Boys

Insights are like the gush of spring thaw, hopeful and startling and chill with truth. One came today, but will take a bit of background.

When I was still small, and my brothers moved away, when they would come home from school or the military, they would come wake me up to say hello, and talk with me. Those minutes of excitement and being listened to were rare treats. These are very special memories, if a bit hazy with sleep. It was all apiece with my adoration of my brothers - fed by my mother's assurance that they loved me so much, and couldn't wait to see me when they got home.

Sure, teenage boys couldn't wait to see their baby sister.

This is my mother's fantasy about her own brothers who were much older, Uncle Walt in particular, who she wrote to every week when he was serving in WWII, and who came back home with a wife. Or the eldest who died at 17, drowned, with hints of suicide.

And the clear truth sat there, patiently waiting for me to notice, raised it's eyebrows and shrugged. Oh. This makes everything make so much more sense, as though I'd been putting together what I thought was a puzzle of a mountain that turned out to be a sailing ship instead.

Well, no. Mom put them up to it. Insisted on it, as she prodded me to send birthday/father's day cards and calls. She orchestrated a loving family, made it out of whole cloth without regard to the actual people involved, most of which were uninterested or assholes. Both, usually. Dangerous thing, to base one's happiness on other people loving each other.

Everything my brothers have done since, in this light, makes complete sense. Including retelling the fable, without actually behaving lovingly - which is what is required for real love.

The most supremely unemotional moment, realizing this. So much better that I was irrelevant to them, than that they once loved me, then betrayed me. No need for forgiveness, nothing to forgive. Simply a story misapplied.

No more false stories.

No more fake fucking heros.

Blankets

It must be admitted, this is not an appealing baby. I keep laughing at how utterly grumpy I was.

Going through old photos, to see if I can add to the Now and Then project. Nothing terribly promising, but I will be working on it.

But I did find this list, in my mother's handwriting. Italics my notations.

(Zhoen)'s Gifts

Mom - Bath Blanket- bib 2 nightgowns
Maternal grandmother

Evelyn - White sweater Set - (Christening)
Mother's oldest sister, my dear aunt

Peggy - 2 nightgowns 2 receiving blankets.
Could be one of two aunts

Frances- Hat & booties. - white
cousin?

Grace - 1 dz diapers, White dress (blue buttons.
Mother's second oldest sister

Aunt Belle - $1. 00
A great aunt? vague memories

Mrs. Giblin 2 dresses & 2 slips white.
neighbor, one of my elderly ladies that I visited

Mrs. Oesdean - Blue Sweater set. 2 silver dollars
another elderly lady on my rounds

Thelma - Large Pink blanket.
no idea

Neighbor - Yellow pants (plastic)
even my mother apparently had no idea

Mrs. Du Pra - 3 pr pants 3 pr socks nightgown rattle Blue Dress
another Elderly Lady neighbor

Betty - 2 receiving blankets 2 nightgowns.
Father's brother's wife, not a favorite

Priscilla - Yellow bunting Kitten bottle holder
no idea

Milton & Alma - Car bed
Dear Aunt Alma, Uncle Milton the most prosperous of father's brothers, and most generous

Art & Mary $10.00
Father's 2nd oldest brother & wife, my godparents

Carol $5.00
Their daughter, only cousin on paternal side

Helen Silver Dollar.
Mother's friend?

Mr & Mrs. Salliotte - White receiving blanket.
Neighborhood couple

Evelyn - 1st doll 3 months.
My aunt again, I think I know which doll

Elizabeth - Musical bunny.
First cousin now in Massachusetts, how could I have forgotten a musical bunny? I'm sure I loved it to bits before I could remember having it.



Mary's -

Rene - Chocolate & African Violet wow
Art & Mary - Mums.


Nightgowns/dresses - 10

Blankets - 6 (ok, this was February in Michigan.)

Cash - $19.00, including $3 silver. (About $142.00 today.)


This was 1962, some of these were extraordinarily generous, that so many neighbors gave gifts is touching. But notice, my paternal grandmother is not listed. I was one of only two grandchildren on that side, Carol was a good 20 years older. Not all the aunts are on here. My father's gift to my mother is a bit strange - she was never much for chocolate, nor violets. And why did she even put that on the list, a gift from her husband? My sense today that I was not particularly wanted in the family - at least in some quarters - seems hinted at here. The ones who loved me later are here already. Just something odd and off about it, hard to describe clearly.

Or maybe 50 years ago really is a different country.

Compost

Leaves, green on the tree
Garnish from everyone's plate
All look like compost.

Aviary

We wandered over to the Aviary early this morning, for the first time since the refurbishment, longer - years since we'd gone last. Much improved, although it always focused on rehabilitation, sanctuary, education, with display as only a part of their service. The rare birds are part of a conservation system, everyone looks very healthy, and a lot of local wildlife just stops on the way through.

I have no skill for remembering bird names, and these were out wandering freely, so I have no idea. Some kind of goose, rather lovely.



These were in a netted enclosure that we entered, signs suggesting quiet and slow movement. We sat, and they flitted around. The yellow one had a huge voice, the parrot (?) hung out with his buddy on the branch.



Eventually we spotted a good five or six of these, while sitting quietly on a Sunday morning in the shade.




These rather small birds, half and half bird and beak, were so funny to watch. They could go in or out.



We searched out the Scarlet ibis, and were unprepared both for the brilliance of their color, but more for them sitting up in trees. Strutting around on the ground would have seemed normal, instead, well, up they were.



And the pelicans were out-swanning the swans. elegant swimmers. And because there is a Feed The Pelican time, they expressed interest in the humans - who might be carrying fish. We weren't, and they figured that out pretty quickly. But I've seen them being fed, and I think that would be quite an experience.




Mostly, I hate zoos of any kind, although if they are primarily about research, conservation and education, they have a place. This one seems to be, with more than a few injured birds who now have a haven, a one eyed owl, one with a broken wing, eagles that can't fly - but still have menace. The exotics are a very small sample, and all seem to be in excellent health, with room to fly and wander.


Seeing a Kea in the feather especially a treat. They had two of these bright fellows, with toys for them to use, eyes bright and feathers in good fluff. Not ideal, but nothing is.

Charming

Charm only gets us so far. D dearly wanted to replace these, but the hardware store had nothing to deal with old heating vents. Not even close. Two are simply broken, another can probably be fixed pretty well. The one that does work, in the bedroom, blows right on D, clearly not intended for AC, only heat.





This old house. We will look harder and think about this more. I'm sure we'll figure out something workable.

A cayenne pepper is ripening. Probably this one will be like the last one we had on the balcony, nothing for a long time, then one, then two, then four... until we had more than we could use in years.

Guest room is still mostly storage, and the tools are scattered, but it's closer to usable. Gradually getting to our lower priority list. Not less important, just less urgent.

Contemplation

Moby has been sitting near the Fragment this evening.



D is a sick puppy, feverish and everything. He's a very good patient, tolerant and grateful, even when he's most miserable. Moby has kept him company while I was gone all day. He's tucked up in bed, listening to a Wodehouse recording. Poor dear, he's not often sick, it's usually me down with What'sgoin'round.

I've been reading through Languagehat's ten year anniversary favorite post link list. Often, a lot of it goes over my head, but I never mind that. I catch what I can, and feel brighter for whatever sparkles in my head. Hardly ever comment, but once in a while I've put in a judicious oar.

If I can find some mint - of whatever variety - tomorrow, I will plant it. B at work forgot to bring some, given that she is moving this weekend, this was expected, and not minded. I can do this myself, no problem. A good idea is a good idea.

The beleaguered sunflowers, a few of them, are budding. I think, I hope, there will, in the fullness of time, be sunflowers. I wait and watch. This morning, as I ate breakfast, I heard a strange tapping. Investigated - it was rain, coming right down the chimney onto the insulation panel (held in place with the long knife left here) and the sky a bright orange. Didn't last, but lovely, still.

Next month, we get the chimney capped. Then, maybe, a few months without major projects nor expenses. None planned, anyway.

Agent

Leslye Stratton is a dear, one of the rare real estate agents who, after selling us a house, became a friend. She contacted us when the tax valuation came through. No doubt a professional habit, but she didn't present it that way. She just asked how we were doing. She's finding us listings to help get our house value down to reduce our taxes. Well, the state is taxing us on a house over $40K more than we paid, and prices have gone down(a bit) since then.

A vivacious and attentive woman, and I was able to offer her a referral to a specific kind of doctor - which I am always happy to do.

We owe her thanks for our Home. She guided us so competently and kindly through what was, for us, a very difficult process. And we tried to respond with attentiveness and alacrity. She helped us find our House the Home.

Thinking about all the people, or at least the professions, that folks usually hate, and how often I wind up liking them. I've always liked my dentists - kind, hardworking guys who treated me kindly for all that it was uncomfortable. From the first young dentist when I was 17, who had mountain posters on the ceiling, to my Aoki today, who plays a country radio station and actually examines my whole mouth, and never nags me about not flossing as much as I really should. He also hums, and is obviously concerned, and has endured a total knee replacement.

I liked my drill sergeants, not in a happy-go-out-dancing like, but a respect for their devotion to a very difficult job. Near the end of Basic, they smoked* us, but there was a sense of following orders, as it seemed to be done on a pretext and without much enthusiasm, especially by female Johnson - who took my glasses I had perched on my stomach, and returned them to me, with a quiet look of near shame at the end.

Over time, I realized that this seemed to be a kind of initiation ritual* that a vast majority of soldiers experienced in varying degrees, ours was pretty mild.

For a long time, I thought less of them for participating, but I had this insight, the Sergeant Major's face the few times we saw them in conflict with him, and I begin to suspect they were acting under orders. Problem was, over half my platoon were over 25, and more or less had our shit together, making it difficult to have a clear reason. So they had to exaggerate something and then keep it all to a minimum. It was all very strange, and up until then they had my respect. They now have it back.

I liked my army recruiter, nice guy, older, made no bones about the whole thing, said Basic would be the worst two months of my life, but I only had to do it once. The tuition reimbursement wasn't wonderful, but it would help. Not his fault some of the rules got changed after, and I certainly felt honestly prepared.


Maybe I just give a certain amount of credit to people who do those kinds of jobs. A little slack, like for a waiter having a bad day, or a cashier making a mistake. I am predisposed to be forgiving of those who manage to stay sane while performing a difficult role.





*Two hours of hard physical exercise in a small room, so that it rained down with our sweat, and more than a few of us admitted to losing bladder control, as three Drills shouted at us. It ended and we were sent up to shower - ten minutes to lights out, and we crowded in and showered two at a time, and fast, tended our blisters and settled down fast.

Pod

Looking forward to raking up these pods. Oh, won't it be wonderful.







I should look up this tree, find out what it is. I will, but not today. Being lazy on my holiday. Happy Pioneer Days of '47.

Cat enjoyed being out, despite the wholly inadequate grass on offer.



Made a good salad for D's parents, had a very nice lunch with them. Really enjoying hosting and feeding folks, the introvert at home, which gives me a lot of energy.

Abyss

Dale is right, of course. There is nothing to look at, save the mental health of young men in our society, and why so many are broken enough to shoot up a movie theater. But that is my job, to look, without flinching, at the broken, the gaping wounds, mop up the blood and guts. To face the grieving in their raw losses, to touch the newly wounded and reassure them in the long road ahead.

Not that I always know what to say to those victims of violence on their third or fifth surgery, months, maybe years later. Let them feel they are in good hands, competence and concern without pity, attention to their families who wait. That's about it, just not make it all worse.

Or being the nurse for the perpetrator, that takes a different kind of mindset. Universal compassion. I do not know their story, how hard their journey, the damage in their brains, stains on their souls. Not for me to judge, only to do my job as well as possible every time for everyone. Professional and calm, meticulous and capable.

So, I look. I read everything I can, grist to the mill, data to be considered. The gory and the ugly, sore and gaping is all my job to examine and try to comprehend.


I gaze into the dark abyss of the soul for a living.


This, over at jo(e)'s had me sobbing.

Aunts

Thinking about the aunts who loved me.

Aunt Alma, who loved feeding me, a week at her house every summer, full of plums and peaches, home made bread and raspberry jam from her garden, walking with Gigi - the fat and ball-obsessed poodle who also loved me as I loved her. Aunt Alma would adore my house, and applaud my gardening, and I would feed her to her heart's content. One of the rare adults I knew who kept friends, not just relatives.

Aunt Evelyn, who saved roses (from Uncle Ernie) in a rose bowl on the dining room table, had a submarine toy that I never got to play with enough. We have the perfect sink for such a device, and are in the process now of finding one - preferably locally. She would love my house as well, in her own way. Harder to please, but her love was strong for me, steady and adoring. As I adored her, for all her faults.


I think any love genuinely shared with a child makes all the difference. If only for the sake of recognition of what love actually looks like. None from my mother past the age of about nine, or so hedged around with prohibitions and conditions, before that inadequate protection from a father who needed a therapist at very least. My brothers, too old to be siblings - and too fucked up themselves - no matter how little they admit as much.

But I had a reference point, what love felt like, how warm and inclusive and accepting. I did know it when it happened to me, but I would be 29 before it did. The obverse of the smell of gangrene, indescribable until experienced - then never to be mistaken for anything else.

Who loved me? Mrs. Rizzardi, who always rejoiced at seeing me, always welcomed me. As D does now. Who loved me? Aunt Alma who gave me her dog while I visited, and fed me, and listened to me, as D does with a cat and his own deep heart. Who loved me? Aunt Evelyn, who trusted me with her treasured old games and guarded my solitude, as D trusts me with his books and is guardian to my privacy.

Yes, we know love when we see it, if we ever have experienced it in any form. Acceptance and affection, and enthusiastic greetings.


Cat wanted to be out. A good half hour this morning, then sat by the door until we took him out again.

See the cat?




How about now? A little later, different angle, shift in position.



Usually, I can suggest, at most nudge, him to return indoors. Today I had to pick him up bodily, to his immense irritation. He was comfortable in the weeds of the driveway, thankyouverymuch. He watches dogs walking by with interest, but no alarm.

We do these things, for those we love.


Found a Canadian steam-punky series called Murdock Mysteries. Not perfect, but with an endearing charm and Canadianness. Turn of the century murder mysteries, the first episode had Nichola Tesla. I have a soft spot for Canada, after all.

My Newfie and Ontario Aunts.

Supposes

Some of them look rather better than others.



But I have a soft spot for the imperfect ones.

Better to look at than the straw lawn.



Enough ivy cleared, using everything at my disposal, to include a shovel, and now we can keep the garbage, yard waste and recycle bins beside the house, not in front. D is stirring the dye tub, to salvage a good t-shirt that got stained.

Having D's parents over for Pioneer Day on the 24th, so today we cleaned. Place needed it, but not as badly as we expected. So much less dusty than the last apartment. And space makes it easier to keep clean and uncluttered, or at least unpiled. Gradually doing deep sorting and fundamental organizing.

Whole

I think I could still try, even now, with my genetic kin, if they only admitted they didn't really care about me as a person. Admitted that my father did not ask for me on his deathbed. Didn't just use their chaotic lives as excuses to cover the real reason they want me to love them without them having to actually put any effort into loving me. If I can't have their interest, I could about bother if I had their honesty.

Can't bring myself to like them. No way to be the good person in this, only the honest one, with a version of integrity. Good people are honest, and their words match their actions. Bothers me that it bothers me, but I don't really care if they love me. But I think they want me to love them. But they couldn't be arsed to tell me when the old bastard died, which I would have made sure of had the roles been reversed, no matter how I felt about the lost brother.

The last threads cling, but break one by one as I tug.

From D I have learned loyalty, take my duty seriously, as I care for patients without regard to their character. I want to be a whole thing, without false twists, no lies, in all my skin.



This has a half life, I'm not sure that all tinge will be completely gone.

Now

I've been charmed.

Dread

Got to the edge of the Dread Hedge. Lots of what looks like an old lilac bush, but I never saw any flowers. It's creeping out, or it WAS. Now, it's hacked back and boraxed. Cleared away an entire bin of garbage and dead wood and leaves. And snail shells. Got one snail in the beer trap I set out, and some bugges with pincers.




The roses really are damaged, all rusty edged, burnt almost. No idea what is going on there. Research to do.




The mini-clover seeds are sprouting earlier than predicted, which is a first for this gardening venture of mine. Tiny things, that is a sunflower seed sharing the bed. I have high hopes that the clover will give us green and help the soil.



And the sunflower's eaten leaves. Hard time getting the camera to focus on the correct thing, or the wind moved it at the right time. Still working on this photographic issue. None have flowers, although they do follow the sun. Which I knew, in a vague, back of the mind sort of way, but to actually see them looking east in the morning and west in the afternoon is just amazing.




Such soil, dry clumps of clay. I suspect the massive amounts of "turf builder" and slug killer, as well as the green plastic netting in the sod, has killed all the good bugges and worms in the ground out there. Hence the digging and peating it up. Maybe the aloe won't mind. Don't know if it will winter over, but I'm going to cover it with leaves and a bag, and see what happens.



So far, the tomatoes are tiny, but that may be the variety. The three we've already eaten were very tasty. The larger type are still on the vine, not ready yet.

Spearmint

A kind of heaven.


Tomorrow, I will clear beneath the Dread Hedge, full of dead leaves and some sort of vine and drifted trash. Ready for some spearmint to spread. B at work is moving, and has offered some of hers, with the stern warning that I should pot it. But I have no trouble with it taking over by the hedge on that side of the front. Sounds wonderful, actually.

Poem

Listening to a radio program on my way to or from work, about poetry. Guy thought that anyone who claims they don't like poetry are saying something akin to not liking music. Which is plain wrong. If I said I don't like literature or writing, any kind of book, don't, in effect, like reading, that would be like saying I didn't like music. Not liking poetry is more like not enjoying a particular genre, like say Rap, or an instrument, like piano.

I'm not gathered in by poetry, generally. I find obvious rhyme and meter grates on me, and people reading poems of the sort wholly annoying. Always strikes me as stilted and earnestly sappy. Like a teen reciting the lyrics of their favorite song, because everything means so much at that age. (I was one of those, for a very short while.) Not that I haven't heard real performers with good poetry make a powerful blow for the other side of the argument. But very traditional poetry gets on my nerves, as a rule. A poem telling an epic tale, with dense references to other poets I have never, and will never, read, might as well be in Chinese or Greek.

I don't enjoy poetry like I don't enjoy rap, or piano. Some artists can always transcend the forms. I'm no fan of country, but I love Johnny Cash. Dale's poems can sometimes reach past my dislike of the form. Very short poems get in under the gate, which is why I will actually write in haiku. I do enjoy the concentration of poems, the ambiguity of meaning, the sly evocation of feeling. But, as with jazz and habañero sauce, I like it in very small amounts.

I tend to like ska because it's ska. I enjoy essays as a form. Poetry has to jump a little higher for me. I don't like poetry for it's own sake. I don't favor pianos, I prefer fiddles and guitars and drums and more modal instruments.

Having to memorize this one in school did nothing to improve my opinion. Maybe if I'd had some background on it, I would have been slightly more tolerant.


D and I walked around the block, because we promised each other we would always go walk in the rain together. We always have. It's still raining. The garden will be happy. The cat is curled up in the back of the bedroom closet, not so happy, but he will be fine.

Sheets

Raining. Sheets and sheets of the wonderful stuff for this dry place. Work irritated me so severely today, so that I ducked out as soon as possible. Next month looks to be thin, with several surgeons away, meaning we starve. And one is dealing will ill health bad enough to cancel whole days. Nevermind, still needed to run away as soon as I decently could. Getting my mind in a better place so that tomorrow is calm.


Did a meme a half dozen or so years ago, back when links involved actually writing html - which I did not do, just cut and pasted the little bits. Took me a very long time to make it all work. The one thing I actually like blooger for - making that Link button.

Anyway, if you are recent-ish visitors, it's a good random introduction to this mess of a site. Links to some of the more formal essays that used to be my mainstay. I don't know if I could, or want to, write like that again.

Here's to moderation in all things. Including, occasionally, moderation.

Respite

A morning digging a hole, followed by two hours in the evening dancing to ska on a concrete floor, may not have been the best for my knees. Not that I would change anything. Apparently, there is a strong ska scene in Utah County, a Mormon stronghold - BYU is there.

The bands last night were amazing. Well, one left me rather cold, but the first and third were irresistible. A bit of swing thrown in, grovin' showmanship, great show. More young kids than we are used to at events, but better behaved than adult drunks at rock concerts by far. Minus the child outliers, audience skewed older. Loud, but only ear-numbingly rather than splitingly. Instead of a mosh pit, there was a dancer maelstrom, impressive. I wished myself my twenty year old body for a few hours.

A long time since we've been out on a date, that feels the same as ever.

Still, aside from the aches and limitations that I slam into, there is no earlier age I would prefer. To regress would be to relinquish hard won knowledge. Taking it easy today, though, let the cells do their jobs in peace.

No more rain yet today, but a pleasant not-hotness, clouds, respite. We walked errands and through the park.

Cubic

Rain.

Rain, rain, rain. Started later than predicted, but just as welcome in the afternoon.

I dug another hole this morning, with temps only drifting around 80˚F, depending on sun/shade. One dig a month, making a garden - one cubic meter at a time. Replanted the unhappy lemon balm mint, maybe a change will do it good. Stripped some dead sod for mini-clover - which hopefully will take over. The thyme seems content in the new digs from several weeks ago.

I also met a lot of dog walkers, and dogs, this morning. It's nice getting encouragement and company when doing physical labor.

As part of the Pioneer Day celebrations (next week) there was a Youth Parade, just a few blocks long, and a block from us. We went over too early, but it worked out because we got to see all the parade had to offer, at our speed - not theirs. And D made Young Pioneer references at all the children dressed matchily, with bandanas and head scarves. His culture, he's allowed, at least by me. Got to hear a marching band play (while just standing) which was the important bit.




Amazing to me that we have a fresh bloom of roses. They are small, and a bit rusty, but vigorous for all that.



The vegetable garden is surviving. Good data, next year I will know more.



Moby does Seem to enjoy surveying his domain from above.

Bathing

My name was not on the room assignment board, fellow cow-orker told me I was listed as a vacation day. Checked, yup, but not requested, the back up book did not have me being off. One of the charge nurses (we all know which one) just took me off that day. Different charge nurse not in yet, so I set up rooms and got to work in the general helpfulness mode.

When I found today's charge, she told me I was J, who was sick. Well, that worked out well. Core monkey, break person, resource nurse, lunch lady, for three rooms with six cases per. I take this role seriously, and try to make a difference, leaving me pooped at the end of ten hours. Run, run, run, and never much time to take a moment. Good exercise, in all respects.

B suggested that the reason the usually a cinch to grow sunflowers were eaten alive and stunted for me is snails. Could well be. Next year, aggressive snail deterrence, and at the end of this year, a soil test through the state cow college. Stuff is growing, more or less, but not vigorously. Lots of good data, but not good crops. Beans meager, as with the chard and beets. Tomatoes producing, but not enthusiastically. Mint not doing well, which is the oddest of all. Clover to be sown for next year, care for the dirt. Failure is always an option.

Or,

In the spirit of science, there really is no such thing as a "failed experiment." Any test that yields valid data is a valid test.

- Adam Savage.

Took a nice long bath, D rubbed my poor feet and fed me dinner (not at the same time) and all is well with a cat taking a bath beside me.

Ceremony

For some reason today, I have been fixated on my mother's anger at me for cutting my own hair as a small child when I found her scissors. And connected that to when I was going to be my cousin's flower girl, and although I'd been promised letting my hair grow long, I had to have a pixie cut for the wedding. So, I couldn't cut my own hair, but she could cut my hair, and I had no recourse. Also, I have a dim recollection of being pushed into the role, with the lure of a fancy pooffy dress, the hair cutting that broke the previous promise not mentioned until in the car on the way home. I don't know that I ever actually agreed, nor that I was actually asked, rather than it all being assumed.

That the pooffy dress turned out to be a detested pastel pink was simply a backhanded slap.

I suspect this is all related to my own dislike of weddings. Ceremonies generally, weddings specifically. Girl(and I use the word advisedly) at work, got engaged last week in a semi-public, if not quite youtubable manner, ring on the finger, female cow-orkers in full gush, and I had to concentrate on the sudoku so that I wouldn't say anything. Because anything I said, however politic I tried to make it, could come out as snide as I actually felt.

And I kept thinking about the new Principal Nun for my last year of high school, an incompetent bully micromanager, who dangled "not walking up the aisle for graduation" as the carrot/stick to keep the seniors in line. The graduation ceremony itself was a fiasco, parents crawling over pews, flashbulbs popping, (this was done in church, catholic school, that sort of thing) noise and rude behaviour, and principal nun saying names and honors incorrectly (including mine.) I was disgusted, this was the great prize? I never wanted to be part of any ceremony or honor again the rest of my life. My own first wedding, although small, was just as much a hash, in a different way. Niece fainted, no music, engagement ring lost, photos with trucks in the background, not to even mention wedding an awful person.

Yeah, not a fan of weddings. Especially if there are tiny flower girls, who were too young to be properly asked, not old enough to actually consent to the role.

I had to go to my Army basic graduation, dress uniform, awful shoes, standing at attention for a stupid long time. I managed to get out of the rest, if not all the other Color Guard duties. Never so bad when I was a face in the line, marching. Marching made it much easier.

Didn't mind the parade after we got home from Gulf War I. Rather nice walk, actually. Had decent boots. Medical units can't keep in step for shit. I always liked the Drill & Ceremony because it was a kind of dance, just keep on the correct foot and listen - didn't bother me that none of the folks around me were out of step. And we got the cheers for a different unit - the announcer must've gotten out of sync. Walked home after, a short day, starting early just made it less hot for the 24th of July (Pioneer Day.)

I'm willing to admit there are good weddings, been to one. But if they are good, it's because the central couple are good people, and good hosts. Nothing to do with the venue or the flowers or the napkins or the attendants or flower girls.

No wonder so many people get drunk at weddings. Do what you gotta do.




Oh, and this is good news.

Tyrant

Went out on the front porch, (still can't quite believe that I have a front porch) to look in on Moby up in his tower, through the window. Took a bit to get close enough not to just reflect.

Master of his domain. A benevolent tyrant.

Kitten

Yup.

Because real men are first and foremost, real, complete, human beings. As are real women. That has to be inclusive and accepting and loving and kind and strong and brave and all that our species has to offer. First. Gender can get layered on, if necessary, after. Real has to mean full and complete, not just a fashionable symptom.

A real man will love itty bitty kittens as well as scary looking (sweetheart) rottweilers, on the basis of kindness to all creatures. A real man will play dolls with his daughter as well as catch with his son. Or dolls with his son and catch with a daughter, if called on to do so. A real man will not conform to negative stereotypes.

The people I've met who are most concerned with their manliness have had such glaring lapses in their humanity, it's hard to see how they think they are good men. For women, it seems a more complicated process, although the women (who often refer to themselves as 'girls') who seem to have an issue with gender image, are so thoroughly screwed up the question isn't even in the queue. Have not heard "tomboy" said as a genuine insult since I was a small one myself.

So, why the current push to be the gender one is already? I mean, aside from marketing? Or maybe that's all there is to it.


Moby purrs beside me.

It's very hot.


Partly Cloudy
101°F
38°C
Humidity11%
Wind SpeedNW 13 G 18 mph
Barometer30.03 in (1009.8 mb)
Dewpoint37°F (3°C)
Visibility10.00 mi
Heat Index 96°F (36°C)

Nothingness

Indeterminate,
Sloshing blah and idle meh.
Is it time for bed?

Double

Finished reading Double Cross by Ben Macintyre, amazing story, intelligent and very fun writer - with a soft spot for scoundrels.

Cat kept me company. I think he was a bit itchy &/or achy, because he wanted a lot of petting this morning, and seemed to enjoy the brushing as well. He seems more comfortable up on the tower this evening.


Hard to believe this lovely space is our home. I love the colors, the light, the sounds.

Clay

Dreaming of digging,
Another hole in the clay,
Down to the drainage.


Not today, though. And maybe not tomorrow, unless I get out there very early indeed.




Fires around, nothing close, but the air is ashy and dusty.

Gracias

Just like to thank all the folks who sent us some rain, it finally arrived this morning. Most of it lost in transport, but enough got through to make a difference. Ground soft and damp, buckets of rainwater caught. Sat on the porch quite a while this evening, enjoying humidity and more moderate temperatures. Moby sat on the damp, mostly dead, lawn a long stretch.

I know that's all we will get for now, but it's no less lovely.

Thank you.

At 1900 -

Partly Cloudy
74°F
23°C
Humidity 64%
Wind Speed N 10 mph
Barometer30.03 in (1011.2 mb)
Dewpoint61°F (16°C)
Visibility10.00 mi


0.22 inches rain (5.58mm)

Just 67˚F at noon. I only wish I could have been outside.


Really, thank you.

Chair

All along the watchtower




cat.

Always touching when we sit on the couch, and the cat looks, gets up, jumps down, hops up to sit between us. Wonderful to be loved.


Picked up a floor model for a very reasonable price. Cat approved.



We are rather short of comfy chairage. So we keep our eyes open, and have occasionally gotten lucky. This is quite comfy, even for humans.

Mess

Warned, on my way out, but seeing what looked like clouds over the mountains, but wasn't, awed. In a bad way. No, not clouds, but an orange pall of smoke. I do wish I'd had a camera then. It's down at the very south end of the valley, next county away, no evident smoke here, yet. Yet another human caused fire. Everything is catching on fire.




Love that all the dinosaurs probably had feaththers. I think I would have been more into dinosaurs, if they hadn't been grey/green and buttugly. If I could have seen them as bright and varied... well.

One room all day, strange little day, although it lasted all shift. Which is fine, got my hours in. Mellow, but a bit dull. Normally have tomorrow off anyway, so very glad to have had Monday as a sort of comp day off, especially since I was under the hormones (much more than usual in the circumstances.) Feeling better now.

In short, drifting into the depths of summer heat, and brain going soft.

Rot

Tree fell down, go boom.



Really did, took our power out for a brief time. We thought perhaps a truck hit it, but no, it just collapsed. On a Sunday afternoon, when emergency crews are a bit busy with fires, we would not have been surprized at not getting it taken care of until Monday. Felt bad about the people who lived there, they seemed not to be home despite the car trapped in the driveway. But a guy in an official truck, in an orange vest, with a chainsaw, showed up a couple of hours later. Left most of it in a pile, but off the drive and sidewalk, and off the power lines. I expect the city will be by sometime later to clear the debris.

Not a surprize it fell, so rotten it's more amazing that it stood as long as it did.


Ah, just as I write this, a big orange truck and a digger out there making quite a racket.

Sad to see beautiful old trees lost. Not so much a much hacked at old rotted thing.

Fête

Happy Dominion Day, Fête du Canada! Our living together anniversary, twenty years now. Little could either of us have imagined our lives now, nor known how happy we would be with such. Pleasantly surprized, probably.

Although we would appreciate having a tech-savvy cat.



Despite the fur on the keyboard.




Went to brunch, then up one of the canyons. Neither of us in a mood for a hike, but walked a short way to watch the stream a while.




We used to take a weekend, go away for a night, for the sake of a nice room, decent AC, a good bed, and watching cable tv, lots of Pop-up Video mostly.

Now, we have our own lovely place, pleasing to the eye, but with milk in the fridge, a guitar all set up, or tea and internet.



There are no vacations on the horizon, but we don't really need them.

Just from this, for a few hours.