Category Archives: Hunger Games

Wendy and the Furries

big bad wolfThe National Rural Health Association held its annual conference in Atlanta (that most rural of American localities) this year. On Tuesday we started lamenting the state of rural health infrastructure and planning our dire futures.

On Wednesday, two giant skunks appeared in the lobby of the hotel. Whispers rippled around the place: the furries were coming.

The 800 attendees of the health conference divided: a third of them googled furries, a third fled to their rooms, and the rest staked out seats at the bar and watched the luggage parade.

More than 6,000 furries descended. The number of sparkly unicorn heads on luggage carts, the inflatables trapped inside plastic, eyes always looking out with pleading expressions, and the unflappable Atlanta red cap bellmen, pushing carts with dignity as leopard tails fell over the sides, moving little pink fuzzy claws just before they got trapped in the wheels. Oh, the photo opps.

 

 

That was nothing compared to Thursday night in the bar–and the lobby, and the restaurant, and the main plaza, and the escalators…

 

Turns out, furries are really nice, ehm, people? If you ask they generally enjoy having their photos taken, or saying a few words to friends back home who love their particular species. Witness Mr. March Hare, who waved to my friend Willie, the first woman I know to decorate her kitchen using an Alice in Wonderland theme.

Friends back home who know me as that nice buttoned-up author who crochets and rescues cats, and doesn’t make trouble for the neighbors, sent polite private messages when I began posting Furries on my FB feed. A fellow musician and Rennaissance Faire enthusiast summed up the gist of these, “Umm, Wendy, did you go there on purpose?”

 

 

 

 

 

toucansFalling into the furry convention also coincided with my birthday. Friends had promised to take me to the Atlanta aquarium, but we just parked ourselves ringside and watched the lobby fill with fur–and scales, and a trio of inflatable toucans (maybe?) who stole the show. From Facebook, friends flung advice: Give them cookies! They love cookies! Don’t step on their tails, they get surly. Don’t worry, they only bite if you ask nicely.cookie furry

 

 

And the furry jokes, which we will gloss over. These came down to a bunch of friends asking, “But what is the point of this” with others more in the know sending some iteration of “cosplay with benefits.”

I knew about furries peripherally, because Jack and I play Celtic music, because of being at book festivals where cosplay might come into view, and because some of the crocheting I do has been, I think, bought by a furry or two who didn’t self-identify.

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I never got to meet any before this weekend. We had the time of our lives, my friends and I, watching the furries walk past the erstwhile posters intended to save the world with their statistics and dire warnings of hospital closure. Which will save the world first, do you think, people trying to get stuff done, or people trying to make sure everyone has a good time?

A partnership would have formed if we could have found him in time: one furry was dressed as a large mammal (authorities differed as to lion, wolf, or dog) in a doctor’s coat, complete with stethoscope. The Virginia delegation hunted him after our awards ceremony for a photo opp, but alas it was not meant to be.

Gracias, furries, for reminding us that having fun is healthy. And, well, fun. We had the time of our lives, watching y’all possess and enjoy that hotel. Thanks! Have a cookie.60197676_2540615052616210_5072177147590737920_n

 

 

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Filed under animal rescue, humor, Hunger Games, Life reflections, Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap, post-apocalypse fiction, Uncategorized

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

cookiesDear Ashley–

We meant well. I just want you to remember that….

You know how your college roommate Beth and I are the best of buds, and sometimes we rope you into schemes from the edge? Being a people doctor we get how busy you are, community dignity needs and such, so we try not to involve you in every hairbrained scheme. 5% seems about right.

I cracked my next percentile down in weight, the three-digit scale number ending in 0 finally ending in 9. SUCCESS! CELEBRATE! Yeah yeah, 11 more pounds to go but after losing the same three for six months, it felt GOOOOOOOOD.

And I knew you’d be happy for me because 1) you’re my doc and 2) anytime a patient in SWVA gets out of the pre-diabetes diagnosis, where the cheapest-available potatoes and biscuits like Grandma used to make are the worst thing we can eat, there will be popping of corks.

Which is what Beth and I did, of course, because she makes wine. She is, in fact, the reason my HDL cholesterol is superhuman high: reds got the goods on that fat stuff.  We have discussed this.

Now Beth and I know you can’t tell us about each other’s health, that hippo in the room, but we talk to each other about our hypochondria and what you said about it all the time. Like most of your patients, we respect your advanced learning, etc. etc. but take advice from each other, because, SWVA. Right? Yes, just nod. We know you know.

Beth had her own reasons to celebrate, you and she negating the stress connection to her physical prowess, so we figured what more American way to mark weight loss and harm reduction than cookies and alcohol? The only reason we didn’t call you is, we know you have small children and buggering off to get drunk with us would have raised questions in the home.

Instead, we figured on giving you some of the cookies. After all, you helped make us what we are today: thinner and pain-free. Plus, we could show off the wonder of chemical sugar replacements posing as plant extracts, and ricotta. The cheese made them the perfect pairing for a pinot.

To add extra burn (in the GOOD sense) we did aerobic dance while baking, aided by shouting at Alexa anytime a song crossed our minds that had a great beat and you could stir to it. There was a sipping game involving the resolution of jazz triad chords, I seem to recall….

Several dozen cookies later, the products of conceptual baking appeared flatter than we expected because we had confused three cups of red wine with four cups of almond flour, but hey when has reducing carbs ever hurt anyone?

And the cookies were really soft and they fell apart as we tried to spatula them off the pans but once we discovered how good they were rolled up and mashed into balls, that didn’t matter. Cookie count went from like five dozen to three, and we like to think they honored Beth’s profession cutting testicles off cats. Still, we resisted the urge to name the cookies after any medical procedure; we were thinking of you on this point, dear Ashley.

Except, next day, after Beth duly labeled a Tupperware container with her return address a la Southern Baptist women everywhere, and we shoveled some of the flat and balled cookies into it, I forgot to deliver it to your office. See, I had a slight headache, and there was this tinnitus ghost music in my ears…..

So Jack will bring the now-frozen cookies to you next week, dropping them by your office Monday, and we just wanted you to know, we had such fun and hope you did too, being the third party at our party. Let’s do it again sometime soon!

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Filed under Big Stone Gap, crafting, home improvements, humor, Hunger Games, Life reflections, Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap, Uncategorized