Gato

The Cat is less than thrilled that D isn't home most of the time. Very enthusiastic greetings, followed by almost-ignorings. He got purring very loudly, then perched on the back of the couch and purred. The white noise of the recording obscured it, sadly, so D took the video and made it into this little piece. Moby got up as I moved the laptop position, which caught some light, which caught his attention and he hurried off to chase.

Sorting

Nothing quite has the piquancy of being woken at two am by an incipient migraine. I eventually talked myself into getting up for drugs, and I did get back to sleep. The day dragged on me, though, in the side effect phase, and all I wanted was to come home, come home, come home. Knowing it would be a slow day added to my preoccupation. But the schedule dragged as well.

Not specifically in my room. Dr. SA isn't slow, but always works well, until all that can and needs to be done is done. He needed to get out, to fly to a conference, by noon. Both cases had complications, the second right on the verge of needing to run another two hours, or ending immediately. He decided the long repair would not work for this patient, would actually make the damage worse, so he closed up. Then had me call the fellow he was going with, already at the airport, to say he would be doing the extended work... . The friend merely laughed, didn't fool him for a minute. He reassured me that it was not my fault, but that he'd been expecting just such a call. After, we wondered what it would have taken to convince him if it had been the truth.

By 1130, I'd cleaned up everything I had to do, had lunch, then off to give one scrub lunch break, and by 1330, felt like climbing the walls, and taking a nap there. I did come home, then, and did take a nap. D feeling much the same, underslept, vaguely cranky, restless and tired. We went for dinner, and tried to go listen to a band, but the place was full, even though we were very early, and we wandered back home.

We talked, though, more than we have usually this past year. Gradually, we'd just avoided a lot of conversations, as we didn't want to talk about the big problems that were taking up so much brain-space. Tonight, decided to rearrange the apartment, and after some measuring and reality checking, decided to get rid of a few items, and maybe use the tax refund for a comfy chair, instead of the old lumpy futon love seat. Had to stop ourselves from just starting this evening.

Just what D wanted, a weekend moving books, now that his job is moving books.

Pet

I really do have a harder time with the dogs. But they mostly have good photos of them on the adoptions site, anyway. This one just wanted to be petted, as long as I would sit there and rub his neck, joy abounded. No, don't know his name. Another one sucked me in when I was on my way out. So I sat in his kennel and stroked him. (No point in even trying a photo in that awful light.) And noticed how long his nails were, so I let the staff know, and they'll get him trimmed up. The dogs just take so much more energy, and for my day off, this is as much as I can manage. The cats take a different kind of attentiveness, and give back a different kind of affection.

D is tired after his first real day working in the better part of a year, but he's very glad. And because the hours will be available, he can work up to 40 hours a week until July, the extra time shelving books. He's going to start off a bit more slowly, it's exhausting to start from no work to a full week at such a physically demanding job. He'll get up to speed soon enough. And Moby is going to miss him madly.

Names

Nearly every one of our re-named cats got new homes. Except the little long hair black fluffball, now named Abe. L and I have agreed to continue to make Wednesday Christening Day. I took her advice and got some rose gardening gloves, which are wonderful, better when I cut the tips off a few of the fingers.

I thought trimming this one's claws was going to be a battle of teeth and claws, especially when he started hissing and growling at me. But not in any way. I didn't do all of them, because he really seemed distressed, but not a tooth touched my hand, just lots of loud complaint and empty threat. A cat whose bark is much worse than it's tendency to bite, or claw. I had the cage card changed to note this.


This sweet lady wound up here because her people died. A bit thin, gentle, lovely dear.



This one is named Manly, which isn't good, but I haven't been able to think of better. D says he's one of them Holstein Cats. But I can't give him a cow name, like Elsie or Betsy, because male cats do better with male names, this one is just a little too much.


And Biscuit. Dear, friendly, playful Biscuit. Oh, maybe Graham. Next week, if he's still here.

Relief

D has begun work at The City Library. Part-time, and entry level, but with hope for the future, and a smattering of benefits. We have ordered pizza, sharing it with ND this evening, and enjoying the idea of having a little more income, and taking bites out of the student loans.

And he has a place to go every day, a making, in his words, a real contribution - which he is most happy about. A job in his field, in the middle of a recession. Not that bad.

Introductions

Stone the Jack found her way down to the kennels, easy enough, following her nose. Dogs mostly, but also yaks and alpaca, goats and a pair of water buffalo, and, she peered in amazement, a small horse? No, on second look, ears too big, a mule, but glossy as any Eastern stallion she'd known in early childhood, far away. A round of barking from the stalls, quieted by a tall and bony young meed, with all rough and confident ease of an apprentice dogger.

"You one of Hinge's?" she called out, over a rash of yelps and howls.

"Sh, sh, sh, sh... yup, Bouillon, down puppies, you Hinge's friend come for the wedding?" This back and forth, in a disconcertingly deep voice, without clearly delineating his target, prominent larynx in constant motion, continued clucking and hissing until the dogs calmed to discrete barks. "That cat you dragged in belonged to my predecessor, you know."

"Ah, that explains why thee didn't mind being dragged in. Did thee just stay here when the other apprentice left?" she asked.

"Naw, naw, it got all the way to the south of the Chain, over a thousand K to come back. Apparently didn't like the taste of the mice there, and disappeared two months ago." He sat on a sack of straw, strands of twine working in his hands, to stare at Stone.

"I take it you checked the chip." Stone said this in as flat a tone as she could manage, avoiding his gaze. But he just grinned and nodded, once.

"I already got the report started, you can add your bit later," he offered.

"And the cat's name?"

He rolled his eyes, "Ginger. That may be the other reason thee came back. Apple knew diseases pretty well, but from what Hinge says, didn't really have a feel for the critters." A slow lift of his bony shoulders, his hands continued to twist fibers into cord.

"I'm calling him George. He didn't object," she offered.

"That's better, yeah, George, good old George, good name, more dignified, fits him. We both got a feel for animals," he proclaimed. "I'm not so good with disease. Injuries though... " a mock humble bow of his head, implying a deep connection with all animals. "Hey, do I get to examine you? I need to get my human exam quotient in, and everyone here is done, or done so many they don't have to let me." He waggled his eyebrows at her, intending to be suggestive, but coming off as hopelessly innocent.

"Sure. I got some very interesting scars." She felt so old, but glad of the protection of age, and safely flirted back. Not, she also thought, that I am old, but next to this young meed, well. "Not to mention some historical tattoos. Oh, reminds me, got a good dentist here?"

"Why does a tattoo remind you of a dentist... nevermind. Old one, but I hear she's a favorite with the town kids, so I guess. All she did was look at mine, which are perfect." He showed his teeth, pulling back his lips with one finger, without letting go of his project.

"Very nice." She didn't know what else to say to this, and waited in uncomfortable silence. "Um... "

"Hey, how many Travelers does it take to change a pot? Only one, but an Abby has to tell them how. How many Abby does it take to change a pot? Two, one to change it, and another to be told to check up on that one by the Program. How many Towners does it take to change a pot? Seven, six parents to teach the kid how to. Used to only be five, but ever since the Universal rule change... oh, heh."

"How did you know I am part of that?" She asked in strict neutrality, her mood closed.

"Hey, now, it's in the records. And I am sixteen... kinda pertinent, since that's the year my Mother birthed me. Didn't put it together with your name until Hinge started raving about how his best friend agreed to come to live here." He didn't notice her shocked face, as he scanned the kennels, but rumbled on. "Are you really his sister? You don't look alike, well, maybe your noses, sort of. Anyway, he told me a little about how you had four weird parents, and two were your bio-parents even, and only got help when you were already a kid, which is messed up. Anyway, I have a great bunch of parents, and I figure I got them all because of you, so that's cool." He assembled his long self in a more upright position, "Maybe I better get Master Hinge, since he told me to call him as soon as you showed up, so that you got all your orientation done and didn't go working or hunting today, so stay right here, ok." He shambled off before she could answer.

Stone leaned against the stone wall of the kennel, as a knee high, rumpled red dog gazed up at her in adoring curiosity. "Well," she told him, "this is interesting." A moment, then, "Bouillon? He's called Bouillon?" The red dog ruffed softly, standing, as if to politely ask a question, then sat back, licking thee's chops.

Napping

The weather has come and cleared out the garbage in the air. We are all enjoying breathing again. And realizing how much our sleep has been disturbed. So we have taken to the bed, watching Ovation, with Moby companionably napping betwixt our feet.

Last night, I had my arms above my head, and felt a strange push on the left one. Took me a moment to feel the sides of teeth, and realize it was a cat rubbing his face on my elbow, several times. And purring loudly.

Thumb

See her Amazing Healing Powers! (I did say it was worse than it looked.)

Really, cayenne and immediate ten minutes of pressure make a difference. Good night's sleep, too. Down to steri-strip, and elaborate non-bumping rituals.

We both woke up too early, and attempts to go back to bed for more sleep didn't quite work. Moby had already taken his late morning spot on the bed, where D's feet would be. So we just gave up, and watched him, and the tv. Catching up on The Daily Show, and a couple of Animal Cops episodes.


He really is a wonderful cat. I love that he is SO black, aside from a few white strands, the small bare spot on his back- where the fur is growing in whitish, and the brownish undercoat, only visible on his belly, in strong light, when he's stretched out on his back. He doesn't bite or scratch, gives plenty of signals when he's not in the mood to be bothered, his affectionate trust has to be earned, but he is also very tolerant. He's not over friendly, but is politely sociable. Very much the strong, silent type. He has taken to rubbing his face against my big toe while I put on my socks in the morning, when I got ahead of him once, he ran over, and looked rather disappointed, until I put my foot back up for his benediction.

D says he is a cat with gravitas. Even when extended full length on his back, top of his head on the blanket, one eye open, paws crossed, watching us.

He also seems to like finding dark colored cloth. If we can't find him immediately, if not in his Fortress of Solitude, he is likely on the sofa on a black wool skirt, or the navy polartec blanket. After years of photographing him, lighter color cats are almost too easy. Nothing is exactly easy about Moby, but he is utterly worth the time it took to get to know him and earn his respect.

But then, I've always preferred people who don't just give away their regard too readily. I like the cranky and the demanding, if they also want to be pleased - just a little underneath. The ones who trust that they are worth some effort to get to know. I distrust surface beauty and facile charm, along with gushing friendliness, always strikes me as pushy salesmanship, to hide a second rate product. Real stuff doesn't care if you want it, best to wait for someone who can appreciate it.

Going out for art and brunch. We've needed a date, and with rain, and more breathable air, today is the day. That and I'm not doing much cleaning up at the moment. Too much screaming when I inevitably hit the damnthumb.

Scrape

Ok, so it is Friday. All went well, in that no one is hurt, everyone is alive, and everything turned out very well. But one patient's IV failed in the middle of surgery. Not as bad as it sounds, the surgical area had an anesthetic block. He seemed to just rouse and try to pull out his airway, and was given gasses to get him back under until a new IV could be placed. The resident anesthesiologist did as well, and did exactly what, a full attending anesthesiologist would have done, and rather more calmly than some I have witnessed. Our staff were in the room helping well within a minute.

A little while later, I realized I'd sustained a few good scrapes that bled a bit. I applied a dressing, and continued. Hurt a bit, rubbing on the desk surface, despite the occlusive film.

Got home, we decided to use the old bread to make stuffing, and I took to cutting it up. More blood ensued. Looks worse than it is, held pressure a good ten minutes, soaked the offending digit in cayenne paste, then bandaged the hell out of it so it wouldn't hurt, and not start bleeding due to being knocked about. Enjoying giving D the "thumbs up!" Which amuses.

Think I'll go lie in bed and read the Fortean Times that came in the mail today.

Wheel

Nearly twenty years ago, I got a phone call notifying me of my "on alert" status. Not entirely unexpected, but still a shock, that my Army Guard unit would be sent to Gulf War I, including me. The weekend would be anxious busy work, packing and paperwork, dark worry all around. At some point in that confused timeline, a ritual took place, and our CO, a much despised gung-ho captain (talk of 'fragging' him floated immediately), was most ceremoniously replaced by Captain E. Way too smart for the Army, or the local police (we sort of knew he worked undercover at times), not much loved among the upper echelons of the State Guard as a "loose cannon", a man of humor and competence, the kind of good man all agreed they would take a bullet for. Preferably not, of course, but if required... well, yeah. He, and the more phlegmatic, but equally intelligent and competent First Sergeant W, made a team we would stand behind. Not that we expected any part of a war to be any easier, but at least knowing we were not following idiots who would make it harder in petty, vindictive ways, made it all, well, bearable.

It turned out to be a footnote war for us, but we didn't know that then. We were bracing ourselves for Vietnam redux, or Gulf War II as it is now. If you are on the road to hell, not having a drunken moron, or malicious fool at the wheel really does help.

This week, the world seems less ugly than it did last week.

Spots

David C.
I have not been able to leave a comment this week because your comment/word verification thing is not working.


Not a good day for photos. Dogs fractious, and I didn't walk them because I could not breathe that Air Substitute ® anymore. My lungs hurt. So, I got a few of the cats.

Moby has taken to the bed, on top of the blankets, Princess and the Pea like.



Nobody knows the Trouble I seen...



Finally a good one of Jeff. Used to be Jefro, but I learned that we CAN change names. The other volunteer and I did a mass re-Christening today. Stinker is now Alexander, Abby is now Abe, Hellboy is now Peter, among others.


I took a huge amount of fur off this little short hair. At least she isn't named Spot.

Inaugural

Driving home, I listened to the remainder of the Inaugural speech being played on NPR. Tears in my eyes, wondering if any of the people in the cars around me were hearing the same words. No false cheer, no blind denial, hard words, challenging words. Nor were they despairing words, but full of energy and drive. Angry and sad and focused on what can be done. We have everything to fear, and must go on, courage in hand. I'm just glad not to be ashamed of my own country anymore, provisionally.


Moby showed remarkable patience around Plum yesterday, she who is no more than two... and a half (now). Then K and her sons, one infant, the other in his first year of school, stopped by, and Moby allowed himself to be petted, for a while. He would go off when bothered, then return and hang out, watching calmly for the most part. He dealt with the unexpected chaos rather better than D. Possibly better than me, inside.

Going to take more dog photos tomorrow, not just cats. I tried last time, but it proved more difficult than I thought

Settling

Stone the Jack found her cell, second from the end, ground, first, second level, there. What she thought of as third, since she had great respect for the ground. To live up so high, that this would be her home for a long while, perhaps for her life, flustered her slightly. A lifetime on the road, digging down for safety, finding caves, no upper floors in yurts, up on a platform in boggy areas at most. But, she reminded herself again, it was time, to complete her journey, be home. To take life entire, not discarding the unliked, but learning to enjoy all.

She slid back the screen wall door, stepped over the dark wood sill, bumped her worn canvas pack through and onto the floor. The astonishingly clean, gleaming bamboo floor, immaculate even by Abby standards. Leaving the light to wander in from the Pottage, she found the winter screens closed, fumbled to find the latch, and shoved the innermost screen open. A second, cream papery shutter, which opened to a clear, double paned, greenish, glass. Those in turn levered out, booklike, onto a wide look at the valley, from the same direction, as she had seen from the rise on her approach this dawn.

Damp mossy air, chill and to her mind, friendly, entered her room. Low mists were all that remained of the sticky fog of predawn. Light suffused, more than lit, her new landscape. She peered out, more closely at the wind turbine, surrounded, she could now see, by not a circle of harvested crops, but a spiral of half fallowed earth. Green growth still clearly lining the shape and curving in to the center, winter crops, she assumed, after the first frosts.

Little movement, a few dog walkers, well, of course. All the activity will be in the kitchens and barns today, preserving and cooking, smoking, salting, drying, canning, ice housing, every known method of storing food employed against famine.

She shook, banished the fearful memories, of years without summers and scarce wild game, scrounged tubers, and the grace of Fallen Fish the only thread holding her and her fellows from starvation. Hunger on the roads, water tainted with ancient pesticides and metals, radioactive or dead with plastics. She now had a Grace Year, which she would not use up. Fowl to care for, the Abbot mentioned, goats, black sheep, she would hunt and gather, learning the wild in this unfamiliar continent. As a Jack of All, she knew best how to learn new places, new skills. No one would call her a sponger.

She walked around the space, generous room, she thought. A shower and pot room, piped water and a new pot, with a bowl of fresh mulch. A hibachi, convertible electric or charcoal, built in work board, against the inner wall. Niches with power outlets, she pulled her discharged pewter from the pack and plugged in. Out the side door to the storage space, half filled by her neighbor sealed off with a quilt, a shared, cycle powered barrel washer - no signs of water damage, so it probably worked. She considered throwing everything in, stripping to the skin, but realized she didn't have a towel or blanket, and minded being damp much more than grime.

She felt a pull on her jacket at the hip, looked down at the staring, glowing eyes of the cat she'd brought in, reaching up to her. The Inner door still open, a habit she would have to correct. Hinge the Dogger must've cleared the creature and let it go. Or, she corrected herself, not. Flthy and matted still, fur covered bones, orange and shedding madly. It let go as she reached down to touch, began circling her calves, purring madly, hardly any weight to it, eyes half closed in feline bliss. Stone huffed, and sat on the floor to stroke the cat, chuckling to herself.

"Maybe I'll just sit here awhile, eh cat? Good practice." The orange cat pushed his face into her hands, and thumped the floor with his front paws. Yeah, sitting is good enough for now. "How about George? You ok with George?" Since this was met with loud purring, the name settled.

Fur

Bouncydog.

Just to show, yes, I do take care of dogs as well. Much harder for me to take photos of, WAaaaaaY too Excited to be still long enough. But I got a couple today, and am figuring out new tricks for this.



Saddog.


Wit. One of the rare well-named animals there.


And this bit of fluff that felt like picking up a bit of rag.


One with a curious ink spot on his nose.

Mud

From the University of Utah webcam at 0700 this morning. And no change in the forecast this week.

Murk

Notice how blurred the mountains are? Yeah, that's haze. Air alert, red. Breathing mud. Walked over for groceries, came back and coughed for a half hour. Nasty shit out there, my dears. They've taken the air away.

And the reason we often don't make the bed. He LIKES it all rumpled. Those glowing eyes...

Solutions

This would have been my morning to sleep in. I woke to loud purring at 0512, D got up, because he was being walked on, and then I got up as well. Somehow, I couldn't go back to sleep. So, breakfast and tea and no more sleep this morning. Despite the hard, hard week (I'll have about seven hours overtime since last Friday) my back pain is quite tolerable. The acupuncture and massage pillow*, after the therapy, seem to have finally made a real difference. Not to say I'm not sore, but it's not debilitating, does not take up every thought, does not constrain every movement. I have long stretches without pain at all.

After dinner, as made by D, last night, we went out to soak in the hot pool. The most lovely part of this apartment building, finally open this week after several months shut for lack of a working heater. Steaming in the cool dark, talking together, floating, we let the week go. The cow-orker who so irritates me, the bad air, the lack or excess of job, the delays on getting tax data, all rinsed away. The solution to pollution is dilution.

Moira & C will be in town soon, coming to see Dave and K's new babby.

Late update, it's for the baby blessing. Other friends of the new 'rents in town as well. Took me until now to realize that people baptize/name/bless babbies. I'm so far away from churches and infants, I completely failed to even have this enter my mind. Feh.




*Got at a steep discount on Christmas Eve.

Felix

This is how I enjoy my day off. I re-certify in CPR in the morning, which takes up the whole morning. Ridiculous, but mandatory, no way around it. So I suck it up, do what I have been trained to do for twenty years while they talk at me like a child. Complicated by the fact that it's done differently in the Operating Room, with anesthesia right there. Still, it Must Be Done. And I got in a good walk, the only way there, train - then a brisk trek. The shuttle routes on campus are hegiras. That overlook on the valley warned me of the awful air we have to breathe. Red alert day here. Happens in winter quite often. Breathing mud would be safer.

Then I go and get furred past recognition. All the cats were sneezing and coughing. Much mucus. Most of them wanted to play when I took them out to the meeting rooms, so I wound up on the floor having the ties on my apron tugged, and throwing little catnip mice for them. I also did a bit of dog wrangling, and soothing.

My favorite old guy cat is still there, still wants me to take him home. Still can't.

Pity

Better. Pity was taken upon me, and I had tea at home by four.

Tomorrow, after proving that I still know how to do CPR after twenty years, lunch with D, then time with the critters. I think I know why it's so restorative. They are so present and enthusiastic. Surgeons are often very present, but are not very openly appreciative. Which is fine by me, honestly. If they are not yelling or throwing things, I'm happy to go about my job. But animal attention is stringless and immediate and distractible. Not to mention warm and furry.

Clock

Clock in at 0645, clock out at 1923. Come home, eat, sleep. Clock in 0645, clock out 1750, come home, eat, stare. Soon to sleep. Another day to come. Then up the next day early to re-do my Basic Life Support skills, that in the old hospital were covered by my Advanced Cardiac Life Support certification, but in this one are not. Then a full day on Friday.

I want to sleep and sleep and sleep.

Welcome

Monday Story.

The abbot cringed, while Stone the Jack watched him closely, the gaunt face in the grey flat light from behind him through the creamy papery walls.

"I've never been abbot before, this is my first week. And you offer me a bribe of a rare tea brick in exchange for, what was it?" Nearly a whine, but not quite. The boney shoulders hunched.

"The cell at the end, on the top," she explained, weighing the heavy cloth wrapped package in her palm, watching his eyes bob with it.

Abbot pursed his thin lips, and examined the hard, serious woman in front of him, from behind the ancient, heavily scrolled desk. Nervously, he nudged his pewter, as though tempted to ignore her completely and read his mail, do some research, play sudoku, anything but deal with her. Then, as though remembering a long forgotten joke, he laughed.

"Ha! Ah, well, this isn't a bribe at all, is it?" He sat back, smoothing the black wool of his new robe over his birdcage chest, grinning at her impassive face. "A test, I've heard of the Program throwing up that assignment." He shouted to his left, out the door, calling in the shorter abbots, who sauntered in, along with a few nosy visitors. "Come in, come in. I accuse this newcomer of offering a bribe to the Annual Abbot in exchange for consideration. An assignment, I believe, please see if this is her task."

Stone nodded, her expression softened a shade, and the abbot sighed. The weekly and lunar abbots chimed in together as they fingered their pewters, yes, just a test. A happy babble of amazement as the two, and their entourage, shuffled out. to spread the gossip. Murmurs of, never heard of this before, oh, I have, really, yeah, my dad told me, and so on.

"Sorry, Copper the Abbot. It really is a tea brick, and I'll be glad to make us some tea." Stone shook her sweating hands. "I'm not very good at this."

"Oh, no, no, quite necessary. I actually felt the temptation, very long time since I've had really good tea, good to know where my weaknesses are, oh yes." He rubbed his face so hard Stone looked away, embarrassed. "Second from the north end, second floor, your neighbor to the end is Lens, a winter night guard, he'll be in from the Spiral sometime this month." He had given in, opened his pewter, and, reading her file, fast eyes wide, he muttered under his breath. "Hinge the Dogger's bio-sister, he helping you?" A glance up, eyebrows raised.

"Hinge is my friend, more. Wants me here for his wedding, figured it's time for me to settle, enough traveling, the place could use a Jack... " She trailed off, lifted her face, feeling guilty, at this bile tasting duty.

Too many explanations, the abbot noted. Biting her lips to stop adding more. He waved his hand to indicate passing pain, "Well, welcome. You have winter on Hinge's food. Ever cared for ducks or geese?"

"And turkey, sure. Brought hot pepper seeds, if there's room in any greenhouses." A lighter tone, bright and helpful, as she stood and pocketed the brick, breathing audibly, busying herself.

"The whole center of the place, anywhere on the walkways, even on the roof if it classes as medicinal. Molasses the Chemical, at the Heap will give you enough soil, Oroboros the Foodie on the ground will show you around the Pottage." Copper the Abbot's voice increasingly took on a brittle tone, his face reddened, until he stopped, and swiveled away his chair with a squeak. Stone left quietly, sliding the door firmly behind her, catching a harsh sob out of the corner of her ear, as she looked over the green of the glass covered Pottage.

The weekly abbot stood a stones throw down the walk. Stone looked at the impossibly young face, gave her a look that beat off comment, and barged past to find the new cell.

Welcome, fishgut welcome. Wrongfooted already, again.

Sleeping

My first good night's sleep in over a week, no incipient migraine to drug, no waking to feeling roasted, no wrenching cramps. A few moments awake around 1AM, but drifted off again. My feet ached when I woke at 0734, so I got up and made tea and cereal and plopped the offending extremities on the foot massager as I ate and read comics. Moby joined me and had his breakfast, and is now happily snoozing - across my side of the bed beside D.

I have decided to follow Pacian's example, and do a fiction day once a week. Not really part of the novel, as such, but short side stories, deep background, ideas that need working out. Set it at 250-500 words, to post on, say, Monday. Starting next week. Since essay length is much more my strength, it may well help. I still hope to learn to plot, but I have to start getting some of this down, and out.

I have had this exchange from The Russia House in my mind all week, and had to look it up for the precise wording.

I am a moral outcast, I trade in defiled theories.

Always nice to meet a writer. What are you turning out these days?

Everything. History, comedy, lies, romances.

Sit

So, I helped Lloyd move the dogs from the kennels to the runs, give biscuits, rotate them back in, repeat. I watched, acted confident, and dog wrangled. Threw a ball for the biggest dog. Got all but one to more or less sit for their treat, and keeping them from jumping on me. I've been watching It's Me or the Dog.

I often think about Boo, my brother's border collie that he left with our parents when he was stationed in England for a year. Boo could be aggressive, dug holes in the yard, jumped up on people, barked constantly. He needed consistent training and regular walks, but I lacked the knowledge to define the problem, then. My brother would have a series of large dogs with the same issues.

So I watch the Problem Dog shows, and I read about positive reinforcement and listen to Calling All Pets, still working at that old knot of wrongness. And I practiced the body blocking, treats, and tried to communicate with animals I'd never met before. Sort of like trotting out my rusty Spanish for my patients. Being a bit surprized that it works.

I've got a pretty good handle on Cat, Moby has given me plenty of practice. One cat apparently speaks a different dialect and attacked my arm without my noticing any clues, but most seem to be forgiving of my accent.

Trying out Dog is more like my minimal Japanese.

Long ago, taking naginata classes, I tried to learn more than the words for the numbers. What I remember is how to say, "I don't speak Japanese." Tried that on a native Japanese speaker, an anesthesiologist at MGH, who burst out laughing. Because, apparently my accent is good enough that it comes across as a pretty good joke. Which was the intention.


One huge black dog was barking in the kennel, an anxious bark. I leaned against the grating, talked him down, and he leaned against me, until he relaxed and dozed as I scritched his face with my fingers. A few moments of peace for both of us, as I assured both of us that, yes, life is hard all over, but we are here now, it's fine just now.

I'm not volunteering to be a Good Person. More like working through old lessons.

Mayo

Mayo is a big ole creampuff with a PhD.

Thousand

1001 Posts.

I'm not sure what to do about this. I so intended to do a special 1K post, but missed it.

Change direction? Continue with this forum as daily writing practice until I can get novelizing? Maybe write fiction fragments, as further practice?

Actually, I like that last one. Desensitize me to the strain of making stuff up. I've gotten too much into the mindset of charting and incident reports, dry and depersonalized, unemotional, opinionless. I may need to tell tales, lie for the sake of the story. Maybe some, say 250 word, stories.

Practice, well, that was what this blog was all about. I can wrangle a sentence out of my head, my typing is so much better, maybe time to learn to plot a little.

Snow. I'd like it completely if I didn't have to drive in it.

Grabbed

My supervisor grabbed on with both hands at the suggestion of saving the papery wrappers from the sterile sets for Humane Society clean up cloths. Many of us salvage them for home already, but there are more than can be readily used. This is the woman who, before recycling was done officially, used to take bags of plastic and paper in her own car to a center. Just pile them up in the back of the car, and haul them in. She also suggested they could use the heavy wrappers for the floors of cages, and told me to just take all the (now un) sterile gloves that have piled up, and the coban wrap, too. Her energy levels and enthusiasm and overdriven worth ethic scare me a little. I who love sleep and slack and consider myself a follower of Enlightened Laziness.

Many years ago, I threw pots on a wheel. I thought about it all the time, dreamed the clay in my hands, would stop over to the pottery for an hour to throw or trim. Today, I thought about the cats that way, wanting to go in and photograph and comb them, could feel their fur in my hands. Or like in the OB GYN rotation of nursing school, holding the newborn babies, I could do all the injections and washing and wrapping with a delighted competence. Though all the other women teased me that I was getting "baby hungry" and would soon want one of my own, I knew better. I would never make my living as a potter, Moby is our only cat, and children belong with other people, but I love the limited aspect of the work.

I have a relationship with Moby, trust built up over years, we understand each other. A process I am in no hurry to start again, and if Moby lives well into his 20s, we would both be overjoyed. I knew from the first kiss I would never kiss any man again after D. Just knew. Hugs, yes. Kisses, no. Far from limiting my ability to love, it expands it. Lovefull at home, I can send out generous tendrils, fruits and flowers. (Yes, I know, but I don't express human sex in flowers.)


The novel is still in my daily thoughts. I so want to write it, but the story resists, whispering hotly in my ear, holding my collar, not letting me away to record it yet.

State

I am the sort of person who

Never comes late for anything.
Never lies for personal gain or even protection.
Never wears makeup.
Never mocks anyone to their face.


I have, however,

Left early.
Lied to avoid conflict.
Pretended illness.
Torn pretentious people to shreds in private.


I would prefer

To be just on time and enjoy staying to the end.
To never lie at all, and once in a while blurt out embarrassing truths - but people just laugh.
To be healthy and comfortable in whatever I'm in.
To be easy going and thick skinned and tough minded.

Guy

Made it to the Humane Society, spent all my time in the cat room. This little wise guy had the loudest, weirdest purr, and just loved being held. If not for Moby, this one would be on my lap right now. But, Mobi-san got here first, and, well, I love him best of all anyway. Moby's also a very quiet cat, which we appreciate. Old Guy here tended to vocalize, very interesting sounds, but not quiet.

Next time, I'll brave the dogs. I'm just not as accustomed to them, so I got a case of shyness about taking them out. I'll snag another volunteer the next visit to show me the ropes, or the leashes rather.

Baubles

Music from Malaga Mora (Arabesa) - Los Alhama


I stopped him before he ate whatever he seemed to want to swallow.