly. He doesn't have the heard leads on his chest any more so we got him untied from the bed, which means he could drink  by himself, wipe his own face with a wet washcloth, and fold his arms across his stomach which is how he prefers to nap.  He had Occuptational therapy once and Physical therapy twice. He sat up on his bed and was able to keep upright by himself. Progress indeed.

Not as grumpy, although he was frustrated when we didn't comprehend his questions...we think he was asking about the mechanic for the second car (the battery died last week and had to be repaired. I'm sure he knows exactly what he's trying to make sure of but we can only get the bits and pieces of what he wants to check on.

He didn't eat much today and we had to leave before his dinner arrived because it was already dark (6:15) and my mom doesn't like driving in the dark. Hopefully he ate more at that meal.

I asked my mom if she was ok with me leaving Wednesday and she says she is. We were hoping to meet with caseworker today to discuss rehab options (we don't know how long my dad will remain in the hospital) but she didn't show up. We'll make sure we get hold of her tomorrow.

In other news (I've  been able to read on and off all day, every day and at night am reading too). I finished going over the galleys of both Darkness: Two Decades of Modern Horror and Tails of Wonder and Imagination. And continue to read and reread for The Best Horror of the Year, volume two. I've read two anthologies on my e-reader and I believe I can read some more tomorrow although the battery is low and will likely run down in the middle of the day. (good to learn how long it actually lasts without recharging--my playstation charger didn't arrive before I left for Florida).

I stopped writing letters to Salon years ago because I was worn out by the trolling. This time Salon doesn't even offer a letter section. I'm thinking it's a good thing they didn't.

Back on March 22, 2004, they printed an article called "The confessions of a semi-successful author." It told the sob story of an author whose first sale drew a whopping $150,000 advance, only for her career to spiral downward from there (that is, if you consider awards and critical acclaim with $35,000 advances "spiraling").

Salon reprinted this same article on December 7, 2009.

I realize that it's a sobering look at publishing and all that, but we would have been better served as readers with an update on said miserable writer. Five and a half years is a long time. Things have changed even more dramatically since she whined the first time around, what with the market crash and all the tweeting of the Intertwats. (Her daughter, by the way, wins for wisdom. Her comment about making the NBA was true. I hope her mom truly took it to heart.) And -- GASP! -- she had to take a job! Has this changed her attitude and given her any perspective? That's the real follow-up. (Although, Charlie Simpson does a bang-up job of dissecting the original piece and explains what really happened. Thanks to Bel Wilson for the link.)

Reading the article again, it sent me back to Rilke's "Letters to a Young Poet." Writing is a vocation, a potentially thankless calling, and expecting a fiction writing career to support one is unreasonable. Some talented -- and many completely untalented -- writers get hit by the comet, but a great many worthy writers don't. Too many stars have to align and it simply doesn't happen for all of us. I know many talented writers who have to do side jobs to stay financially afloat, or who, like me, have another, steadier career that's more lucrative to support the less lucrative one. I have less time to write but I can do so comfortably with a pension in my future.

In fact, I have two writing careers. I'm a well-paid, award-winning writer in my day job for one of the best-known and best-loved brands in the world. In my other writing career, I'm a talented smart ass who makes very little and hasn't won a Stoker. I'm not sure where the snobbery came in that says the less lucrative job with the iffy awards is somehow better, but I think I'm doing just fine.

I love writing fiction. And I'll keep writing, even if bitches don't give me a damned Stoker, a steady income or anything else. I do it because my love of words overflows my heart and the ideas hammer their way out of my skull. (Or they use dynamite. Usually in the middle of the night.) I'm truly fortunate to do it as well as I do.

And here I go back to doing it.

Dear wererat, thank you for the snowflake cookie on my profile! It's very pretty.

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I had an SA as a house guest this weekend (YAY!), so I didn't look at LJ much. Let me know if I missed an important post of yours.

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Today is a day I fervently wished I had sick time available. Every few months, the PMS decides to ramp up. If I could have stayed home today, I would have.

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Seattle peeps! The second Mourning Market is this coming Sunday, at Club Motor again! (And this time there won't be a live band, so we won't have to shout to hold conversations, hurrah!)

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... nope, I've got nothing else at the moment. Time for MOAR COFFEE, and editing.

One year ago today, Sméagol came to live with us. He was called Linus then, but we soon corrected that.

If anyone's interested in gifting Spooky and me with the distractions that help to make this existence bearable, in the form of Solstice gifts, we have both updated our Amazon wish lists. You can find mine here, and you may find hers here. Thank you. This past month has taken a toll on finances, from car troubles to doctor bills, and there's less money than usual for these niceties. CDs, DVDs, books. And we are both perfectly happy with used copies. Thank you kindly.

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Yesterday, I followed a link Neil Clarke (of Clarkesworld Magazine) posted to Twitter, and found a fine little essay/blog entry on writing, in the blog of Damien G. Walter: "Show Me the Writers Taking Risks." It speaks very much to my "writing process" (though I do loathe that phrase), and opens with this quote from Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles (borrowed from Frederico Fellini): "Don’t tell me what I’m doing, I don’t want to know." It moves along to another Bradbury quote: "First you jump off the cliff, then you build the wings." Which is about the best advice I could ever give any would-be writer. Stop plotting. Stop outlining. Stop writing character profiles and fretting over arcs. Kill the spreadsheets. Forget the workshops. This isn't science, and tedium won't save you. Writing is art, which means it's pretty much magic. Peer over the edge, size up the drop, then just fucking jump off the cliff and get to work, because the ground is rushing towards you, or you're rushing towards the ground (it hardly matters which). Just write the damned story. In this short essay, Walter writes:

So many writers seem set on not just building wings, but complete impact survival systems before they even venture to the cliff edge (while others are hurling themselves into the void without even a sense that the ground exists).

Anyway, yes...I suggest you have a look.

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Yesterday, we drove down to Saundertown, to Spooky's parents' place. It was good to get out of the House. It helped to alleviate that feeling that I might, at any moment, shatter. We saw fields blanketed with a thin crust of snow, and we saw stark trees, and a deer at the side of the road. We got a dozen fresh eggs from the farm. We saw a leafless tree burdened with frozen apples. There are photos below, behind the cut.

Last night sort of turned into Revisit TV Shows We Hated the First Time Night. It also became an evening of These Shows Have Improved Somewhat Revelation. First we watched a couple of the most recent episodes of Fringe. Yes, it's improved. We tried to watch the series back when it first began and found it painful and impossible. But things seemed a little tighter last night (absurd science aside). If nothing else, John Noble is entertaining as Dr. Walter Bishop, and I'm seeing depth to the character that was missing early on. And Phillip Broyles isn't bad, but the rest of the cast feels extruded, mass produced, interchangeable. The series has a long way to go to stop being an inferior X-Files knockoff.

We also watched the latest episode of Dollhouse. And, you know, the only thing really keeping the episode from being quite decent was Eliza Dushku, who still can't act her way out of a paper bag. Summer Glau was creepy, and that's a good thing. I know the series has been canceled. And I hate like hell to see Joss Whedon keep hitting the wall like this, but he should have known better than to pin his star to Fox (again) and the talentless Miss Dushku. She can't even convincingly act like a blank doll. Rather, she acts like someone trying and failing to act like a blank doll. But I will watch the next episode, regardless.

So, yes...photos (there's even one of me, and those are growing increasingly rare):

( 6 December 2009 )

Monster Librarian reviews THE LUCID DREAMING: http://ping.fm/aV4v1

He was wide awake all day (which is actually unusual for him because at home he naps a lot.

Ate breakfast and lunch and is getting solid foods now (no puree but he had baked cod and mashed potatoes for lunch--so soft consistency). The OT (occupational therapist came in to evaluate him--what he could do for himself before he fell and broke the hip) and the physical therapist came in twice to have him sit on the side of the bed.

He talked a lot all day, but my mom and I could only figure out occasionally what he was trying to say--which is very frustrating for him--it's been this way since the stroke, although some days he can communicate in whole, meaningful sentences. My mom worries that because he's missing his regular speech therapy his ability to speak is suffering  (maybe).

The deal with the catheter has nothing to do with the blood in his urine (which is still there) but until he can sit and stand up more (and presumably use the portopan or whatever himself. We were able to untie one hand for a few hours till he started fidgeting again and pulling out his heart monitor leads. He lost his temper a few times, cursed the OT (which I think shocked her) and cursed us (which he never did before the stroke, but has occasionally since--frustration with not being understood can do that).

Relatives from Miami didn't visit because my aunt isn't feeling well. Hopefully my cousin Peter did after doing his antiquing biz during the day. My mom and I left around 5:15. My dad was snoozing when we left and didn't eat dinner while we were there because he had a really had day (not to mention my mom and I being exhausted).

New roommate --a man who had a stroke --very mild it seems. He has aphasia but his language is much clearer, even if he's using  the wrong words. A lot younger than my dad. He was on coumedin, had to have heart surgery and was taken off the coumedin...had a stroke...

more tomorrow

So, Paolo Bagigalupi's novel The Windup Girl has been getting all kinds of rave reviews.  Here's a sample

Publishers Weekly: (Starred Review) “Complex, literate and intensely felt tale, which recalls both William Gibson and Ian McDonald at their very best… clearly one of the finest science fiction novels of the year.”

Library Journal: (Starred Review) East meets West in a clash of cultures brilliantly portrayed in razor-sharp images, tension-building pacing, and sharply etched characters.

SF Signal: (Five out of Five Stars) “Disturbing… beautiful, fast-paced, exciting…and also a novel of hope. Unlike many dystopian authors, Bacigalupi knows that at our core humans always struggle against any challenge. While we may not consistently do right, we consistently hope to do better.”

SciFi Wire: “[an] extraordinary, virtuoso, shock-immersion rendering of [a] transformed world.”

Nancy Kress: “The political maneuvering is constant, intricate, and all too believable. So is the inevitable violence. However, more interesting than either are the choices — moral, practical, philosophical, emotional — that the characters are driven to make.”

Io9: “The Windup Girl is obviously about the geopolitics of the present… and yet Bacigalupi never slides into moralism or judgment. All his characters have their flaws and heroic moments … Ultimately that’s what makes this debut novel so exciting. It’s rare to find a writer who can create such well-shaded characters while also building a weird new future world.”

BookPage: “The Windup Girl will almost certainly be the most important SF novel of the year.”


It has also been named one of the best books of the year by Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, and the San Francisco Chronicle, amongst others.

My request is this.  If you are a SFWA Member, please go to the SFWA web site.  There is a free e-copy of the book waiting for you there (in the members only section).  Please give it a read, and if the mood strikes you, nominate it for the Nebula award.  Under the new rules, it still needs a few for nominations for it to make the final ballot.

Also, if you were a member of last year's world con, don't forget to vote to nominate your favorite novel for the hugo awards... (hint hint).  This applies to you if you are already a member of next year's Worldcon as well.

IMO, Windup Girl  is an important novel of SF, and I hope you all take the opportunity to give this one a test drive...  I'd be very happy to see this one on both the nebula and hugo award list.  I've heard a lot of people mention in passing that this one "should be on the awards ballots" but that only happens if people get out there and make it happen.  I'm not going to advocate for votes from the Night Shade company website.  But from my personal blog, as a fan, and as a friend of Paolo's, I hope you all give The Windup Girl a chance.

There was a heavy dusting of snow last night. Nothing to speak of, not for Providence, but our first snow of the year. It's mostly melted away now. Cold out there, though.

Yesterday was spent checking copy-edits (I can get no consensus on whether it ought to be copy-edits or copyedits, and hence no consensus on whether I ought use copy-editor or copyeditor; personally, I tend to favor the hyphenated forms), which actually weren't nearly so bad as I'd thought they were. And I did another check over the ms. for the "Sanderlings" chapbook (and cover), and then Spooky looked over it, and then I sent it away to Subterranean Press. I rarely feel satisfaction at having finished a book or a story, and I rarely feel much of anything when I see my work in print, but there's always a distinct sense of relief when I can say "This is out of my hands now." And I can now say that "Sanderlings" is out of my hands.

No writing yesterday. Today, I feel like glass.

I may have a new title for the Next Novel, a title to replace Blood Oranges (which I warned you not to grow attached to), but I want to mull it over a bit more before I post it here.

Have a look at the current round of eBay auctions, and thanks for doing so. Also, only three of Spooky's Cthulhu-headstone Cephalopodmas ornaments remain unsold. So, if you want one, you'd probably better hurry. Each one is unique, handmade and hand-painted, and there are no more where these ten came from.

Last night, we watched Sally Potter's Rage (2009), which was really very good. Plus, you get Jude Law as a transgendered supermodel, which probably pleased me more than it should have.

And now, the last few pictures from our trip Outside back on Thursday:

( 3 December 2009, Part 3 )

This morning we called before we went over and were told he ate breakfast and that he talked in full sentences (he doesn't do this all the time pre-surgery,  because of his June stroke), so it's really good when he does.

When we got there he was looking  better--he's totally off the pain meds--ate a very wee bit of lunch. Verbalized a lot, although mostly we think to complain about being uncomfortable.

His wrists have been tied with restraints so that he doesn't pull out his catheter, which he'll  be until his urine no longer has  blood in it (a former problem that needs to be resolved). The nurse untied one arm totally and he seemed to be more comfortable like that but we had to watch him constantly.

He got some physical therapy (moving of his legs) and the therapist retied him because he was pulling a the tubes again.   But he apparently was cooperating with the therapist, which means he's understanding what the therapist was telling him to do. I took a break in the waiting room, so I wasn't watching.

He definitely made it clear when he did not want something. As my friend, the former physical therapist suggested, I've been repeating to him why he needs to leave the tubes alone and what's going on. And trying to communicate that once the catheter is out, he'll be more comfortable. He's a terrible patient. He hates hospitals and hadn't stayed in one for decades till last March when he was in for three days of observation of his atrial fibrillation.

We left at 5pm.

We think some of the family is visiting tomorrow.  My dad's sister and brother in law and one of his nephews (who has to drive them from Miami) and his brother's son, who lives a little north of them but who's in town for an antique show. Usually he's more communicative with my cousin Peter so this will be great, if he makes it to the hospital.

Terrific response thus far to our intimate Spanish Holiday Feast featuring the gorgeous wines of Lopez de Heredia! Only 6 seats remain to sell out the dinner, and we have enough guests signed up to guarantee that we can afford to hold this luxurious wine dinner. In today's economy, we always try to be price conscious with our menus at The Green Goddess, but sometimes when a beautiful lifetime opportunity presents itself, as has happened with our learning to appreciate the depth of the cellars of Lopez de Heredia, our little restaurant's style is to just go for it. I want to set up some holiday traditions for The Green Goddess, and what better way than to celebrate the timeless traditions of this "old school" bodega from the heart of Rioja?

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Speaking of timeless traditions, we have been considering how to celebrate New Year's Eve (NYE for short). One of our investors has proposed a swanky party on the 4th floor apartment, like we did for the 4th of July, where we will have a perfect view of the downtown fireworks over the Mississippi River at midnight. Negotiations are underway, so we'll report if that can happen soon. If we cannot manage to secure the rooftop venue, then we will probably consider a more intimate dinner to culminate around midnight. So while the exact particulars remain, literally up in the air, we have found a hook to organize our NYE celebration. We are thinking about sharing our cocktails, Old & New, with our updated presentation of pre-Prohibition receipts that have a decided New Orleans slant, (like an Exchange Alley Sazerac made with Hudson Valley Rye Whiskey & modern absinthe rinse, our Pear French 75, the medieval Manhatten with Alkermes and Luxardo cherries, and an old-fashioned rum punch, and other treats from the past) along with some of our more jiggilicious new cocktails. Of course, beer and wines will be available, too, and especially if we make it a party all of our various array of boozing fun will be on display.

The real real treat of the night, which I'm not sure quite yet exactly the vintages here in the city that we can snag, would be to pour old, historic vintage Madeira right before midnight as a final taste for 2009. When we thought about it, NYE is obviously a marker to celebrate the passage of time and what spirit is more inured against time than Madeira? Perhaps some Cognacs and Armagnacs can hang in there as long, but for sheer opulence and delicacy combined in the same bottle Madeiras face the trials of time's passages with remarkable patience. Madeira has all the historic connections to New Orleans and America, too, since it was the favorite spirit of the New World colonies, and it was sipped to celebrate the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. More about this extravagance as we settle upon the details, and yes we will have a variety of sparkling wines to celebrate NYE too, but we like the idea of focusing on Old & New spirits as our thematic approach to New Year's Eve.

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Also, here's head's up to wine lovers that we are beginning to upgrade our wine list by the bottle, as well as finding new thrilling by the glass selections. On the high end, I decided to finally take the plunge and get a little Chevrey-Chambertin and some red Chateauneuf-du-Pape. I have been wrestling with the economics of holding more expensive wines, and although many restaurants charge a 3x or at least 21/2 times mark-up on every bottle sold, I just cannot justify such a practice for our high end wines. I would much rather our guests be able to afford to try these magnificent wines and thereby sell more of them, rather than keep these pricey bottles sitting around like pointless trophies. I'm not really that much of a collector, especially after losing all my beloved old vinyl jazz records to the levee failures, and my preference is to make it so that people can actually come to The Green Goddess and afford to enjoy a special evening, or lunch, with one of these fabulous bottles. We really enjoyed finding the 2005 Vernay Condrieu while it lasted, and these 2005 bottles we got this week are not long for availabilty on the wholesale market, either.

On the less expensive side of life, we have added a great new sparkling wine from St. Hilaire. This is a remarkable bit of history here, as the brothers of the St. Hilaire abbey discovered sparkling wine in 1531 in somewhat of a divine accident of geography and skilled winemaking. This original bubbly goes by the name of Blanquette de Limoux, and as the brothers refined their skills and the recipe, eventually their secret process was shared with their brethren far to the north where Dom Perignon eventually established Champagne about 100 years later. The rest is history as the Dom is what it is -- a more or less overrated colossus of history, wealth and prestige; meanwhile, the original home to the tiny bubbles in Limoux -- near the caves where Roquefort blue cheese was also coxed into life -- languishes in the world of wine.

All that history might amount to so much noise if the wine didn't taste great, but we like the St. Hilaire very much. It's affordable, true, but it has more of the toasty characteristics that mark good bubbly than most of the cavas and proseccos that we've tasted. We have tasted a bunch of the bubbly, and we decided that its flavor alone merited a spot on our wine list, with the tale of history a welcome bonus for The Green Goddess. So if you're feeling festive, don't be shy about cracking open this sparkling because we are keeping the price under $30 for the holidays.

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We just added a second wine from the Caladroy estate this week, one of several new wines we got from the importers at Vintage '59. These guys like to find the scrappy, yet immensely talented underdogs of the French wine world, and their easy to read website: www.vintage59.com (I forget how to make links, but that certainly ain't too hard to type, now is it?) is practically a primer to current trends in French terroir. We already had the ballsy red wine from Caladroy, and it's a sun-drenched Syrah-based big wine, but I decided to take a flyer and carry their dessert wine, a Muscat de Rivesaltes. Wow! It's actually fortified to a 15.5% degree, but it's so lovely that the extra alcohol does not register at all in its taste. A little peppery finish adds a flourish, but the core of the pale straw wine is like a love-child of peaches and persimmons. It's another great way to extend the pleasures of the table at our little restaurant.

The tale of the Caladroy estate is also well worth reading at the Vintage '59 website, basically it's a remote fortress estate of French Catalonia, sharing more cultural ties to Barcelona than to Paris, and its exact spot on the map shows a faded glory to where once upon a time was a big, bustling, important chateau. The wines were celebrated for a reason because they are damn good, but the epicenters of politics and gourmet tastes have left Caladroy as a remote outpost more forgotten than revered to a certain degree. It's so nice that the proprietors of Vintage '59 have recognized the ongoing quality of the wines at Caladroy, and I'm really glad to add them to our list of wonders at The Green Goddess. There are a number of other Vintage '59 producers we are picking up this week: a MInervois; a very lovely & unique riff of Loire Sauvignon Blanc from Domaine de la Garreliere named after Cinderella (because once Francois Plozeau adds that dollop of barrel-aged Chardonnay to his wine he had to drop the classification in the AOC hierarchy to table wine, despite making the wine of his dreams from his soil); a cool, kinda obscure Gacony white; the Caladroys; with more on the way.

Well that's enough good stuff today, and we'll get back to some more cooking ideas and ideas soon, along with news about New Year's Eve when we know what's happenin'.