Budged

Moby has been in an odd mood all day. This evening, he sat upon D, and would not be budged.

Mulch

The tree bark mulching away on the verge is no doubt better than the weeds beneath. But with that and the dead lawn, it's all looking very dreary out front. I really will want to add some sort of green out there next year. Pots, maybe. Flowers, even. I raked it enough this evening so that it doesn't look so much like a rumpled bed. Bigger job than I imagined, to move all that wood chipping, spread it about.

Rained this morning, even a bit of snow up at the highest elevations. My master gardener cow-orker suggested I crush the base of my remaining tomato plant that still has tomatoes on it, to shock it into ripening them. Done, we will see if it works before first frost. Six tomatoes, all green, still to come, I hope. Must watch for frost warnings. Somewhat relieved that the season is over, nothing more to be done this year but composting. Digging later on, planning for next year, further research.

Crown popped off. Some irony, since there was a popcorn party at work, and I did not have a single kernel. Sweet potato fries for dinner, that did it. That tooth was rooted out long ago, so it's not at all painful, and there are no rough edges, farthest to the back as well. Really, not that bad. Not sure what I really NEED to do. I'll call tomorrow, plan accordingly. Maybe just the way this past week has gone, I'm inclined to call it good as is.

This morning, as we were about to leave for work, Moby lurking near the door. I picked him up and took him out to the front porch. He sniffed and sniffed, and I brought him back in, perched him up on his tree. This seemed to satisfy him, as he stayed there until we were gone. He got to go out later.

My ability to write seems diminished, perhaps just my urge to write. I need a template, a goal, a challenge. There may be a fallow period, as I decide the shape of this, as my garden falls dormant so do I.

Pen

A week of feeling off my feed means I'm also casting about for mental occupation. Dipped into the Straight Dope message boards, the more pointless ones. Answered the "My Pen is... ."

I do love those little details, the small, constant circumstances of one's life, that we rarely discuss with anyone. What we write with, what we take notes on.

I've always preferred medium point pens, the fine ones feel like I'm taking a pin to a chalkboard - scratchy and painful. The thicker line more satisfying than the hairline mark.

Since I no longer primarily chart on paper, my handwriting is for the charge sheet, notes, signatures. I don't miss the callus on my forefinger from constant charting. But I do need a pen at work all the time. So I keep one with a good clip, that clicks open and closed, in my scrub pocket, with an extra or two in my pouch. Because without that clip, when one drops out of my pocket into a puddle of irrigation fluid, I rarely clean it and keep it. Got a large 'value' pack of the ones made of recycled bottles, blue ink. In the army, one is required to always use black ink, and a lot of hospitals required it for charting, so I'm now enjoying having a different color.

Expensive pens would be a waste, since they get lost, or "borrowed" so often. I've gotten better at holding on to them over the years, but they still drift off at a regular rate.

One is always in my small purse, in the pocket designed for pens. I prefer to use it when signing receipts. A metal pen is stuck with a magnet to the light switch plate by the front door. Slightly better ones are clipped to the crossword books.

I use highlighters on the schedule at work, to keep track and alert myself to details I need. Dry erase markers on the whiteboard for the count, name and procedure. And the gel or foamed alcohol hand cleaner, if used quickly, gets ink off quite well.

I've always wanted to get proper calligraphy supplies, steel nibs, deeply colored ink, creamy paper. I've used some, borrowed. But, then, there was always the question of what to write, so I let it go. I don't have the feel for it.

My handwriting is oddly shaped enough. From survey work, writing quickly and clearly meant a strange mix of printing, lots of capitols. And my brain gets confused, often writing an E for an S, especially at the ends of words, among other twists in the route from mind to hand. Too much charting - repetitious yet a legal document that others rely on for vital information. I'd love to hear what a handwriting analyst would say, though.

Conserve

Dreaming about the chippings pile, woke at 0430. Returned to bed, but back up at 0700, got dressed, attacked it. Six wheelbarrowsful to the bits by the porch beside the shrubbery. Shifted quite a lot about, it steamed alarmingly as I dug into it. This is what is still there, still to be distributed, but my elbow is warning me to take it easy.

They filled all three of our bins (garbage, recycle, yard waste) and those went to the sides in the back. This was the rest of the truck the chipper filled. And all included in the tree trimming, which is not quite like free mulch, but I'm up for calling it free. Take what comes along, and make it good.



The branches fell thick, better down now than down heavy with snow on rickety garages, as my neighbor assures me is a threatening sight to see. It isn't terribly obvious, since the rest of the tree on the next plot is still so tall, but there is more light. Less pollen, fewer seedlings next spring.

Before,


After,


I wish they matched better.

This helps, a small sample of the prunings. And you can see the guy fixing the window.

Cogent

Not a cogent thought in my head. Smoke in my sinuses, hormones in the blood, flu vaccine in the cells, but the skull is a tangle of trite disquiet.

Huge pile of chipped tree on the verge, tried to shift it, overheated, hearts bounding, we admitted defeat. Perhaps in the cool of the morning, as the weightlessness of the direction shift holds us in a static moment.

A pane of glass broken by perhaps the chipper, overheard the call to the boss to get it repaired before I noticed. One in the outside porch, that we would love to tear down one day. Much reassurance, not a big deal, plexiglass would be fine, please don't worry. Apparently most customers are angrier and less understanding. I just remember D's surgeon, on the second surgery to remove excess scar tissue. On the last range of motion, the a bone broke - and he had to fix that. Dr. H. came out to tell me, looking hangdog and waiting to be kicked "I broke his arm." Yes, well, these things happen.

Enjoyed watching the skill, hearing the banter, watching both the pile grow and the sky appear. Window looks better than it was.

Not as hot, according to the thermometer, but 85˚F is not cool, and when the sun is slanting in so low, it feels worse, somehow. Like when it mists sideways in Boston, and umbrellas seem to suck it upward, and it's wetter than in an honest downpour.

Smoky

D found a notebook and novel on the porch this morning. There is a schedule in it, of AA meetings. Rather odd. Also, as he tried to leave, Moby ran out, what fun. Mouse exterminators were here in the afternoon, some mice caught downstairs.

I missed all of this, being at work on a weird day. Two cancelled cases, one for an incipient heart attack for an ER doc - in complete denial from what I was told. Wow, that really is a symptom. The other for other reasons I never heard - being core monkey today, but the patient to follow, that could have been taken back right away - was late. D asks, "who is late for surgery!" I told him he would be surprized, and he agreed - he was surprized.

Hell, I'm always surprized at how elective foot surgery patients don't wash their feet, or those having hand surgery with dirt under their nails. This does not mean those injured out in the dirt, treated in the ER, who have dirt under their splint. That is entirely different. As are the ranchers and mechanics with grease and grime tattooed into their hands, I get that, no problem. But an ordinary urban dweller with filthy feet, apparently competent and sane, that I have to wash before I even start the sterile prep - that seems ridiculously neglectful. Now, young boys, teens of either gender, ok, that happens as well, and parents can't always control that. Youth is naturally insane by adult standards.


Still, I bring out one of the surgical scrub brushes, clean them off, then do a sterile prep, and do it well.


People are damned odd.

Called the local police over the book and notebook, mostly because the list of meetings seemed like something needed for probation. That he'd sat on our porch and forgot his book is one thing, that he's in rehab and noting these times, seems like another. They said they'd send an officer over. Not what we expected at all, but if they seem to think it useful, well, fine then.

Very glad to be looking at my day off tomorrow. Tired, and we are getting the smoke from the Idaho wildfires.

Fire

Awake at 0630, sat reading comics, at some point heard a fire alarm going off. Some wearied part of me assumed it was a false alarm, after so many in barracks and apartment buildings. Finally got up to look, and a guy is running in front of the Hostel/halfway house across the street. Smoke billowing from the roof. He called out to someone to call 911.




Within a minutes I could hear sirens. We are just a couple of blocks from a fire station, and they arrived very quickly.

Soon, at least ten fire trucks have the block filled, with other official vehicles present, a police cruiser stopping casual traffic.



Within an hour, the smoke is a mere whisp, and my neighbor comes out having missed most of the excitement. (Stayed up late to watch the local big game.) She's incredibly knowledgable, though, and tells me that no one was living there. It was about to undergo renovations to be a halfway house, not yet occupied. Could be anything, likely a squatter, possibly an electrical problem. She'd also worked for the Red Cross, rehousing people, and tells me these old places, the plaster walls have to be ripped out, as they just keep burning, and the house is often unsalvageable. Maybe, since it was being renovated anyway, they can keep the brick shell and rebuild the inside. I didn't see any ambulances leaving, so hopefully, it was in fact uninhabited.

Amazing how many people had cameras, though. From simple phone cameras to real rigs with large lenses.





The apartment building next door had the best, and possibly most scary view. The block west got most of the nasty smoke, though. Winds kept it away from us.

Update: Electrical, and no one was hurt.

Pashima

We got the curtains back up. One side pulled away, as well as a large splintered layer of ancient wood. Got the side hooks in a bit higher up, and in a better place, and a couple more to suspend the cable in the center.

Thinking about winter, and preparing. Just because it's 90˚F now, doesn't mean it'll be warm next week. Oh, crap, it's 90˚F right now.

Wish I hadn't checked. Needed a long sleeve shirt this morning. Stumbled upon a street fair, and strolled among the jewelry, tie-dye, and environmental business booths. Found a red pashima scarf with exactly the colors of a silk scarf I'd had for many decades - found at a Unitarian church rummage sale in Detroit when I was about 19, that eventually fell to bits. The new one, that D rather insisted I get, keeps catching my eye, like the reincarnation of an old, dear, friend.



Moby on his High Throne. Hey, caught a bird, caught a mouse, he's a pro, nothing more to prove.

We did notice, for a week before the mouse capture, that he peed all over. Not in strange spots, but persistently and in all of them - which was odd. By both doors, on the bathroom rug (while I was taking a bath,) on the boot mat, every day at least two of these areas. Since then, none at all, using only the litter.



We suspect the removal of the humongous fridge and replacement by a normal sized, and unsilly one, meant a change in the mouse trail - which could be why Moby finally snagged it. It's been amazing to see the whole expression of his considerable personality now that he has a house sized territory. More vocal, more demanding, more aloof and more sociable - depending. Sits on laps, spends the night watching out the front window. Still runs, and on these wood floors, it's a galloping rumble that makes both of us laugh.


90˚

Winter can arrive any damn time it likes. I'll be waiting right here.

Yup, any time at all.

Just me, waiting.

dumdedumdedum...

Caught

Asleep in bed.  Moby walking over me, sniffing and pawing between my neck and pillow.  I thought it felt really funny, feeling his nose poking around like that.

Then I felt something else.  Grabbed.  Shouted, "I caught it."

I hoped never to have to kill a mouse in my hand again.

I had to kill a mouse in my hand again.

Out of a dead sleep - less dead because Moby had been hunting.  Damn thing was in bed with me, scurrying around my neck, the bugger.

I still clasped it, not sure it was quite dead, filled a glass with water, dumped it in, covered it over and explained to even more bewildered D.  Mouth dry, we changed sheets and pillowcases, me trying not to shake too much.  Adrenaline is not conducive to sleep.

Ugh.

Dumped it in the outside garbage.  Bleach in the glass used.  Took melatonin and will go back to bed after twenty minutes.

So grateful that Moby woke me up a bit.  I have to wonder if that was why his behaviour has been unusual this week.

I suspect it had been in the old fridge, and got confused and possibly chased.

Seven more minutes.  Have to go back to bed.

Expiration

Religion really needs to expire, the Dali Lama says so.


Really. 

Waves

The lemon balm mint is flourishing in front, beside one cairn. 

Hacked another set of trenches for clover in the south half.  Not planned,  these shapes emerged.  I'm loving this impromptu art project, such an happy, surprize, area for creativity.  By next year, the green will soften all the edges and become something unexpected.  But it will all be more verdant next year. 

The fridge arrived, and they took the old silly monstrosity away.  It really did loom.  This one fits. Will use less energy. And the door opens the right way. D immediately applied magnets.  I did shopping. We've coped pretty well, but have not eaten well this week, lost a load of food. 

Moby much more comfortable since the bath. We suspect allergies to whatever is on the ground these days. 

Thump

Saturday night we left the bedroom window open.  Moby up there faster than the eye can follow.  Vociferous in his commentary about (presumably) OTHER cats in HIS territory.  Two long tirades.  And twice, once as I was dropping off, another when dead asleep, he jumped from the sill to my ankles.  THUMP, Thump, thumpity.   Strode over us and flopped down on us, pinning us in turn.

Then another drop onto my legs in the wee hours. Ten pounds of cat, at velocity.

The next day, we did not let him sleep, woke him up over and over - to his bewildered annoyance.

"Nooooo,  I was sleeping!  I've been up all night!"

Yeah, we know.

By evening we also figured out that he was itchy, grooming his forepaws with his teeth, irritated.   And decided that we would give him a bath.   With great trepidation.  Filled the deep kitchen sink with warm water, got some shampoo, I would hold him, D would make sure the front legs would be well soaped.  Really not sure how this would go.

And, he did not seem all that bothered.  Didn't squirm, just stretched out his front paws to grasp, no back leg kicking,  mwowed once, tail even went up when I scrubbed his back. Even after, mostly annoyed that his paws were damp.

All these years, and we didn't want to do this to him, and now find out it's a big "meh" to him.  He slept most of the night, pretty much at D's feet, or on them. He seems more comfortable, fur shinier.  Maybe some pollen or other irritant in the dead grass or soil, now rinsed off.

Sometimes, you just gotta try things.

Cairn

Neighbor with the lovely tall grass, xeriscaped yard, gave me rocks left by her PO*, which I have made small cairns of. The lemon balm growing in back all summer looks like it will be happy here as well.




The yard, for all that it is dead, is taking a shape, and the clover is pleasantly green.




Moby yearning for the neighbor cat's much greener expanse, but he will have to content himself with the promise of next year.



He gets dramatic and wistful.




He also forgets and naps. Life has it's compensations and comforts.





*Previous Owner of house.

Rattle

The heat abates, although certainly not entirely gone. Cooler mornings, sun glares but lacks the punch of just a few weeks ago.

The community gardens having a tomato tasting tomorrow, sounds rather good. We will rehang the garage cable and curtains in the morning, replant the lemon balm mint to the front, then go eat other people's tomatoes. The cayenne is going nuts.

I got out two small, but respectable beets. Burned them trying to cook them. Very sad, and smelled awful. Now it's just the chard and tomato plants that will likely not produce any more fruits. The pepperoncini has a half dozen more to ripen.

Very odd to not have a fridge. Keeping the perishables in the cooler with dry ice. Cooked the package of bacon up today, the resulting sandwiches in previously frozen hot dog buns and cheese were ... disappointing. D got a small amount of milk chilled, so he's managing. We got a good dinner, and that helps a great deal. Rather uncomfortable, we are not eating well.

Broke a glass today, feeling rather windy, edgy, wary. Waiting for further shoes to drop.

We sat on the porch, watching people passing by. I did a crossword and we muttered amiably to each other. An odd mix of comfort and rattlement.

Language

Taking care of a foreign* exchange student with a broken bone. Translator from a service used by the hospital system present, as well as patient's two friends. Patient had less English than the nurse who gave him instructions over the phone yesterday realized.

So, he ate.

So, we did not want to delay him, got him a surgical nerve block, and he would have surgery while awake, but somewhat sedated.

Poor kid, not even 20, in a foreign land, among people taking care of him who didn't speak his language. We all tried to be very kind, tried to reassure him, but he was scared and didn't really understand what was going on. We called the translator into the OR - they usually leave after the patient goes into surgery - and he sat with the patient the whole time, explaining, reassuring, reminding him to breathe when the sedation overtook him.

Surgeon worked very efficiently, without a tourniquet - because the block didn't cover him that high and it would have been intolerable. Patient did fine, bone came together well. Translator needed me to call his company to let them know he had to stay longer. I did more, and called after to ask that his superiors knew he'd gone above and beyond - at our request. I made sure to have his name. I wanted him rewarded, acknowledged. He stayed with the patient in PACU.


D listening to the DNC. Me too. It's a hopeful thing, I hope. I see the nutjob rightwings as closet bigots. D tells me of the term dog-whistle racism. I prefer to think of it as Pig Latin bigotry - they only think they are hiding it. Sorry, I get a bit angry at the blind, willful ignorance of the extreme right. Fiscal conservatism is a defensible position. The institutional injustice toward anyone but the rich, white, and privileged is not.

Sorry, a rare political outburst. I am a liberal, and I hate all kinds of closed mindedness. D says "exceptionalism" is a term of disparagement in academia, which was chosen as an ideal by the RNC. I'm not a Democrat, but they are the only ones with a chance that I can stomach.


Sorry, sorry, letting it go.


*A popular Asian language, very little English, and no Spanish at all.

Deaths

The time has come, the Moby says,
To sit upon the lap.

And tell sad tales of the death of fridges.




Moby hopped up as we sat on the sofa, and decided that D needed a cat. He was, of course, perfectly correct.

Unlucky

Woke up nearly as early as when I have to be at work. D concerned that nothing in the fridge was cold, and possibly hadn't been the evening before. Sure enough, the electricity was on, but there was no cold. Not in the freezer either. Big, posh fridge - busted. Explored our options. Repair is not cheap, no one wants to pay money for a broken fridge, and the more we looked into it, it all seemed like throwing good money after bad. D shifted his day off, and we got ice into coolers, along with what food seemed safe to try and rescue. One way to force us to clean the fridge.

And decided to get a much less silly refrigerator that would also fit in the space and allow the door to open into the kitchen. With a magnet friendly surface, too. Which brushed aluminum does not have. We had a bad feeling about this fridge on the very first open house, and we were right.


Off we go, and sure enough, find a perfectly adequate fridge for a very reasonable price - that will be delivered next Thursday. Well, vacation mode, eat out and bring in only enough food for that meal that needs to be cold. A bit of dry ice for a few other things. Use fridges at work for D's milk, my lunches.

Got home, puddle on the floor. My old cooler leaks. AFTER I got what I could transferred to the larger cooler (left by the Previous Owners) I realized I could have simply put it in the tub, but isn't that the way? We ate the cooked chicken and greens.

Used a coupon at the dealership for the car, an oil change and general check-up, tire rotation and alignment, as well as a good car-wash and vacuum, for the price of a reasonably priced oil change. I knew they would try to sell me on a lot more, and they did. Claimed the battery needed changing, and a deep oil leak repair that would cost $800 to fix, tried to sell us on a oil change plan. Don't believe any of it, although I will get it checked with our usual place sometime in the next few months.

Thought about getting a tiny mini fridge, none to be found locally which is the only way it would be useful. Save us the cost of ice, more expensive food this week, might be worth it. Sending away for it saves us nothing at all.

As I came back from getting gas in the car, the garage curtain crackled and dropped. Part of the wood pulled off from one side. Hardware held, not the wood. I just started laughing.

It's been a stressful day, for a day off, and starting at about 0600. Took me a while to pull myself together enough to make tea. Cooked the rest of the good eggs - they are not to be wasted.

So, we pour all into our home, and we have a home that gives all back.

Just, did it have to happen all in one rush? Yes, yes it did. Apparently.

Potatoes

Remember when I put in the gone-to-eyes potatoes last March? And cow-orker mentioned it was a good time to plant potatoes? Then I forgot about them, and eventually figured out that what I thought might be weeds, were, in fact, potatoes?


Well, I decided to dig up the area and see if anything was growing, since it is September.


Yeah.


Well.


Maybe not quite enough for dinner.







Still, the earth there smells better.

Next year, I will try again.



And, well, they are potatoes.

Tasks

Today was a dance.
Everything done, no effort.
Flowing and gushing.

Compliment

When I was young, I hated compliments. Hated. Mostly they were about how pretty they thought something I was wearing, or my name. As though I had anything to do about that. Even smarts, since that also seemed like nothing I had any control over. I expected scholarly awards like most people expect a paycheck - with as much joy and elation - which is to say, none.


Praise for when I really worked hard on a project was thin on the ground. Never got thanked for holding a worklight for my angry father in the garage in the winter, the hardest, coldest, job I did.* Strangely, it's very like what I do for a living, keeping the lights in the right place, handing over the proper tools, skills I work at doing well, and usually, at least at the end of the day, I get at least a passing thankyou.†

When D is the primary on a project, often involving wires, I am the one holding the flashlight and handing tools, pulling tiss... um, things aside as needed.‡ Some pride to be taken in doing this well. The exact task I was shouted at for doing as well as I could as a child. As though, well, now I can do it, and someone appreciates it. D always thanks me. Profusely.

Taking compliments from him was no easier, not at first. The first time he said "you're wonderful!" I nearly ran away. But he's kept saying it all these years, and I just have to accept that he means it, and after all, he's always right (and he never lies.) Huge problem for me for a long time.

On the other hand, he gently stopped me from calling myself stupid, or any of the other bad terms I used on myself. Made him sad to hear me tear myself down, so I stopped doing it out loud, and eventually, mostly, stopped inside my own head as well. About when I started saying "I've had a bad-nurse-day" rather than that I was a "bad nurse." Like having a "stupid moment" rather than "I'm stupid." Slight change of tone, but important. Taught me to love all of us, including me. Became less judgmental in general. In the last few years, to simply not blame, anyone, including me.


Learning to accept praise, when sincere, or even when pro forma, is essential. When to say "thank you" with neither belief nor disbelief, when to accept it as true and pleasurable - and a guidance to future actions. Much harder than it looks. Raw material, to be made into something useful.



*Until I had to clean oil heaters in November in New Jersey in Basic - the coldest, dirtiest, most unpleasant job ever, especially when hungry. And by the time we got to the chow hall, there was very little food left. Miserable evening, even in that context. To date, the worst job ever.

†Surgeons will usually thank the staff in the room at the end of the day. It's a courtesy, sometimes, when it's been a rough day that's gone long, they seem to really mean it.

‡Holding retractors for surgery is more delicate than holding up a plug attached to wires, but there is analogy.

Labors

So, we got stuff done. D replaced the leaky part of the toilet, with a decently low swear to result ratio. He swore a good deal, but it works beautifully, and quietly, now. Since that really was a one person job, with a little back up for unexpected supplies (a small bucket, mirror, help figuring out which way loosened an upside-down bolt) I decluttered and cleaned out the paint brushes.

Before.




Moby desperate to get outside. All that rain, all that aroma, MUST BE OUTSIDE. I did not want to be out with him while D was stuck in the tub with his hand in the toilet tank.

The dilute paint went on the bare wooden back steps. I got a good amount of cleaning done. When I realized Moby was in none of his usual places. I checked all the unusual places. Twice. Then I went outside, because I heard Spike barking next door - not the "There's another damn dog outthere!" bark, a different one. That sounded like, "Oh, hi neighbor..." I couldn't see him anywhere, and did a more thorough search of the house, to no avail. I didn't want to interrupt D, did another outside check, and as I did a third inside check I told D I couldn't find Moby, and thought he'd bolted out past me when I was cleaning the brushes.

He went out the front, and spotted him in the neighbor's yard of tall, decorative grasses. But Moby thought this was a great time to play "chase me!" Tail up, he went around the other side of their house. D got him over there, met me in the back, and I took over the squirming cat - since he knows when I am not to be messed with.

Moby annoyed with us for several hours for spoiling his fun. Bold is great, but this is not the neighborhood for a cat without street smarts - too many semi-feral cats, lots of dogs, and constant traffic. We went out properly dressed and on leash much later. Still very active, wanting to go everywhere - which he hasn't done all through the heat of summer, but much like when he first got out in the spring.

Late afternoon a sunbeam crept in under the porch roof, so I moved the chair in the path. This was met with momentary confusion, then luxuriating.



Got another deep hole dug, they seem to be getting harder to do. My hands are objecting more, and I've had to pace myself more sparingly. Rhubarb in the spring, though.

This morning, more going out, with D very early, me later. Dogs and birds and oh so much excitement. I suspect this will be the pattern until it gets really cold.

And makes me wish it was a good idea to just let him out to wander. But everything is a trade-off, no matter what the circumstances of one's life.

More little jobs today, nothing too onerous. I want to paint more, but I know it would be a bad idea, so I'll just get some of the prep work done, spackle the many holes in the wall I want to get done next. It is Labor Day, after all.


We fixed the floor outlet, one of the wires was connected so that when the screw tightened, the wire loosened. But there is a new plug component in there, and it's all right way round now. Sheesh.

Snootful

We opened the windows, into the cool wet. Moby up immediately.



After we picked up good bread and danish (poppy seed and custard) from the German bakery we've been meaning to go to for years, we took him out.

Oh, the smells. Bold cat had to sniff everywhere. Nothing a bother, all wet and odiferous, no time to sit, just, next, next, next, breathe it all in. I could smell how wonderful it all was, for him - ambrosia.



We had camembert* with the good bread and one tomato from our thesilonica. D called the flavor nearly overwhelming. Next year, I hope for a better crop, but we treasure what we are getting now. That we get anything at all is more than I was prepared for. Call it a good first try.

Painted the first coat, which would have been enough had the paint there hadn't been so dark and matte. Makes a huge difference. Second coat went on even better.


Ok, a bit of drip and mess, but I embrace imperfection.



Finding a use for old, worn out OR hat.

Love the color, very subtle, but it feels right, bright and warm, and not too pink, not too yellowed.

*Bought in large part for the round wooden box, Joan of Arc brand. How could I resist?

Azul

Blue moon. (Yes, I have been singing that song all day long.)



Rain, thunder, lightning, then clarity followed by further obscurity. Half an hour before, the moon showed a clear face, then the sheer veil smeared the details.


Up in the night. So utterly overtired last night, across the borders of exhaustion. Familiar territory, I knew to use it - but gently. We went out at 8 and got paint and rollers for tomorrow. A bright coral orange lightened to nearly white, it should help. Then beer, which I did not drink any of, nor will I until tomorrow evening at earliest. Not even tempted, knowing better.

The past two days haven't been bad, really. Just hard. Went on and on. When my room finished last night, the other long room - with the huge clean-up - was just ending. So, we got the bulk of their stuff away before hightailing ourselves. That my surgeon was apologetic, but happy with the result he got on a complex knee injury, and appreciative of our work, made it all fine.

So, when I woke at 0300, it felt right. Not minding at all. Moby very happy to have a lap for a few minutes, then jumped down. Just making a point, excitedly.

I love being able to stand out on the porch at that hour. My porch.



This from the Nasa, Astronomy Picture of the Day.