Gathering (Photo)

Many thanks to Pepper, who was a good friend to Moby, leaving our minds free to just relax. Oh, and a good friend to us. Mwa.

So, we pushed all the way through to home, over the objections of my back, and both our preference under normal circumstances, to stop frequently and take our time. The ramps to rest areas looked worse than the roads, my nightmare of winding off the road in a snowbank in the Middleofnowhere, ID, influenced this decision. We had sufficient wool clothing, food and water, but, really preferred not to need rescuing. About an hour from home, D found Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me on the radio, and we got to town around one, just as the show ended. Began to plan for our gathering of friends promised for that evening.

At least we ordered the cake before the trip. Picked it up on our way in. The bakery that did a Yin/yang cake for our reception - a request that caused consternation, but they made a grand, delicious, and memorable job of it. This time, a much more traditional treatment, which offset the quotation beautifully. It's from Mythbusters. It's been a hard year, with overwhelming failures for many of us, but not defeats. Changes of directions and foci. Bursting of illusion balloons.

Thumped home, I showered and went back out for food. Got the car washed, as it was under several inches of grime. Fried rice, good, locally made Italian sausages. Friends brought a veggie tray and cheese.

"Oh, don't want to use those, those are the good plates," said N.

"Use them, there are no good plates." Says I.

"But there are evil plates... " Adds D.

I don't have anything intentionally matching, there were enough dishes and utensils for all. As well as cake. And beer for those as wanted.

We all played Arkham Horror, fudged the rules, and beat off the Elder God before midnight.

Hot (Photos)

We enjoyed ourselves immensely, deeply. There is nothing to do in Lava but soak and loll. Somehow, this works a magic on us as no other place. It's cold, at night bitterly even with all towels over the windows in the 90 year old hotel. We leave our room door open, and the large house dog comes in to perform his rounds. Some sort of great dane shepard mix perhaps. Benign, not pushy. D reads the last Pratchett novel, and I enjoy their new wifi, on his computer, unable to remember my password to post here. I drink hot tea-flavored water and slow down.

I padded out through the frigid air to soak in the outside barrel, black water under a black sky, with a lit up L seemingly floating in the air, actually on the invisible night mountain.

We eat mild trucked-in food, iceberg lettuce, patty melts, pizza, thin burgers, leave Boston tips. D finds a ring nearly identical to the Kokopelli band that was my wedding ring - at the place that has the blankets and pelts and cowboy hats. I'd accidentally lost the first at work a decade ago. Idaho is a strange place of extreme beauty and bizarre kitsch, pockets of wonder in a fake fur coat.

The middle day, we went to the large springs, boiled and chilled. While floating, I had no pain in my back at all. I finally laid on the submerged steps in the hottest pool, my head held just above the water, ears and eyes covered, snow pattering on my chest and thighs, chin and backs of my floating hands, listening only to my heartbeat, until my brain swirled. D had to get me dressed, so.

Adrenaline (Photos)

All photo credits to D, because I was experiencing adrenaline rushes. Roads not good for the trip home. The car doing pretty well, but without snow tires, and with visibility so poor, and lacking my youthful indestructableness, I took it slow. Driving past a car and car with camper slid off sideways helped not at all.

More on the trip after I come down. Friends gathering for a Fuckitall tonight. Moby excited and confused at our return, finally managed to settle enough to eat. Again, when I pull myself together, credit to P who cared for him while we were gone, leaving our minds at ease.

Later.

Z

Enlightenment (Photos)

Moby was stalking his enlightenment this morning. Bright sun reflected off my macbook, fascinating him more than his micetoys. This went on for a solid hour.

My mom called the reflections on the kitchen ceiling from the sun off the dishwater the Kitchen Fairies, a game I loved. Apparently, cats do as well.

Environment (Photos)

Aplenty

This past year, for all it's difficulties, has had blessings aplenty.

Moby is happier, having gotten his rotten tooth removed. He loves his larger territory. We are fortunate to have him in our lives. All three together, we make a good family.

I got to spend time with Moira. Much to heal from, quiet moments, nothing important, everything vital.

Not having to take out a loan for the necessary car, and a vehicle that is turning out to be very well made and reliable. Material security.

All our friends, grown a little, changed, but still essential and welcoming. Kith of great worth, joy abundant. Who seem to think us worthy right back. Oh, and Moby likes 'em all. Greets and hangs out, in his cat way.

Work, where I am scrubbing more, stretching my skills - and not coming up too short too often.

Next year, I will start with the yoga class for healing from injury. I would go today, but I am on call. Maybe I will try to arrange it anyway. This will be a doable process to stay healthier.

D will have access to the gym at his old college, he's already looking better after just a few times.

I will continue to write, though I am still asea about how to even start on the road to being published. This I may need to take a class for, certainly talk to an expert, get advice. This is the scariest of hopes. Plan? There ain't no plan.

The trip to soak, write, indulge in silence approaches. I have capsaicin patches for the voyage - tried one and it worked pretty well. D will bring the Martin, I will sing along on the enclosed porch over the Portneuf River.

We will talk the whole way in the car, reacquaint. We will miss Moby, but P will be here. A Fuckitall party when we get back. Have to order the cake that will say "Failure is always an Option" from the bakery that did our Yin-yang reception cake. They looked at us weirdly then, but made a lovely job of it, and a delicious one.

I will take photos.

Good Yule, a Brightening Solstice, Joyeaux Noel, hope kindling, warm blessings treasured over the noisy hurts and dark cold.

Muscle

"Give me what I need, not what I ask for!"

In the stress of surgery, at least when there is a difficult bit, like frustrating atypical anatomy, or unexpected bleeding, often surgeons simply want what will help, and the proper name eludes them. The automatic, inarticulate part of everyone's brain, takes over, as it should. An experienced scrub (yes, this includes me, however rusty I get doing mostly the circulator role) will simply hand them an appropriate instrument, regardless of what word they say. There are also hand positions to accept that instrument. This is all held in a common muscle memory, no doubt akin to athletic teams, trapeze artists, dancers, musicians in bands, construction workers, any group of people who do the same physical process repeatedly, with time constraints. I may fumble a new set of specialty implants, but in a crunch, my hands know what to do, and the flow happens.

I had this occur last year, not having scrubbed regularly for years, with residents on an ortho case. I needed coaching through the drilling and measuring for the hardware, but as soon as they hit an artery, they had clamps, ties and scissors in their hands before they could ask for them. And I felt alive to every nuance, passing three, four instruments at once as though I had extra hands.

Surgeons need to learn how to use a scrub as much as to use any piece of equipment. The hand out and back for a clamp or scissors, slightly curled as though holding a pen loosely for a pick-up (Debakey, Addison's, rat-tooth), palm open and down for a free-tie. D has leaned to take scissors and pens from me over the years as well as any surgeon. There is nothing more frustrating than not being able to just hand a suture, and I have hit knuckles sharply to alert them that they are hindering their own process. Only once have I had a resident ask how to do it properly, which I gladly did.

Last night I toppled a full pint of Tetleys beer across the rug, sent D to get towels. "The... the... blue one." He brought the blue hand towels, I got frustrated, shoved past, got the cheap fluffy one. Today, I apologized (again) at losing my patience. It was mostly at my own lack of fluency. He was returning all the towels he'd pulled out of the closet and dumped on the floor, rejecting them in favor of the more disposable ones. They are all blue. Instead of the cheap blue ones he takes to the gym, kept in the bedroom with his bag.

"If you'd told me the gym towel..."

"I know, that word got to me about five minutes late last night. Sorry. It's really obvious, though. I wanted the BLUE one. Give me what I need, not what I ask for!"

We laugh, understand, forgive.

Listed

I've got a little list.

Sleeping in until I am ready
With a cat curled behind my knees
Warm and snug
The lovely curve of a Martin guitar
Beside two strats and a danelectro
that D plays
and a uke that beckons me.
A story that fills my quiet times, stretching my imagination with ideas
a good mac that lets me do what I want without undue objection
Young scrubs who laugh at my jokes and don't treat me like I'm old

The odd resignation of a half grey head of hair
A red patterned dhurrie rug of wool and delight
Two green army blankets sewn together with purple embroidery floss
warm socks
silk long johns
a happy little car that cares not that it is snowing
smart, wise, funny fellow iFriends who prod me onward
Kith who give hugs
respect from difficult people
job security

The pattering gallop of cat feet
laughter in the next room of D and our friend playing too late
the new Arkhan Horror game and all it's monsters
Memories of other places, other times
trips to beaches and mountains, deserts, hot springs
Trivia on the way, laughter, love.
Obscure references shared and savored
Always being welcomed home, with delight
stories shaping our perceptions with humor
sunlight strong though the windows

Blips

The snow is piling up. Thunder and lightening last night, as snow fell over the rain. Not so bad driving home, following a plow a long stretch of the way. Out further south and east, the ice lurked beneath. Glad to be going in late this morning on more cleared roads, to be the Lunch Lady. I go into the room, take report, and take over, trying not to slow the process. A different mindset, skill set, learned hard at the Living History Hospital Museum. Very little scares me, these days. Will be working the 25th.

Today, the drive will be slow, which my back complains of. The apartment management is slow to shovel in this place, not even bothering with the outside stairs, another annoyance. But they fixed the furnace and the disposal quickly, best not complain too loudly.

We will head up to Lava Hot Springs over the holiday week, I hope it snows on us while we soak outside in the springs.

Scientists really are cool. As evidence - Science tattoos.

No coherent thoughts, just dribs and drabs.

Configuration (Photos)

We had a little furnace trouble, put out the heating pad to warm Moby. The love continues. This morning, the pad was under the towel on the sofa. Later, it was like this. We are not sure how Moby managed this, but we know we didn't do it.

Shakespeare

Exit. Followed by a cat.

Miracle

A training exercise, I am handed this scenario.

I'm a colonel. I drank heavily the night before, and returned to my office instead of trying to drive home. On the way up, I fell down a flight of stairs, badly. Being a tough old bird, I manage to get back to my desk, where I now sit at six in the morning, where I am found by my aide, who assumes I only just arrived.

I have damage to my aorta, which is being tamponaded by my position. I am embarrassed, and although truthful when I am asked a direct question, I am to offer no information. They may ask questions about how I look from the judge, covered with bruises, and reeking of alcohol, but only told if they ask. If they lay me down, I pass out, and the judge will start a timer. If they get the mast pants on me quickly enough, I live. If not, they fail, because I have bled out.

None of the teams figure out what happened in this scenario, only one didn't kill me.

Health care, especially in emergencies, is a two ended rope. Embarrassed silence kills. Lies kill. More often, it's simply not speaking the same language, or having the same objective. It's a miracle anyone survives anything. Failures of imagination, failures of interest and rigor. Failures of training.

It's not science. True scientific, double blind studies are unethical. Take ethics out, and science does not flow in, only torture. Most of what we do is best-guess-work, practitioner dependent, skill, luck. Doctor confidence would have a salutary placebo effect, so quacks are often enough, successful, at least once in a while.

And yet, I would have the people I work with work on me, were I injured or ill. Because it's the best available choice. Because I know they care, and they know a lot of stuff not to do, and they will tell me the truth, as I will be forthcoming in telling them all the truth I can.

Not even close to perfect. But miracles happen all the time.

Awake (Photo)

Nodes

Lymph nodes are swollen.
Winter settles in, deeply.
Distress works outward.

Been overwhelmingly fatigued, with body aches. At least my airways are reasonably clear. Guilt, as work is pitifully understaffed. I allow the stress to accrete, dust gone greasy and hairy, resistant to half measures and good intentions. Damn old back is objecting, and must be coddled. I let my healing have what it needs.

More moments:

When mom started to tell me, and dad butted in to say "Walt is dead." Her beloved brother, my adored uncle, his perceived rival. My first real grief.

The first time I yelled back effectively at him, and the amazement as it (temporarily) worked.

Every time I was hired.

Telling my mom I was divorcing, and she offered sympathy instead of objection.

Seeing the ex at the student union, in the moment I was already changing direction, in a flash seeing his eyes darken. Glad, I used the moment as though it had been intentional.

Sitting at a table at South Station, no one to meet us, no place to stay, and after a few frantic tears, we discuss possibilities, and know we can cope no matter what.

Seeing my cousins walking toward us, familiar, friendly faces, as promised, to lug us and our baggage away to their home.

Seeing a photo of "Midnight" on the Boston Rescue League website, and knowing I wanted that cat.

When we both saw him in person, and both fell in love. Moby would take longer to be convinced.


Funny, how those moments so often come in pairs?

What are your moments, when your universe changes?

Fall

We always remember those weird days when our lives pivot.

The day I got my bed, and the call saying my guard unit was on alert.

Captain Pickett in my barracks, middle of the night, saying "They've bombed Baghdad."

D calling me at work in the middle of the night, to say, yes, yes I do want to live with you.

D telling his mormon parents that, yes, actually, we are living together.

The day his mom called saying D'd been hurt, and he called shortly after, first asking me "How are you?" Only after a confused moment telling me he broke his arm.

Brenda saying "That's a bad, bad break."

The day my father threatened me with disownment, and I took it as a promise.

The day we decided to go to Boston.

The day we decided, regardless of which grad school, if any, said yes, that we would move back to where our friends are.

Moments of free fall.

Boil

The end is here.

D is leaving the PhD program. His health is suffering after too long struggling through the long hard slog, to an unwanted result. But getting through the end of the semester proved dizzyingly steep. He will yet complete the MA in History thesis, which he had abandoned to swallow this semester. This hour, back against the wall, he has decided to stop. With my full agreement.

When I was 3 1/2 years toward a theater degree, and suffered an ignoble slap, one of only two actor-students out of a class of 28 to be rejected for an audition, I quit. I walked away from the idea of a life on stage or before the camera, threw away a BA and the scholarship. The ex took it as a personal betrayal. I felt it as a failure, with no plan to replace the dream. It would be five years before I made a move toward the nursing degree.

I trust that D did all he could do. He will find work, and hopefully regain his now sore, raw love of history again. This was the last week of the push, the paper he came to detest, the class with a final, too little time, now abandoned. I am on his side. I am immensely proud of him for all he has accomplished. A BA, an MS, almost an MA, acceptance to the PhD program.

Just wish my back wasn't flaring, my sinuses clogging, my gut trying to turn itself inside out. I feel guilty taking a day off, with so much distress at work these days. I hear stories about the new hospital, and sigh in relative relief that I stayed in the old one. All is unsettled, but it's not the hellish chaos of a move to a new, badly designed, disorganized place, with staff abandoning ship to save their lives and sanity. I am a sponge for ambient emotions.

Such relief. A little sad. Change underfoot.

We will go up to beloved Lava Hot Springs before New Year. A traditional new start, a moment's pause to reorient, a boiling clarity.

Toy (photo)

Ostensibly, this is to have good toys for the increasing number of children of our friends to play with while they are here.

Honestly, I always wanted to have little cars, but being a girl, was given dolls, or as I got older, games and stuffed animals. I liked soft furry creatures, and I asked for games, but I also asked for matchbox cars. Last year, at the Other Hospital's terrific gift shop, I found Automoblox. Wooden and plastic, sturdy wee cars, that come apart and mix bits. When they came out with mini car three sets, I let my inner eight year old have the credit card.

As a result, I have seen D when he was eight, with appropriate sound effects. Moby chased the cars, but didn't know what to do with them once he caught up with them. I feel a deep satisfaction in this simple, well made toy.

Any child who comes is welcome to play with them, without restraint. Or age limits.

Koan (Photo)

God is a koan.

People say they believe, but what exactly do they believe?

If they can define it, clearly and concretely, that is most certainly not god.

The way that can be defined to death is not the way to life.

If they cannot define it, simply making an "of course" as a premise, they are begging the quesiton.

I don't believe in the bible, the koran, the book of mormon, the bhagavad gita, nor suttas, as fact. They are all the fiction of their cultures, holding truths about the human condition, pointers toward wisdom and theories about correct behaviour, striving for joy and compassion. As such, useful.

But they are too often used as coercion, government, graven words to be worshipped literally. Those with a cruel axe to grind wield those books. Excluding whomever offends with the twisted words of their gods. I know this is wrong, though I do not claim to know the right way for anyone save myself. And even I do not know, I only walk on.

Assuming an all powerful, all knowing force, without due consideration, is mindless and foolish. Assuming there is no all knowing, all powerful force, without due mindfulness, is merely argumentative.

Atheists, as used today, are Believers of the first water, along with Evangelicals. Right along with virulent Skeptics and uncritical UFOlogists.

I don't believe in a concrete god, or a saviour god, or a personal jesus who is my friend who lends a hand, or sends me to hell. Neither do I reject all that is liminal and mystical and all the damned data. I am not a believer. I observe, assess, consider. Science, gathering first hand information, hard numbers, theories that fit the best possible data, is what I accept as the most useful method to comprehend the world. Science is a process, not an answer, which confuses the Believers, who only want answers. Science goes wherever it goes, Belief is baffled when the road takes a U-turn.

Joseph Campbell offers the awkward, 'god is the word we use to describe the transcendent.'

I trust more the inarticulate than the certain. I trust more the action than the easy words. I trust more the small quiet hints than the bombast and assumptive.

By their works shall you know them.

Leave

Bully.

Leave.

Zero tolerance, after the third person who didn't like something I said, and decided to insult me on my blog.

Feel free to express your own, different, opinion.

But if I offend, just leave without comment. I don't need your chiding.

If I didn't think I was smarter than most people, I would hardly try to be a writer. This is my place to rant, if I write something that doesn't fit your nice, gentle opinion of me, too damn bad.

I am not nice. I am tough and difficult and flawed and angry. I am a bulldog, and I bite intruders.

Any more self-defensive attacks on me in the comments will be deleted. Immediately and permanently. Again. Go away. I have every right to be bitter, nagging, smug and a bitch, here on my blog. And you are free to delete your links here and mind your own fucking business.

Whatever (Photos)

Today, a pro-intelligent design lounge discussion. Bunch of believers, no point in even attempting educating, even if they wouldn't look down on me for trying. Seeing friends tonight, smart people, thinking people. I really, deeply, value our friends. And Moby likes 'em too.

Humbug

Bah. Humbug.

Bad enough the work christmas party was to be at a restaurant I would not have chosen, in deepest box-store neonville. Bad enough they lured us with white elephant gift exchange. (As pared down as I am after so many moves, I don't think I have an unnecessary item in the place. Nor would I want one back if I did.) Worse that they planned on karaoke. (A mystery deeper than why people voluntarily see movies with Will Farrell.) The worst part was that we were to be charged ten bucks a head for the privilege of attending this lame festivity.

I am cheered that too few of my cow orkers wanted to do this, so that the thing was cancelled. What gets me is the flyers up all over with a picture of The Grinch, and the sentence, "We've been Grinched!"

Who is we? Obviously a minority, who are now blaming most of the rest of us for ruining the party for the few planners who never asked people what they wanted and would be willing to pay for.

We are not buying christmas this year, again. Anyway, I have to work on the day.

I am reminded just how much smug, insular, entitled people get up my nose.

Moby has found the heating pad. It's love.

Flat

Yeah, another one. Feeling so sore and crampky and irritated by all and sundry. Instead of giving into negativity, I offer you an older photo of Moby with lol caption.

All I can think of is adolescent whining all my hates. I refuse.

Going (Photos)

Lest any of you think I exaggerated how much grey, and how much change. The above was from June. Dyed, then.

We are told to be ourselves, but not how to be ourselves. For a while, for me, that meant keeping the outside looking like I felt inside - intense, not lightly fading. And it's not just as youngsters that we have to try on different hats to see what fits, what reflects back to us who we are. How I express my real self in very different situations, as different aspects develop and grow, changes over time. "Be yourself." Very good advice, and completely useless, a destination without a map.

I find I do better if I get up fairly early in the morning. I don't enjoy it. Takes me a while to wake up. But when I sleep in, I drift all day, getting nothing done. Afternoon shifts leave me staying up too late watching bad TV, and sleeping until time to shower and run to work. Night shift leaves me humorless, hallucinating and crumbling. Not that I am naturally a morning person, but this is my work, and I have to find the closest approximation.

Darkness

We got Arkham Horror at the game store, as well as the new Illuminati supplement, Bavarian Fire-drill. In the hopes of a Game Night resumption. I want to get a cake from the folks who did our reception Tao cake to do one with "Failure is Always an Option" on it, which amused D so much, I will certainly have to. R is on a project that will not end until they simply give up on it. So, mid-late December, maybe a Solstice celebration, we will have a Fuck It All party. FIA.

All plans are coming to an end, derailment, but not waste. Retrenchment that is more like pruning. It's dark, but brighter than it was before we gave up the wrong dreams.

Cymbals

Man and his cymbals.
I miss a great guitar store
From a long ago.

Bed (Photo)

Any ungrammatical suggestions?

D cleared off the table by the window, I added the infrequently used warmcatbed. This apparently improved the fengshui of it all, and has become a new Favorite. Cozy, apparently. A bit disconcerting just to see his head.

LOL (Photo)

I've gotten hooked on lol cats. This is just one I made, it didn't get chosen for the site. Made me laugh, though.

Fuzz

A day in fuzz.

Medications work, but leave me cranked up and zoned out at the edges. Better living with migraines through chemistry.

Moby has come to sit beside me several times today. Woke me at the usual time (0518) by walking on me and purring with intent, which is good, since being awake when it starts makes the drugs much more effective.

Um. Rather, being awake when the migraine starts means I take the stuff then. Which in a way makes it more effective than when it is still in the package...

Laundry sits. Dishes half done. D made dinner.

As the Mythbusters say, Failure is always an option.

I'm ok with this.

Too

I'm up too early,
internal alarm, headache
and cat insistence.

Metal

When the anesthesiologist insists on his iPod full of head banger heavy metal right next to my desk and the phone where I have to convey orders and talk to patient's families, as well as coordinate with everyone else, there is a problem. When he turns it up before he leaves the room, I have a toehold. While he was out of the room, I turned it off. He came back in, "If we want to have a good day in here today..."

"You turned it up and left the room."

"I can put it up near me." This dripping with sarcastic disdain.

"Fine." I said, instead of -You have crap taste in music, and if I want a good day in here, I'd just as soon you scream in my ear all day, because that would be better than eight hours of Slayer. Moved, it was background rumble. I could tolerate.

If I can't understand the words (Yobitchho lemmefuckyou!), I would actually prefer rap. Not a favorite, but nowhere near as obnoxious in general sound. We were at a gathering recently where Guitar Hero ran the whole time. Noise and commotion, which makes me edgy and angry. To each his own, of course. But when I am trapped into listening, AND it interferes with my job, my tolerance ends.

Kept on call, three extra hours. Snowed yesterday afternoon. Car did fine, but folks here drive like they've never seen the stuff before.

Then, this morning, after I got to work, I realized I had a holy sock.

Quoth

"Drinking from the fire hose."
-D

"We'll finish this project when we give up."
-R

"The more I get used to this space, the harder it is to work in."
-Z

Sauna (Photo)

The bright northern sunlight through the windows warms a black cat. After the sauna, the cool hallway for a while.
(No, he doesn't move when we step over him.)

Seventeen (Photo)

We celebrate our anniversary today. We have spent every day of the last seventeen years together, or at least talking. It's not a specific date, but the Friday after Thanksgiving. Because seventeen years ago, we packed to be sent off for Gulf War I the day after Thanksgiving. We got on the busses to Ft. Collins on the Sunday at 0dark30. The first date.

He still makes a fuss thanking me for the Martin guitar. I asked him if there was anything more recent that means as much.

"You mean, like all the years of love and care?"

oh.

Thanks

A while back Pilgrim/Heretic offered an Assigned letter which inspired this post/meme. Since in the US this is the day people give thanks, stuff themselves, fail to get caught up on the thesis, and pity anyone who is not at a big family chow down.

In Canada, it's earlier, and not much celebrated, at least not in my mother's generation. Third Thursday in November for me meant watching the parade on TV, and the day mom never cooked, (leftovers or pb&j sandwiches only) her version of Canadian protest against creeping Americanism, even though we lived in Detroit. I never minded, and never laid much importance on the holiday thereby.

Still, gratitude enriches my life, like joy and cheerfulness - it needs to be practiced to be felt, not necessarily felt to be practiced. If only that would have been explained to me when I was ten.

So, ten T's.

T-shirt. Such a grand and simple invention of stretchy decency, political statement, offensive humor, dozy comfort and casual insouciance.

Tofurkey. That turkey that makes vegans happy, and actually tastes pretty good, much less dry than many an overcooked fowl.

Thumbs. Moby is frustrated at his lack of opposable ones, especially when on the wrong side of a door, or if we are slow about the can opener.

The. As in TPC. The evil organization from the The President's Analyst. The joys of English spelling. The word that is rarely alphabetized. When I worked in a library, I wanted to write a book titled "The the" just to mess with the cataloguers.

Trains. I love trains, love riding them, love the idea of them. Wish I could be on a train today. Miss the Boston trolly trains.

Thor. Well, the one from The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul. Never miss an opportunity to be grateful for Douglas Adams.

Tongue. Another much-spelled word, that has a taste all it's own. A baby's window on the world. It gives tea and beer and chocolate meaning.

Tides. First seen on a New Brunswick beach, the stranded kelp, under-sand creatures bubbling, warning signs and times posted to keep tourists from drowning. The whole world transformed as the sea returned. A glimpse of immensity.

Tesla. What a weirdo. The new electric car by the name looks cool. I like to think it sounds like a Theramin.

Thanks. A word that once seemed so heavy to carry on Halloween trick-or-treating, or on Christmas morning, especially on my birthday, that now provides buoyancy. Much appreciated.

Policy (Photo)

It's a policy of mine, that if I can help with a scheduling problem, I will. Getting anyone to take a rotation shift the evening before a holiday is well neigh impossible. So, when K sighed about having to drive out of town on Thanksgiving morning, instead of the evening before as planned before the schedule came out, I sighed as well. Traded my 7-3 shift for her 3-11.

Good karma. I got groceries this morning instead, got to sleep in, making my beleaguered gut happier.

Tomorrow, thankful in T.

Stop

I stopped drinking coke after two times feeling very ill and dizzy closely following the imbibing. Ending a persistent habit of three decades. I'd known the sugar water was bad for my teeth, my bones, the excess fat bad for my heart, acid reflux.

But.

But, it was energy and caffeine, convenient, available, easy. I'd cut down, only having the stuff at work, only one can a day at most. But getting myself to zero took immediate illness, twice. I am no longer tempted.

I thought it would only take the once for hot wings. That was a bad, bad night. hot sauce on the rebound, with power. But I was hungry at work today, a rep had brought in hot wings. I hesitated, but free food... Like a dog with an interesting thing on the floor, I put it in my mouth and swallowed.

I regret it. It's still down there, for now.

Resolutions, even strong self preservation instincts, weaken with hunger and exhaustion. Thus are habits made and broken.

Compromise

We got lemon cake instead of chocolate. D thanks me for my compromise.

Oh, man, like I am suffering with yummy lemon cake. I do prefer chocolate.

As D prefers lemon, but hardly suffers with chocolate.

This is the kind of good compromise, giving way on pleasures and preferences.

With the ex, I compromised on myself, wore ragged clothes when he got himself a leather bomber jacket. Ate little for a year so he could buy a computer. As examples. At the divorce hearing the Judge asked me why I wanted the divorce.

"He drank too much."

"Aha."

"He stole money from me."

"Aha."

"He was hitting me."

His head drops, he signs the papers.

There are compromises and being compromised. I'll gladly give up a bit of chocolate to please D. He takes care of me.

Cool

An odd moment, for a nerdy girl, to have the conversation turn to cars, and to be found to have the coolest car in the room. To begin to believe, that in my middle years, I have, just by staying aware and open, true to myself, become cool. A certain flavor of cool, no question, but a genuine kind of hipness. The cool around the far edges of the bell curve.

I grew up on the margins of poverty, though I never felt really poor, knowing kids poorer than me. My parents had grown up in deeper poverty. Now that I live closer to the middle incomes, I feel quite rich - still only feeling I need roof over my head, food on the table, clothes on my back, the rest is gravy.

A few years on East Coast nurse wages, for two unextravagant people, upon return to a place requiring a vehicle, meant we were able to buy a car outright. An inexpensive, but well made wee LEV car. I took it around a curving turn and through an underpass faster than I would like to admit. Unlike the old Neon, which would have gone "ohmygodohmygodohmygodnonononono!", the Fit just said "weeeeeee!" This gives me more sheer entertainment than I can say. I admire how well designed it is, appreciate how much thought went into it's creation. That 36-38MPG helps.

Moby is coming to terms with the sofa, after five months.

Sit

I sit here, propped up, knowing the twinges in my back should be relieved. I should move, put down the pewter, join D in sleep.

I sit here, dithering, listening to Venus in Copper. Stories to help us both sleep. I resist like an overtired child.

I sit here, prompted by an idle question, where does "sleep of the just" come from? And I have to look it up.

Bible, book of Samuel.

Then I have to find "no rest for the wicked."

Then I have to check my email. Then my site.

Moby has just hopped up, trying to settle on my feet.

I have to lie down. let sleep in.

Quiet (Photo)

Last evening, hanging out in the surgeon lounge, waiting for eleven pm, glad the add-on list is empty, trying not to say the Q-word.

Happy (Photos)

Revised a huge section I'd been holding onto in original form. Written last year, buffed up repeatedly, needed to be stripped to the bones and rearranged. Feeling better.