Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Well, I'm pretty sure we now know the cat's sex. The good news is that I won't have to start looking for homes for five kittens several weeks from now. The bad news is that when I came home Sunday afternoon (I'd spent Saturday night in Virginia) I found out what half-developed kitten foetuses look like. (Answer: obviously mammal but kind of indistinct -- eyes and ribs were clearly discernable, but it wasn't immediately obvious what species it was, except from context.) There was one near the front door, two in the living room, one under my desk, and one in the bathroom; and blood in various places (including the chair in front of the computers downstairs and the towel covering my desk chair -- glad I had that towel on it!). The cat seems fine, as far as I can tell, thank goodness. When she heard the door open, she started her "which damned room are you in? please find me" cry, and apart from crying outside the bedroom door earlier, has acted pretty much un-distressed. I did manage to borrow a cat-carrier, so with any luck I'll get her to the SPCA in the morning to see whether she's got an ID-chip implant.

The cat seems un-fazed, but I was a little disturbed. anniemal and anusara have been quite helpful putting my mind at ease. I'll be watching closely for anything scary in a "got to go to the vet right now" sense, but as I said, so far she seems completely fine. And just as insistent that any human hands within sight that are not petting her constitute a Problem. I'm still working on getting her to accept being in my lap instead of atop the keyboard while I'm typing. She seems to be getting the message, but still wants to get up every so often to try to sit on the keys.

This is such a people cat. (Is that entirely early-kittenhood socialization, or are some just born that way?)

In other news, I survived the Potomac Celtic Festival despite serious heat and womdigious humidity. (Nowhere near the temperatures this area sees in July and August, but Hot Enough to make the humidity difficult.) During our first set, I had drops of sweat flying off the tip of my nose when I turned my head. As usual, we were on tiny stages....

... You see, we're not a Big Enough Name yet for the Big Stages, so we get put on the smaller stages. This isn't all that big a problem in and of itself; the problem is that the smaller stages are physically so small. And we're a nine-piece. (Okay, we had one member off in Chicago for her day job, so we were an eight-piece for the day; and one member couldn't make it to the first set in time because she was performing with a different group halfway across the site, so only seven of us for the first set; but come on, we've got a hammered dulcimer, a viola da gamba, and enough other people to kind of fill up a stage, y'know?)

Now the small stages are great for up to, say, a quartet. And since they figure people will mostly stand forward or in the middle, they put the stage all the way at the back of the tent, which makes sense for most of the day. Then we get up there. The first stage had monitor wedges in the front, then our first row of musicians, then our second row, and I had to be careful not to get so enthusiastic I'd fall off the back of the stage. Worse, my head was touching the plastic roof of the tent. Mike, an in or two taller than I, was also in the back row. Every time I jumped up in the air, I had to duck my head by the same amount that I jumped. The second stage didn't have a sound system, but I think it was also smaller. We had to crowed everyone as far forward as they could go in order to get the back row on.

We're talking about seriously constrained movement for your guitarist. For a while I actually had the neck of my guitar so far over the dulcimer that I was worried about smacking Bill in the face with the headstock if I got careless, and I think I backed into Jim twice. It's a challenge. (For anyone who hasn't seen us perform; when I play with The Homespun Ceilidh Band, I move. It's actually where I get most of my exercise.)

But we rocked. And dripped a whole lot. (Gatorade. Water. Gatorade. Water. Repeat.) I think I sweated right through my leather guitar strap again.

The weather was uncomfortable and the stages were too small, but I'd be lying (and badly, 'cause nobody would believe me) if I didn't admit that I still had fun.

And I got to see the Galician dance (& bagpipe) group. Had to leave before the end of their first set to go to our second set, and I missed their second set, but I'd have been Really Disappointed if I hadn't gotten to hear that sound. It's ... Celtic, but different. It does this grab-Glenn's-brainstem thing. Must obtain recording. The only place I've ever heard Galician piping has been at the Potomac Celtic Festival (or when it was called the Oatlands Celtic Festival -- same event, different name and location the first couple of years).