Mar 11:50 am MDT 62˚F 27% humidity W 14G36
Mar 1:55 pm MDT 42 39˚F 89% humidity NNW 23G31 RA BR 0.06
What a difference a front makes. The rain pelted down, lightening, thunder, the whole deal. With snow mixed in. Not that it will stick, but it looks dramatic.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Looming
Waiting. Both feeling the ache of change in our joints. Excursion to the park for a bit of change, the wind bitterly sharp. Not more than a bit of spitting rain so far. Looming, not expressing.
D's knee very achy, so he got out a brace. We have a number of them.
"Amazing how much better that feels," he tells me.
"Sometimes, a knee just needs a hug. It's freaking out, and a warm embrace makes everything better. 'There, there, knee, I'll just hold you a while.' Knee says 'Oh, yes, I can make it now, thanks.'" I make him laugh. This is my porpoise in life.
Found beach towels on sale. I often look for them, since I consider them the only proper size for a bath towel. Shower towel. Not to mention they are often more colorful. Possibly more durable. Large and fluffy. These have turtles. Not just along the border, but in the pattern of the terrycloth. And they are purple. How could I pass them up?
The Turtle Moves.
The swollen bit is less swollen, and more bruised looking. So, yeah, the usual. Nothing to worry about. The thigh bruise is pretty dramatic, about what I expected.
Listening to the wind, waiting for the rain.
D's knee very achy, so he got out a brace. We have a number of them.
"Amazing how much better that feels," he tells me.
"Sometimes, a knee just needs a hug. It's freaking out, and a warm embrace makes everything better. 'There, there, knee, I'll just hold you a while.' Knee says 'Oh, yes, I can make it now, thanks.'" I make him laugh. This is my porpoise in life.
Found beach towels on sale. I often look for them, since I consider them the only proper size for a bath towel. Shower towel. Not to mention they are often more colorful. Possibly more durable. Large and fluffy. These have turtles. Not just along the border, but in the pattern of the terrycloth. And they are purple. How could I pass them up?
The Turtle Moves.
The swollen bit is less swollen, and more bruised looking. So, yeah, the usual. Nothing to worry about. The thigh bruise is pretty dramatic, about what I expected.
Listening to the wind, waiting for the rain.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Bruises
Seems to be some event over at the transition home across the street. Knew it was getting close to opening. Maybe this week. D looked over, and says, "Ah, they are having a prayer. Honestly, I'd have been surprized if they hadn't."
In this state, that is a safe assumption. There is a pose that comes with volunteer clergy surrounded by adults of varying devotion having to listen to a rambling, amateur oration. A sort of resigned attitude, head downward, hands clasped at groin level or arms tightly crossed. Unlike Catholics who interlace fingers, held near the waist, and stare at them, mumbling the set prayer at speed until it's over, like swallowing bitter medicine, followed by a terse amen.
Hopefully, we will see residents there soon.
Fell at work yesterday, sore and a bit bruised, no need for a trip to the ER. All alone, and not entirely sure what I hit, but I wound up in a rather ridiculous position, with a large bruise on one thigh, and the other calf in a spasm. Caught my breath, shook myself off, and brought the item I'd been there to get, to the OR where it was needed.
When I got home, I went to ice the bruise, only to find the other knee had a swollen spot. Not really painful, but tight and unhappy. Iced that as well. When it looked worse in the morning, I fired off an email to the manager, since accidents have to be reported within 24 hours for workman's comp. Today, I'm feeling that all over sore one gets falling hard on a hard floor. Not that I really think I'll need treatment, but one never knows.
My head keeps suggesting going out and digging. Every other cell in my body is vetoing the idea. A grey and looming sort of day, although the rain unlikely until tomorrow.
In this state, that is a safe assumption. There is a pose that comes with volunteer clergy surrounded by adults of varying devotion having to listen to a rambling, amateur oration. A sort of resigned attitude, head downward, hands clasped at groin level or arms tightly crossed. Unlike Catholics who interlace fingers, held near the waist, and stare at them, mumbling the set prayer at speed until it's over, like swallowing bitter medicine, followed by a terse amen.
Hopefully, we will see residents there soon.
Fell at work yesterday, sore and a bit bruised, no need for a trip to the ER. All alone, and not entirely sure what I hit, but I wound up in a rather ridiculous position, with a large bruise on one thigh, and the other calf in a spasm. Caught my breath, shook myself off, and brought the item I'd been there to get, to the OR where it was needed.
When I got home, I went to ice the bruise, only to find the other knee had a swollen spot. Not really painful, but tight and unhappy. Iced that as well. When it looked worse in the morning, I fired off an email to the manager, since accidents have to be reported within 24 hours for workman's comp. Today, I'm feeling that all over sore one gets falling hard on a hard floor. Not that I really think I'll need treatment, but one never knows.
My head keeps suggesting going out and digging. Every other cell in my body is vetoing the idea. A grey and looming sort of day, although the rain unlikely until tomorrow.
Cymbals
Thinking about censers for some reason yesterday, but the context is lost. And wondering about the word for the sprinkler that looks like a microphone at church. May have had Easter in mind. All those days in church during lent.
Happened across it this morning, aspergillum. Thinking of it as a holy sprinkler is perfectly appropriate.
And the censer, as I heard it, more properly thurible wafted the most wonderful incense, clinking as it swung on the chain. Both rituals appealed to me as a child. Wordless, both moved me.
Water and smoke, added to the ashes on the beginning Wednesday. I wonder they never threw dirt at us. Or, made a mud puddle, had to dip our feet or hands in.
Count up thy symbols, divide them as ye may.
Happened across it this morning, aspergillum. Thinking of it as a holy sprinkler is perfectly appropriate.
And the censer, as I heard it, more properly thurible wafted the most wonderful incense, clinking as it swung on the chain. Both rituals appealed to me as a child. Wordless, both moved me.
Water and smoke, added to the ashes on the beginning Wednesday. I wonder they never threw dirt at us. Or, made a mud puddle, had to dip our feet or hands in.
Count up thy symbols, divide them as ye may.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Pollen
Tree pollen count for 03/25/14:
Very High
Most active tree pollen types:
Cottonwood
Willow
Don't I know it. We are both irritated, dopey, bothered. Winds pushing ahead of a wet front, bringing more pollen down upon our swollen heads. Bless the neti pot. One of you recommended this, but I can't remember who suggested it. Great help to me, relieves a lot of pressure, and I believe it has prevented a number of migraines.
And I occasionally take home a mis-opened, or slightly expired bottle of NS, normal saline, that is no longer usable as irrigation on a sterile field in surgery, but still perfectly adequate for using up my nose. (Through my nose, really.) It's not a good idea to just use tap water with salt. Hard to get the solution right, as well.
So, whomever told me about this, years and years ago, if you still stop by now and then, thanks again.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Blogistan
Teju Cole was one of the first great bloggers on my horizon, long ago. NPR reviews his recently released novella. Sadly, he is not interviewed.
His first blog, he deleted, completely, and disappeared. Another one came later. Then a novel. A wonderful writer, provocative and insightful, a strange sort of presence at the edges of my life. I sense being brushed past by a great and difficult presence, a flea on an elephant, left staring up, feeling confused and humbled.
D met one of our neighbors-to-be yesterday. She worried that the plumber's truck would be in my way when I got home. (Since I was scrubbed in all day, I could not communicate that I would be there all day, at least.) He reassured her, we would deal with whatever we needed. Anyway, plumber was gone by the time I got home. I thought I saw her leaving, very distinctive looking woman.
Rather miserable Monday. Symptoms and reasons matter not, really. Sometimes, work sucks, and there is nothing to be done about it D got a show about the Coast Guard out of Cape Disappointment, which put difficult days in perspective. We visited Astoria, OR, a few years back, went to the Maritime Museum there. Which convinced us that the Coast Guard were the real badasses of the US military, and they save people. Great museum, if you are ever in that part of the world.
Thoughts butterflying about, body wanting only to idle, not a good combination for getting anything done. Moby taking a bath beside me.
His first blog, he deleted, completely, and disappeared. Another one came later. Then a novel. A wonderful writer, provocative and insightful, a strange sort of presence at the edges of my life. I sense being brushed past by a great and difficult presence, a flea on an elephant, left staring up, feeling confused and humbled.
D met one of our neighbors-to-be yesterday. She worried that the plumber's truck would be in my way when I got home. (Since I was scrubbed in all day, I could not communicate that I would be there all day, at least.) He reassured her, we would deal with whatever we needed. Anyway, plumber was gone by the time I got home. I thought I saw her leaving, very distinctive looking woman.
Rather miserable Monday. Symptoms and reasons matter not, really. Sometimes, work sucks, and there is nothing to be done about it D got a show about the Coast Guard out of Cape Disappointment, which put difficult days in perspective. We visited Astoria, OR, a few years back, went to the Maritime Museum there. Which convinced us that the Coast Guard were the real badasses of the US military, and they save people. Great museum, if you are ever in that part of the world.
Thoughts butterflying about, body wanting only to idle, not a good combination for getting anything done. Moby taking a bath beside me.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Seen
Reading this, I thought of this, and am bothered by this. (Even as I always watch the images at this site.)
Women do not think about being looked at, not as some men seem to see it - as a manipulative act. It may become that, for some, who feel most observed. But most of us are busy with our own lives. And I resent that my young womanhood was seen as an affront, a display, a provocation. Relieved that my older humanity is less visible.
I was busy, dammit. I didn't give a shit what random men thought about me, or how their pants reacted.
I may have felt criticized and observed. I was told often enough by creepy old guys, "Gimme a smile! C'mon, it's not that bad!" Fuck 'em. But I did not consider my appearance, which I could not assess, from the point of view of a nasty ogling idiot. If I used it against them, which I was not savvy enough to do, it was unintentional, and unaware.
If anything, I was ugly, ill fitting and strange. But I had bigger worries. I had my own life, and didn't care enough about the kind of men who only looked at me to do anything about them at all.
Demons, they have female demons, all around them. And mistake actual female human beings for them. The actual women have nothing to do with this internal, and somewhat psychotic, dialogue.
Women do not think about being looked at, not as some men seem to see it - as a manipulative act. It may become that, for some, who feel most observed. But most of us are busy with our own lives. And I resent that my young womanhood was seen as an affront, a display, a provocation. Relieved that my older humanity is less visible.
I was busy, dammit. I didn't give a shit what random men thought about me, or how their pants reacted.
I may have felt criticized and observed. I was told often enough by creepy old guys, "Gimme a smile! C'mon, it's not that bad!" Fuck 'em. But I did not consider my appearance, which I could not assess, from the point of view of a nasty ogling idiot. If I used it against them, which I was not savvy enough to do, it was unintentional, and unaware.
If anything, I was ugly, ill fitting and strange. But I had bigger worries. I had my own life, and didn't care enough about the kind of men who only looked at me to do anything about them at all.
Demons, they have female demons, all around them. And mistake actual female human beings for them. The actual women have nothing to do with this internal, and somewhat psychotic, dialogue.
Dear
Long ago, a church Easter party, and a guess the number of jelly beans game. There was a short run off with some older girls. I was perhaps 5 or 6. And I won, a soft brown bunny, very realistic and soft.
Wound up sitting out on the church steps waiting for mom to pick me up, when the bigger girls came up to me. "You didn't deserve to win, that is ours." And they took it. I was distraught, but what could I have done?
"You shouldn't have been sitting out there!" my mother says. Brothers think I should have held on to it tighter. None of which made me feel any better. Word got around, and I heard I would get my bunny. I figured they'd taken it back from the bullies. Instead one of the elderly men of the church gave me a bright yellow, very fake looking stuffed bunny. I knew enough to express gratitude, and hide my disappointment. But it really wasn't the same, nor the point.
Thinking of this, looking through the Easter stuffed soft toys, lots of sheep and silly ducks, and a few rabbits of more or less real looking colors. And I felt a voice in my head tell me, I had my soft brown gift. She certainly hops like a bunny.
If you watch carefully and creatively, life does give back what it takes away, if you stay open and grateful. Sometimes with decades of interest.
I've been finding myself calling Eleanor various endearments. This is odd, for me. I've never been called them, not much even as a child, never from D. Rarely have I even used "dear" un-ironically, or as an address to begin a letter. Yet I keep catching myself calling Eleanor Sweetie, honey, even cutie-pie. I'm not sure what this means, only that Eleanor doesn't care one way or the other. Probably a benign harbinger of oldladyhood.
Wound up sitting out on the church steps waiting for mom to pick me up, when the bigger girls came up to me. "You didn't deserve to win, that is ours." And they took it. I was distraught, but what could I have done?
"You shouldn't have been sitting out there!" my mother says. Brothers think I should have held on to it tighter. None of which made me feel any better. Word got around, and I heard I would get my bunny. I figured they'd taken it back from the bullies. Instead one of the elderly men of the church gave me a bright yellow, very fake looking stuffed bunny. I knew enough to express gratitude, and hide my disappointment. But it really wasn't the same, nor the point.
Thinking of this, looking through the Easter stuffed soft toys, lots of sheep and silly ducks, and a few rabbits of more or less real looking colors. And I felt a voice in my head tell me, I had my soft brown gift. She certainly hops like a bunny.
If you watch carefully and creatively, life does give back what it takes away, if you stay open and grateful. Sometimes with decades of interest.
I've been finding myself calling Eleanor various endearments. This is odd, for me. I've never been called them, not much even as a child, never from D. Rarely have I even used "dear" un-ironically, or as an address to begin a letter. Yet I keep catching myself calling Eleanor Sweetie, honey, even cutie-pie. I'm not sure what this means, only that Eleanor doesn't care one way or the other. Probably a benign harbinger of oldladyhood.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Sunny
I opened the blinds, exposing a sunny spot. Moby interested, but the floor was too hard. He tried to fit on the bit of carpet. I threw down my robe.
"Hmmm, this might be acceptable."
Apparently, it is.
The photobooth camera on new laptop is so much better. The whole dealie-bob is about half the weight. And it doesn't get hot. A few sensitivities I'm getting used to, but nothing that a little muscle re-training won't accept as second nature in a week or so. Rather like the progressive lenses in my glasses.
I feel much less blurry.
We went to look for a landscape rock, came away empty, but with better ideas of what might be possible. Some nice volcanic rock, probably, a good chunk. Getting it home in the car, we need to keep weight in mind. Not to mention how we are going to move the thing. The more fragile ones will work better for us.
Got more black mulch for where I pulled up broken PVC pipe from the crapped out sprinkler system, and the weeds loved to grow last year. Dug a bit, laid down one bag. Hoping all this will mean the north section will actually grow something aside from weeds and ivy this year, so long as I can keep the snails and slugs well caffeinated. We shall see. I want to rake up all the grass mulch, but the freezing nights are not over, and I'm not ready to plant for spring yet. Another 90 days. Maybe a little less, given this year, but it gets risky.
Velcro-tied up the plastic undercarriage thingy at the front of the car. This is a constant, must be done once in a while. Horrible sound when it scrapes the road, even though probably not important. As long as I can keep it on there, I'm not going to worry about a bit of wear. Looks much the same over the years.
Took both cats outside. Moby first, then again, last. Eleanor once in between, and out back. She took it better, doesn't seem to mind the harness unduly. Still very hesitant, but clearly enjoying rolling on the sidewalk and sitting by the compost. I don't ask why, it's a cat thing, I wouldn't understand.
Eleanor came over, nestled in beside Moby. He sniffed at her, she bopped him, we broke it all up. She's on the robe now, he's on his stool at my feet. Cats. Who can figger 'em?
"Hmmm, this might be acceptable."
Apparently, it is.
The photobooth camera on new laptop is so much better. The whole dealie-bob is about half the weight. And it doesn't get hot. A few sensitivities I'm getting used to, but nothing that a little muscle re-training won't accept as second nature in a week or so. Rather like the progressive lenses in my glasses.
I feel much less blurry.
We went to look for a landscape rock, came away empty, but with better ideas of what might be possible. Some nice volcanic rock, probably, a good chunk. Getting it home in the car, we need to keep weight in mind. Not to mention how we are going to move the thing. The more fragile ones will work better for us.
Got more black mulch for where I pulled up broken PVC pipe from the crapped out sprinkler system, and the weeds loved to grow last year. Dug a bit, laid down one bag. Hoping all this will mean the north section will actually grow something aside from weeds and ivy this year, so long as I can keep the snails and slugs well caffeinated. We shall see. I want to rake up all the grass mulch, but the freezing nights are not over, and I'm not ready to plant for spring yet. Another 90 days. Maybe a little less, given this year, but it gets risky.
Velcro-tied up the plastic undercarriage thingy at the front of the car. This is a constant, must be done once in a while. Horrible sound when it scrapes the road, even though probably not important. As long as I can keep it on there, I'm not going to worry about a bit of wear. Looks much the same over the years.
Took both cats outside. Moby first, then again, last. Eleanor once in between, and out back. She took it better, doesn't seem to mind the harness unduly. Still very hesitant, but clearly enjoying rolling on the sidewalk and sitting by the compost. I don't ask why, it's a cat thing, I wouldn't understand.
Eleanor came over, nestled in beside Moby. He sniffed at her, she bopped him, we broke it all up. She's on the robe now, he's on his stool at my feet. Cats. Who can figger 'em?
1. What is your story about?
The importance of keeping knowledge alive, available, and using it in a way that pervades everything. Being smart. As the world around throws curves.
2. What is your story about, though?
Striving to be smart, but knowing the chaos holds the dice.
3. What is the title of your story?
Cassandra's Fish.
4. How does your story begin?
With a suicide massacre.
5. How does your story end?
With a wedding.
6. How many narrative reversals or twists does your story have?
Um.
7. What is/are the point[s] of view of your story?
That we need fewer humans, but all trying to be intelligent.
8. Is your POV reliable? Is there in essence another POV between the lines that subtextually watches and comments your POV?
Reliable, yes. Honest, but with skews.
9. Is the fundamental outlook of your story positive or negative?
Positive.
10. How many people exist in your story, total?
Some.
11. How many of these characters are central to the story?
Um.
12. What attitude is the reader meant to have towards the central characters?
Um.
13. Does the POV of your story reflect your own gender, race, class, and outlook?
Yes.
14. Was your story structured around a particular moment or idea?
Jamestown to start with, Fortean phenomenon, the internet as redemption after the apocalypse. What happens after the world ends for most humans, what should be saved. Resonances with hidden libraries.
15. Does your story still resemble your initial conception of it?
It's gotten lost.
16. What proportion of the space in your story do you devote to dialogue, action, and internal thought?
Um. Need lots more dialogue.
19. Does your story utilize the readers’ expectations about a particular genre or trope?
Post apocalyptic eden. With talking snakes.
20. Is the takeaway of the story explicitly voiced in any particular scene?
Not yet.
21. How do you use paragraphs in your story and what is the function of your paragraph breaks?
Um.
22. How do you use different types of sentences in your story?
23. If you had to double the length of your story, what would you change?
24. If you had to halve the length of your story, what would you change?
25. Are any parts of your story intended to be suspenseful, romantic, titillating, or repulsive?
26. Do you use repetition in your story and if so how so?
27. What is the timeline of your story and how much space is devoted to which increments of time?
28. What other works have influenced this story and how does it differ from those influences?
29. What events from your own life have influenced this story and how does it differ from your life?
30. How much space do you devote to physical detail in this story?
31. How many distinct scenes are in this story and what is the function of the scene breaks?
32. Does your story have metaphorical or symbolic elements?
33. If yes, would a reader who doesn’t “get” these elements still “get” the story?
34. Is there anyone in your life that you wouldn’t want to read this story, knowing that you wrote it?
35. Is there anyone in your life that you particularly want to read this story, knowing that you wrote it?
36. If you haven’t finished this story, when do you intend to finish it?
37. If you’ve finished a draft of this story, how do you intend to go about revising it?
38. If you’ve been revising this story, when will you know when it’s “done”?
39. Is this better than the last story you wrote?
40. How can you make the next story better than this one?
The importance of keeping knowledge alive, available, and using it in a way that pervades everything. Being smart. As the world around throws curves.
2. What is your story about, though?
Striving to be smart, but knowing the chaos holds the dice.
3. What is the title of your story?
Cassandra's Fish.
4. How does your story begin?
With a suicide massacre.
5. How does your story end?
With a wedding.
6. How many narrative reversals or twists does your story have?
Um.
7. What is/are the point[s] of view of your story?
That we need fewer humans, but all trying to be intelligent.
8. Is your POV reliable? Is there in essence another POV between the lines that subtextually watches and comments your POV?
Reliable, yes. Honest, but with skews.
9. Is the fundamental outlook of your story positive or negative?
Positive.
10. How many people exist in your story, total?
Some.
11. How many of these characters are central to the story?
Um.
12. What attitude is the reader meant to have towards the central characters?
Um.
13. Does the POV of your story reflect your own gender, race, class, and outlook?
Yes.
14. Was your story structured around a particular moment or idea?
Jamestown to start with, Fortean phenomenon, the internet as redemption after the apocalypse. What happens after the world ends for most humans, what should be saved. Resonances with hidden libraries.
15. Does your story still resemble your initial conception of it?
It's gotten lost.
16. What proportion of the space in your story do you devote to dialogue, action, and internal thought?
Um. Need lots more dialogue.
19. Does your story utilize the readers’ expectations about a particular genre or trope?
Post apocalyptic eden. With talking snakes.
20. Is the takeaway of the story explicitly voiced in any particular scene?
Not yet.
21. How do you use paragraphs in your story and what is the function of your paragraph breaks?
Um.
22. How do you use different types of sentences in your story?
23. If you had to double the length of your story, what would you change?
24. If you had to halve the length of your story, what would you change?
25. Are any parts of your story intended to be suspenseful, romantic, titillating, or repulsive?
26. Do you use repetition in your story and if so how so?
27. What is the timeline of your story and how much space is devoted to which increments of time?
28. What other works have influenced this story and how does it differ from those influences?
29. What events from your own life have influenced this story and how does it differ from your life?
30. How much space do you devote to physical detail in this story?
31. How many distinct scenes are in this story and what is the function of the scene breaks?
32. Does your story have metaphorical or symbolic elements?
33. If yes, would a reader who doesn’t “get” these elements still “get” the story?
34. Is there anyone in your life that you wouldn’t want to read this story, knowing that you wrote it?
35. Is there anyone in your life that you particularly want to read this story, knowing that you wrote it?
36. If you haven’t finished this story, when do you intend to finish it?
37. If you’ve finished a draft of this story, how do you intend to go about revising it?
38. If you’ve been revising this story, when will you know when it’s “done”?
39. Is this better than the last story you wrote?
40. How can you make the next story better than this one?
Friday, March 21, 2014
Air
We have a new laptop. Old one getting glitchy, and my IT* guy recommended, at my behest, to assuage my guilt. But it does feel so much more stable. Very shiny. It glows.
Rough week, spring notwithstanding. I was able to note the proper time, 1057 on Thursday, at work. Late most days, difficult assignments every day. Forgot my lunch at home Thursday, and wound up eating too many pretzels, washed down with "orange juice" - all I felt safe getting from the dodgy cafeteria. D cooked dinner, to my eternal gratitude. And I got off early-ish today. But my head hurts and my thumb throbs.
Still, heard some excellent news. The bullying supervisor is looking at retiring in a few years, and the eager replacement is a kind and reliable woman who knows the OR. Having a non-OR nurse, who is also a bit useless, and very gossipy and unjust as well, has been a trial to all of us. Although she does dress very well. I suspect her recent marriage means she doesn't need to work, since she's not really retirement age. I'm sure she gets consistently poor reviews from us, absolutely from me and certainly from a few others. I've had dreams of her being taken away in handcuffs for embezzlement, although I don't think she's got the skills, honestly. She couldn't even help me fill in the forms in the ER when I had my split lip. Took a lot of badgering to get her to file the necessary workman's comp forms she promised she'd get in asap. Simple stuff, fail.
Still, managers, mostly a seedy bunch.
Reading 'Raising Steam,' the latest, possibly the last, Terry Pratchett novel. Very picaresque. Which is fine. Enjoying it, as I did not Snuff (not as a whole, at least.) Very -not- a meticulously constructed Pratchett plot, but a stream of consciousness shaggy dog story. And as such, as an old reader - like an old friend, I listen with an open ear, ready to laugh, eager for the next turn, without expecting more than a little more wit, another story, half told.
My cousin Elizabeth deals with her new life with her beloved going through dementia. Dear Ed I have loved from the moment I met him, and would still hug him firmly without reserve. Brave and loving people, smart about getting assistance, seeing it as part of the journey. My mother could barely bring herself to tell me about Elizabeth's divorce from her first husband, so when she married Ed, there was deafening silence. I met him at my Uncle Walt's funeral, and fell in deep and abiding love. Met him again 20 years later, and he greeted me as a long lost child, and I him as a long lost uncle. And Elizabeth looked just the same, as cousins often do. D had no idea about cousins, until them. But he felt the welcome just as surely, and we both are enriched by cousins, if not any family closer than that.
*D is be-catted. One on him, the other beside him. Eleanor on me a lot last night, at one point on my side, tried to put a paw on my head, but her paw slipped off my hair so she pulled back. I'm beside him. Headache beginning to fade. Off to get stuff for the garden tomorrow. A large rock, and wood chips. Keep the weeds down, this year.
Rough week, spring notwithstanding. I was able to note the proper time, 1057 on Thursday, at work. Late most days, difficult assignments every day. Forgot my lunch at home Thursday, and wound up eating too many pretzels, washed down with "orange juice" - all I felt safe getting from the dodgy cafeteria. D cooked dinner, to my eternal gratitude. And I got off early-ish today. But my head hurts and my thumb throbs.
Still, heard some excellent news. The bullying supervisor is looking at retiring in a few years, and the eager replacement is a kind and reliable woman who knows the OR. Having a non-OR nurse, who is also a bit useless, and very gossipy and unjust as well, has been a trial to all of us. Although she does dress very well. I suspect her recent marriage means she doesn't need to work, since she's not really retirement age. I'm sure she gets consistently poor reviews from us, absolutely from me and certainly from a few others. I've had dreams of her being taken away in handcuffs for embezzlement, although I don't think she's got the skills, honestly. She couldn't even help me fill in the forms in the ER when I had my split lip. Took a lot of badgering to get her to file the necessary workman's comp forms she promised she'd get in asap. Simple stuff, fail.
Still, managers, mostly a seedy bunch.
Reading 'Raising Steam,' the latest, possibly the last, Terry Pratchett novel. Very picaresque. Which is fine. Enjoying it, as I did not Snuff (not as a whole, at least.) Very -not- a meticulously constructed Pratchett plot, but a stream of consciousness shaggy dog story. And as such, as an old reader - like an old friend, I listen with an open ear, ready to laugh, eager for the next turn, without expecting more than a little more wit, another story, half told.
My cousin Elizabeth deals with her new life with her beloved going through dementia. Dear Ed I have loved from the moment I met him, and would still hug him firmly without reserve. Brave and loving people, smart about getting assistance, seeing it as part of the journey. My mother could barely bring herself to tell me about Elizabeth's divorce from her first husband, so when she married Ed, there was deafening silence. I met him at my Uncle Walt's funeral, and fell in deep and abiding love. Met him again 20 years later, and he greeted me as a long lost child, and I him as a long lost uncle. And Elizabeth looked just the same, as cousins often do. D had no idea about cousins, until them. But he felt the welcome just as surely, and we both are enriched by cousins, if not any family closer than that.
*D is be-catted. One on him, the other beside him. Eleanor on me a lot last night, at one point on my side, tried to put a paw on my head, but her paw slipped off my hair so she pulled back. I'm beside him. Headache beginning to fade. Off to get stuff for the garden tomorrow. A large rock, and wood chips. Keep the weeds down, this year.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Juliet
Juliet is for J.
Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!
Juliet needs to get a life outside a joy-boy! Romeo be damned. Jules, Jewels, July, Julio, June and Jasper.
Joy in January and joshing the johnnies.
Not for the juniors.
Jeepers creepers, jingo jolly jabbering Jimmies.
Joan jingles her jangles and jabs a juniper with Jennifer.
John was busy.
Juliet indeed.
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Papa, Oscar, November, Mike, Lima, Kilo,
Juliet,
Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!
Juliet needs to get a life outside a joy-boy! Romeo be damned. Jules, Jewels, July, Julio, June and Jasper.
Joy in January and joshing the johnnies.
Not for the juniors.
Jeepers creepers, jingo jolly jabbering Jimmies.
Joan jingles her jangles and jabs a juniper with Jennifer.
John was busy.
Juliet indeed.
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Papa, Oscar, November, Mike, Lima, Kilo,
Juliet,
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Guts
Found this gem amid the comment section over at the incomparable Languagehat via Mollymooly.
Hippocrates tanked up on laudanum,
Dropped his patient’s intestines and trod in ‘em.
The chorus was calling
“Woe! Ilium is falling!
And colon, jejunum, duodenum!”
Thankfully, I don't do guts no more. Just bones and tendons, shoulders, knees and toes, hands and fingers, hips. Not that there is anything wrong with abdomens, but I did my share, and I'm done. Well done.
Loads of wind, cold wind. No, not that kind of wind, although I did set it up that way. That kind of 35˚F that feels colder than -10˚F, with wet and wind, breaking (stop it) hard and with a cruel streak. Settled somewhat today, but still threatening more.
Ran across this over at TYWKIWDBI.
And thought about Mike Rowe, and other jobs. I do a hard job, physical and demanding. I have to have the theory in my head, and I'm glad of it. But the real satisfaction is often in coming home genuinely tired from having run all day.
Thought about my mother, who refused to let me ever wear jeans, because "That's what workingmen wore." My father worked in a factory, wore trousers and ironed white shirts to work, changed into coveralls, changed back to come home. Not a smart man, not an educated man, a workingman. And about the pervasive contempt I breathed in every day along with the coal dust from the furnace.
I live in jeans, now. Have for a long time. Not at work, I change into scrubs every morning, change back every evening. Class wars, fighting the last war.
Patient today, my age, a few months younger. I mention this to the anesthesiologist who reacts with shock, which is reassuring to me. But she's had a hard life. Legally blind, concerned to have her glasses asap. I assure her I will get them to her, I take responsibility for them, put an ID sticker and keep them until she emerges, and put them back on her face. She won't remember, but I will.
Hippocrates tanked up on laudanum,
Dropped his patient’s intestines and trod in ‘em.
The chorus was calling
“Woe! Ilium is falling!
And colon, jejunum, duodenum!”
Thankfully, I don't do guts no more. Just bones and tendons, shoulders, knees and toes, hands and fingers, hips. Not that there is anything wrong with abdomens, but I did my share, and I'm done. Well done.
Loads of wind, cold wind. No, not that kind of wind, although I did set it up that way. That kind of 35˚F that feels colder than -10˚F, with wet and wind, breaking (stop it) hard and with a cruel streak. Settled somewhat today, but still threatening more.
Ran across this over at TYWKIWDBI.
And thought about Mike Rowe, and other jobs. I do a hard job, physical and demanding. I have to have the theory in my head, and I'm glad of it. But the real satisfaction is often in coming home genuinely tired from having run all day.
Thought about my mother, who refused to let me ever wear jeans, because "That's what workingmen wore." My father worked in a factory, wore trousers and ironed white shirts to work, changed into coveralls, changed back to come home. Not a smart man, not an educated man, a workingman. And about the pervasive contempt I breathed in every day along with the coal dust from the furnace.
I live in jeans, now. Have for a long time. Not at work, I change into scrubs every morning, change back every evening. Class wars, fighting the last war.
Patient today, my age, a few months younger. I mention this to the anesthesiologist who reacts with shock, which is reassuring to me. But she's had a hard life. Legally blind, concerned to have her glasses asap. I assure her I will get them to her, I take responsibility for them, put an ID sticker and keep them until she emerges, and put them back on her face. She won't remember, but I will.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Virgo
One of those days that ran on, but had long gaps. So, in one of the lapses, I snagged the campus paper, because there is another crossword puzzle in it. As I'm working it, E dithering on the computer in the staff lounge, P comes in.
P: Oh, read mine. I'm Virgo.
Mind, it's St. Patrick's Day, and all the advice is related.
Me: "You could go overboard when celebrating your Irish heritage. Resist your tendency to overindulge."
P: Well, I'm all German, so it doesn't fit. But that is SO my husband!
(pause)
But he's Scottish.
(pause)
And he's in New Orleans.
(and the clincher)
And he's not a Virgo.
E & I whoop, laughing
Friend: That was stupid, wasn't it?
Me: No, that was brilliant! Comedy gold!
P: Oh, read mine. I'm Virgo.
Mind, it's St. Patrick's Day, and all the advice is related.
Me: "You could go overboard when celebrating your Irish heritage. Resist your tendency to overindulge."
P: Well, I'm all German, so it doesn't fit. But that is SO my husband!
(pause)
But he's Scottish.
(pause)
And he's in New Orleans.
(and the clincher)
And he's not a Virgo.
E & I whoop, laughing
Friend: That was stupid, wasn't it?
Me: No, that was brilliant! Comedy gold!
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Diggy
Thing is, the soil is workable these days. Earlier, too wet, too frozen. Later, too much baked clay hard, and unbreakable. Getting out the broken PVC pipes from the cheapass sprinklers installed by the POs.* The weeds grow best near the sprinkler heads, there are three less of 'em. Also a piece of bone, vertebral or sacral, if I am remembering my anatomy properly. Deer, I'm guessing.
This is why I get so diggy (gettin' diggy wid'it†) this time of year, after the last two. This is the best time to pull up the plastic netting, get the old leaves crunched under the clay, everything loosened up, in preparation for whatever plants I can find in May. And may still get a bit of rain before.
Big planting days here are St. Patrick's Day and Mother's Day, approximately. The first for cold weather seeds, beans, pease, self propagating flower seeds, lettuce. The second for the ones planted after last frost, tomatoes, chillies, anything in pots.
The raised bed is a project for the summer, to be used next spring. So much still to do on the main garden areas, that is for eventually.
Moby loving the sun in the music room. Eleanor on the bed. (It is an excellent bed.)
Both cats out, sequentially. Moby all over, had D in the sun nearly an hour. Eleanor, less so. Although when I called "wanna go out?" she came right to me and only mewed a little when I put the harness on her. I sat her on the wood end of the garden, and she flopped off, into the mulch, looking a little surprized. But she shifted, sniffed the soon-to-bloom hyacinth, and settled in for a little bask and aromatherapy. Brought her in without too much trauma. It's going to take a while. Moby wasn't much better the first few times, and he is now very cooperative and clearly communicative. He's always been a very smart creature.
*Po'd, or Previous Owners. Take your pick.
†Don't look, you won't enjoy it. If you already did, I apologize.
This is why I get so diggy (gettin' diggy wid'it†) this time of year, after the last two. This is the best time to pull up the plastic netting, get the old leaves crunched under the clay, everything loosened up, in preparation for whatever plants I can find in May. And may still get a bit of rain before.
Big planting days here are St. Patrick's Day and Mother's Day, approximately. The first for cold weather seeds, beans, pease, self propagating flower seeds, lettuce. The second for the ones planted after last frost, tomatoes, chillies, anything in pots.
The raised bed is a project for the summer, to be used next spring. So much still to do on the main garden areas, that is for eventually.
Moby loving the sun in the music room. Eleanor on the bed. (It is an excellent bed.)
Both cats out, sequentially. Moby all over, had D in the sun nearly an hour. Eleanor, less so. Although when I called "wanna go out?" she came right to me and only mewed a little when I put the harness on her. I sat her on the wood end of the garden, and she flopped off, into the mulch, looking a little surprized. But she shifted, sniffed the soon-to-bloom hyacinth, and settled in for a little bask and aromatherapy. Brought her in without too much trauma. It's going to take a while. Moby wasn't much better the first few times, and he is now very cooperative and clearly communicative. He's always been a very smart creature.
*Po'd, or Previous Owners. Take your pick.
†Don't look, you won't enjoy it. If you already did, I apologize.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Dig
Dug today. Much more than I'd planned, but the more I did, the more I wanted to get under that rock. Lotsa rocks. Sifted and filled and laid down poppies and sunflower seeds, covered the bed with old leaves, once I finally got done. Thinking I'd better put non-snail-food plants on the north. The green onions are happy, so that seems to be the way ahead on that side. Alliums certainly.
At one point, both cats got out. I'd gone in for a moment, and apparently left the door ajar, and felines took advantage. I saw Eleanor trotting back between the houses. Then she scooted under the back porch, not to be coaxed out, even with treats. D got Moby scooped up without fuss. Eventually, she spooked herself back in the front door.
So, I tried the new harness and took her out later. She flattened down. Shuffled. I invited her back inside, but she decided to be brave and scraped down the steps. Bit by bit, into the front garden. Then between the fence and garbage bin, where I held the lead taught. Finally I grew tired of this, and tried to shoo her back in, but she bolted into the hedge. Nearly managing to get her harness off. I grabbed her wherever I could, and hard, pulling her through. Tucked her under my arm and brought her inside.
So, mixed result. D got the harness off, she ran around, licked up the remainder of some catnip, so I gave her more. She seems none the worse for her adventures, even hopped up for a cuddle shortly after.
Arms hurt, still itching to get out and do more. So much fucking plastic netting. But the veronica out front lives. Progress is pretty obvious, which draws me out, and keeps me digging.
Feeling the time change. Air is warm enough, but that wind is straight out of March. It bites, hard.
At one point, both cats got out. I'd gone in for a moment, and apparently left the door ajar, and felines took advantage. I saw Eleanor trotting back between the houses. Then she scooted under the back porch, not to be coaxed out, even with treats. D got Moby scooped up without fuss. Eventually, she spooked herself back in the front door.
So, I tried the new harness and took her out later. She flattened down. Shuffled. I invited her back inside, but she decided to be brave and scraped down the steps. Bit by bit, into the front garden. Then between the fence and garbage bin, where I held the lead taught. Finally I grew tired of this, and tried to shoo her back in, but she bolted into the hedge. Nearly managing to get her harness off. I grabbed her wherever I could, and hard, pulling her through. Tucked her under my arm and brought her inside.
So, mixed result. D got the harness off, she ran around, licked up the remainder of some catnip, so I gave her more. She seems none the worse for her adventures, even hopped up for a cuddle shortly after.
Arms hurt, still itching to get out and do more. So much fucking plastic netting. But the veronica out front lives. Progress is pretty obvious, which draws me out, and keeps me digging.
Feeling the time change. Air is warm enough, but that wind is straight out of March. It bites, hard.
Friday, March 14, 2014
Adequate
Thrown in scrubbing an elbow scope, then a shoulder, and did adequately, indeed, perfectly adequately. Still, not fun. Tired from intense attentiveness for so long, surgeon usually patient was irritable today. Just one surgeon, shared between two rooms. I refer to him as Dr. Slow, and he will not let his resident or fellow do much of anything, position, drape, close nor put on dressings, which even the most clueless first year can usually figure out after being shown once or twice. I think Dr. Slow is a tad compulsive. Or a tad more than most surgeons, for the sake of accuracy.
The two rooms for every surgeon thing work only when the residents and fellows are allowed a bit of latitude, and then it works very well. Save closing/dressing time in one room while the other room is already positioned/prepped and draped, while the surgeon talks with first patient's family, saving maybe 30 minutes per turnover. With four to five turnovers, that adds up in a day. But wasted, that means a scrub and circulator sitting around doing nothing for hours and losing ALL momentum, as the day stretches to infinity.
Wound up for about ten minutes doing the retraction arabesque, which would have more fun at the beginning of the day than the bitter end. Under cranky surgeon's arm, one foot off the ground, balancing (not leaning, never leaning) on the patient.
Ah, old times, when I had to hold a heart, old style heart surgery. Slippery, muscular, and with ice thrown on my snaked in hand, cardiac surgeons' who invented cranky, I avoided the assignment whenever possible. Long ago, rare but memorably unpleasant. Even as I love to know I've held beating human hearts in my hands. Powerful organs, not to be denied.
Wish I could get out and dig, but my arms are sore, and the day is spent.
The two rooms for every surgeon thing work only when the residents and fellows are allowed a bit of latitude, and then it works very well. Save closing/dressing time in one room while the other room is already positioned/prepped and draped, while the surgeon talks with first patient's family, saving maybe 30 minutes per turnover. With four to five turnovers, that adds up in a day. But wasted, that means a scrub and circulator sitting around doing nothing for hours and losing ALL momentum, as the day stretches to infinity.
Wound up for about ten minutes doing the retraction arabesque, which would have more fun at the beginning of the day than the bitter end. Under cranky surgeon's arm, one foot off the ground, balancing (not leaning, never leaning) on the patient.
Ah, old times, when I had to hold a heart, old style heart surgery. Slippery, muscular, and with ice thrown on my snaked in hand, cardiac surgeons' who invented cranky, I avoided the assignment whenever possible. Long ago, rare but memorably unpleasant. Even as I love to know I've held beating human hearts in my hands. Powerful organs, not to be denied.
Wish I could get out and dig, but my arms are sore, and the day is spent.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Third
I find consciousness a fascinating predicament for matter to get into.
- Diane Ackerman.
Got out in the garden after a long morning procrastinating. And I wonder what took me so long. I dug and planted and found lots of worms. Happy worms turning that neglected clay into a happy, loamy place for plants. Mostly, I then put the autumn leaves back over, to keep the wee seeds protected, so it doesn't show. Found a few more bricks, then planted spinach. And lettuce, pease, beans and the leek I got to root.
Got a new compost thingm-a-bob, at huge discount for a little "green" store we would have preferred to just stay afloat. But, since they were clearing away, we were also glad to take an 60% price reduction on the device. Didn't do so well composting last year, although it was the only technique working the first year. The third year, well, that is a mystery still. We shall see.
Plotting my raised bed in front, for flowers mostly, or some other desert flora. Almost wrote fauna, which would have been quite impracticable, save for microbes, which will happen anyway. With previously disregarded boards.
This weekend, more seeds in front. Clearing away the old sunflower stalks. Waiting for the rest until May will drive me mad, but Spring will have her way. Brain still cloudy from the time change. Daylight Savings Time is evil, and must be stopped. Too many people have died for a the idea that you can cut the end off one end of a blanket, sew it on the other end, and you have a longer blanket.
Succulents return, really must bring in more.
- Diane Ackerman.
Got out in the garden after a long morning procrastinating. And I wonder what took me so long. I dug and planted and found lots of worms. Happy worms turning that neglected clay into a happy, loamy place for plants. Mostly, I then put the autumn leaves back over, to keep the wee seeds protected, so it doesn't show. Found a few more bricks, then planted spinach. And lettuce, pease, beans and the leek I got to root.
Got a new compost thingm-a-bob, at huge discount for a little "green" store we would have preferred to just stay afloat. But, since they were clearing away, we were also glad to take an 60% price reduction on the device. Didn't do so well composting last year, although it was the only technique working the first year. The third year, well, that is a mystery still. We shall see.
Plotting my raised bed in front, for flowers mostly, or some other desert flora. Almost wrote fauna, which would have been quite impracticable, save for microbes, which will happen anyway. With previously disregarded boards.
This weekend, more seeds in front. Clearing away the old sunflower stalks. Waiting for the rest until May will drive me mad, but Spring will have her way. Brain still cloudy from the time change. Daylight Savings Time is evil, and must be stopped. Too many people have died for a the idea that you can cut the end off one end of a blanket, sew it on the other end, and you have a longer blanket.
Succulents return, really must bring in more.
Elide
Woke up thinking about not having to answer people, which is often the best choice. One I was not allowed as a child, I had to give an answer to any question put to me, even if I didn't have an answer, even if the question was accusatory and unanswerable.
It's normal for me to ask a surgeon a question, then get no immediate reply, after all, they are busy. Later, maybe five minutes, maybe an hour or more later, I'll get the information. "Yes, a splint. And big C-arm for the next case." I'm very used to this. So often in my life, I've been pressed for an answer, a reply of some sort. Learning to not react, but to think and choose not only what to say, but if I even say anything at all, has been a struggle.
D has also shown me how not to answer, inoffensively. Not intentionally taught, but his instinct is to elide. His way of dealing with his parents' occasional intrusions. Just a few issues (religion, family loyalty) that they press on, isolated, and he cannot be pushed. Took me a while to understand what he was doing, how it worked. No hostility, but a kind and impenetrable silence. A tai-chi distraction, redirection.
Answering is still my reflex. I have to stop myself from talking into the gap, fill it up lest I fall in. Getting better at it, kinder but more definite. Proving patiently that no, I did not have to answer them. I do not now. All the non-responses I needed then, I spend now in a bunch, and my mother gets silence.
So often, people think they have to do … whatever it is, and really, they don't. I remember a very tired cow-orker at the library, decades ago, talking about having to stay up when neighbors came to visit, when she had to make three dozen cupcakes for her daughter's class, and she had to finish the other child's elaborate halloween costume, and oh, how hard it all was, but she HAD to work until 3AM to get it all done. All I could think was, why does anyone have to do any of these things? No one is going to die if you don't. Tell the neighbors you are busy, buy a box of cookies for the kids, simplify the costume, and go to bed.
We box ourselves into Musty Boxes, then wail at our misery. Better to say, If I want this, then I must do this, but I don't HAVE to do any of it at all, or I can make it all easier. I want to do this, because then I get that, works better.
`````````````````````````````````````````
Dreams this morning.
Circulating, surgeon throws a wad of clay at me, lands on my bit of desk. So I drop it down the back of his shirt as I tie up his gown*. Then I'm scrubbed in, and we have to go for supplies into a back stage area. Literally, a theater backstage, with non-OR people carelessly waking around us, as I get exasperated trying to keep the surgeon's gown, and my own, sterile. Multiple attempts to adjust lights, then I realize there is a production of Hamlet going on, and we are visible to the audience. By then, I've had to officially break scrub, irritably, and try not to disturb the performance, while still doing my job.
Then of having to leave, desperately wanting to come home. On the way, the car dash lights go out, and I lose power, although not completely. Winding back roads, getting dark. Worried that we'll need to buy a new car, then more and more worried that I won't even be able to limp home, a long way to go.
Got up, after Eleanor has her cuddle. Moby has a paw on my knee before I can even sit on the chair. He purrgrowls on me for a half hour, until I coax him off to move my legs.
Laptop increasingly unreliable. A swarm of little things, but worsening. D suggesting, as my IT support person, he would prefer I get something newer, easier to support. I balk, I dissemble, but he's right. I lay it in his hands. I buy his shirts, he buys my electronics. I just hope we don't have to replace the car anytime soon.
*Yes, I really would do this.
It's normal for me to ask a surgeon a question, then get no immediate reply, after all, they are busy. Later, maybe five minutes, maybe an hour or more later, I'll get the information. "Yes, a splint. And big C-arm for the next case." I'm very used to this. So often in my life, I've been pressed for an answer, a reply of some sort. Learning to not react, but to think and choose not only what to say, but if I even say anything at all, has been a struggle.
D has also shown me how not to answer, inoffensively. Not intentionally taught, but his instinct is to elide. His way of dealing with his parents' occasional intrusions. Just a few issues (religion, family loyalty) that they press on, isolated, and he cannot be pushed. Took me a while to understand what he was doing, how it worked. No hostility, but a kind and impenetrable silence. A tai-chi distraction, redirection.
Answering is still my reflex. I have to stop myself from talking into the gap, fill it up lest I fall in. Getting better at it, kinder but more definite. Proving patiently that no, I did not have to answer them. I do not now. All the non-responses I needed then, I spend now in a bunch, and my mother gets silence.
So often, people think they have to do … whatever it is, and really, they don't. I remember a very tired cow-orker at the library, decades ago, talking about having to stay up when neighbors came to visit, when she had to make three dozen cupcakes for her daughter's class, and she had to finish the other child's elaborate halloween costume, and oh, how hard it all was, but she HAD to work until 3AM to get it all done. All I could think was, why does anyone have to do any of these things? No one is going to die if you don't. Tell the neighbors you are busy, buy a box of cookies for the kids, simplify the costume, and go to bed.
We box ourselves into Musty Boxes, then wail at our misery. Better to say, If I want this, then I must do this, but I don't HAVE to do any of it at all, or I can make it all easier. I want to do this, because then I get that, works better.
`````````````````````````````````````````
Dreams this morning.
Circulating, surgeon throws a wad of clay at me, lands on my bit of desk. So I drop it down the back of his shirt as I tie up his gown*. Then I'm scrubbed in, and we have to go for supplies into a back stage area. Literally, a theater backstage, with non-OR people carelessly waking around us, as I get exasperated trying to keep the surgeon's gown, and my own, sterile. Multiple attempts to adjust lights, then I realize there is a production of Hamlet going on, and we are visible to the audience. By then, I've had to officially break scrub, irritably, and try not to disturb the performance, while still doing my job.
Then of having to leave, desperately wanting to come home. On the way, the car dash lights go out, and I lose power, although not completely. Winding back roads, getting dark. Worried that we'll need to buy a new car, then more and more worried that I won't even be able to limp home, a long way to go.
Got up, after Eleanor has her cuddle. Moby has a paw on my knee before I can even sit on the chair. He purrgrowls on me for a half hour, until I coax him off to move my legs.
Laptop increasingly unreliable. A swarm of little things, but worsening. D suggesting, as my IT support person, he would prefer I get something newer, easier to support. I balk, I dissemble, but he's right. I lay it in his hands. I buy his shirts, he buys my electronics. I just hope we don't have to replace the car anytime soon.
*Yes, I really would do this.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Batted
Moby curled on the red blanket left on the floor, that Eleanor usually claims on the sofa. She circles, kneads, even sits for a while, very close. Noses him, purrs, he allows, until she bats at him. I shoo her off at that. She tries several times, wanting, unwilling to share, wanting. Eventually, she settles for the lower level of the tree and stretches out in the low sun. Moby still not happy being swatted, but more on an eye-roll than an emergency reaction.
Another crash at the corner. No one hurt, we check and leave them to it. Not before hearing that the car was going the wrong way, which is why they could not see into the low sun that the light was red. We've seen drivers doing that stupid maneuver, from the apartment parking, a quick trip across the intersection to the next apartment's parking, the wrong way down a one way street. Perhaps understandable in the middle of the night, when it's oh, so, quiet here, if still risky and illegal as hell. But at 1830? Folly, dangerous folly. The freeway exit feeds into that street, several blocks away, but often still at speed, with the expectation of a clear run.
Tis the season. There will be more, there were last year.
Refuses
Wanting to do a zedyx entry, brain refusing. Everything refusing. Asked to work tomorrow instead of Thursday, so I do. Part of what I once promised myself as a mark of a professional, if asked to change a shift, cover a shift, unless I have a prior commitment, I change or cover. No questions asked. For the most part, this policy has served me well over the years.
Short day, but hectic. I knew, five cases (so, ten total for this surgeon) in each of two rooms, with the particular likable but chaotic surgeon, the schedule would be a mere suggestion. As indeed, it was. Starting with the very first case. Left at 1330, though, so, hard to complain. Much juggling, all to make it easier on the patients, three of which were over 80. Carpal tunnel releases and trigger fingers, for the most part.
Icy, biting, wet bitter winds, although not that cold really. Snowing off and on, but nothing sticking. March at it's finest. Harsh, but transitory.
Coming home from groceries, later, saw a group of young men at the homeless young men's transition home across the street. Looks to be starting up. They were having a group portrait taken on the porch just as I walked by across the street. I waved, don't know if they saw me or not. Our new neighbors, and probably good 'uns.
Thursday, digging and planting. Snailacide.
Short day, but hectic. I knew, five cases (so, ten total for this surgeon) in each of two rooms, with the particular likable but chaotic surgeon, the schedule would be a mere suggestion. As indeed, it was. Starting with the very first case. Left at 1330, though, so, hard to complain. Much juggling, all to make it easier on the patients, three of which were over 80. Carpal tunnel releases and trigger fingers, for the most part.
Icy, biting, wet bitter winds, although not that cold really. Snowing off and on, but nothing sticking. March at it's finest. Harsh, but transitory.
Coming home from groceries, later, saw a group of young men at the homeless young men's transition home across the street. Looks to be starting up. They were having a group portrait taken on the porch just as I walked by across the street. I waved, don't know if they saw me or not. Our new neighbors, and probably good 'uns.
Thursday, digging and planting. Snailacide.
Sunday, March 09, 2014
Ladders
Cleaned the neighbor's ladder of most of the paint I got all over it. She's sold the house, and wants to take her ladder back. I feel bad I was so messy, but it's a deep character flaw in me. I'm not naturally tidy, and I tend to call "good enough" fairly easily. But with something borrowed, I can't do much more than apologize and offer compensation. Neighbor scoffed, but I did show willing.
This afternoon, I pulled more plastic netted sod out, from under the layers of fall's leaves. Rather fun. And we have a lot more alive under there this year, assortment of worms and caterpillars, which is all good. A lot less plastic. I managed to refrain from laying down sunflower seeds, but the afternoon is young. I may yet plant, whatever the risks.
Planning on attacking weeds vigorously, and have already done so.
And we will need our own ladder, have it picked up already.
Happier for digging in the dirt. More Deep Holes!
This afternoon, I pulled more plastic netted sod out, from under the layers of fall's leaves. Rather fun. And we have a lot more alive under there this year, assortment of worms and caterpillars, which is all good. A lot less plastic. I managed to refrain from laying down sunflower seeds, but the afternoon is young. I may yet plant, whatever the risks.
Planning on attacking weeds vigorously, and have already done so.
And we will need our own ladder, have it picked up already.
Happier for digging in the dirt. More Deep Holes!
Saturday, March 08, 2014
Snails
Took Moby out for a walk, as per. He sniffed and then lounged in the sun, for a good half hour. As we went in, I find that I did not close the front door well, and Eleanor has come out and enjoys the mat. Moby balks for a moment, until SHE goes in, harummph. She, just sitting there, on the boot-wipe mat, and she went back in without issue. Still, it is spring, and cats (even after fixing) get balky and excited in spring. SO MANY SMELLS!
Took Eleanor back to replace the chip this morning. Got her with a treat, put a few in the carrier, only one left when we got her home. Very useful, a food motivated cat. Shelter not at all bothered, nor was she. Heard a single, high, faint mew from her, on the way home. Not at all bothered. Moby HATES the bag, the car, going ANYWHERE. He moans and mewls the whole way, registering his objection and complaint. Today, he got to stay home.
We've sent for a harness for her, since this is likely to be an Issue. And I can't see her as sanguine as Moby about a normal harness. He will put his paw into the thing, cooperatively, sometimes. Even on the rare occasions when he wriggles out of it, I know, when I shout his name, Moby will hunker down, and I can pick him up.
Eleanor, not at all. She is so bold jumping on us, doing new things, but not about being approached to be picked up. That, she scatters in panic. Still trying to train her to be comfortable with being Picked Up, but it's not going well. Even poor skittish Moby was in slightly better shape by this point. Different cat, different history.
So, a harness. We shall see.
If we get more snow, it'll be a miracle. Next weekend I plant the cold weather seeds. The pollen is already on it's way. Further East, the winter still reigns, but here, very hard not to sow seeds. Pulling weeds and seeing snail damage already. Green onions tall and eager. Laid down sand against the snails and slugs already nibbling our clover. Diatomaceous earth ready at hand. Vinegar in a tub for whatever gets through.
Snails have become my enemy, but they are still very cute. Doesn't stop me dropping them in vinegar. Farmgal friend uses plastic bags, to let them cook in the sun.
Took Eleanor back to replace the chip this morning. Got her with a treat, put a few in the carrier, only one left when we got her home. Very useful, a food motivated cat. Shelter not at all bothered, nor was she. Heard a single, high, faint mew from her, on the way home. Not at all bothered. Moby HATES the bag, the car, going ANYWHERE. He moans and mewls the whole way, registering his objection and complaint. Today, he got to stay home.
We've sent for a harness for her, since this is likely to be an Issue. And I can't see her as sanguine as Moby about a normal harness. He will put his paw into the thing, cooperatively, sometimes. Even on the rare occasions when he wriggles out of it, I know, when I shout his name, Moby will hunker down, and I can pick him up.
Eleanor, not at all. She is so bold jumping on us, doing new things, but not about being approached to be picked up. That, she scatters in panic. Still trying to train her to be comfortable with being Picked Up, but it's not going well. Even poor skittish Moby was in slightly better shape by this point. Different cat, different history.
So, a harness. We shall see.
If we get more snow, it'll be a miracle. Next weekend I plant the cold weather seeds. The pollen is already on it's way. Further East, the winter still reigns, but here, very hard not to sow seeds. Pulling weeds and seeing snail damage already. Green onions tall and eager. Laid down sand against the snails and slugs already nibbling our clover. Diatomaceous earth ready at hand. Vinegar in a tub for whatever gets through.
Snails have become my enemy, but they are still very cute. Doesn't stop me dropping them in vinegar. Farmgal friend uses plastic bags, to let them cook in the sun.
Leftovers
On the other hand, it's not unreasonable to demand civility among those who live and work together.
But then, I never bought into the idea that family have to love each other, so have to put up with any kind of behaviour, and get away with anything, either. I figure family, real family, has to treat each other better than a stranger. The ones I love get my best self, not leftovers.
But then, I never bought into the idea that family have to love each other, so have to put up with any kind of behaviour, and get away with anything, either. I figure family, real family, has to treat each other better than a stranger. The ones I love get my best self, not leftovers.
Friday, March 07, 2014
Signs
Obey. This is nearly as good as the sign that led me to D. I'd gone in to chat with the CQ, Colin, during drill. A nice guy, and I'd met him several times getting paperwork in order. Behind him a sign, "DO NOT READ THIS SIGN." I laughed, and asked "Where did that come from?" He pointed to a young man in green with short hair, and said "Him." My first conscious awareness of D, before - he was one among the throng of young men in green with short hair. Not exactly falling in love, but certainly tripped a little.
We'd gotten up to toddle off to bed, when we returned to turn off lights, there they were. And stayed for a good long time, we figure.
We were happy enough that they got each other running, not hurting each other, a certain acceptance. Anything else is gravy. Continued thawing, gradually becoming companions.
It's unwise, I think, futile certainly, to base one's happiness on two other people's relationship. To need other members of one's family loving each other to feel complete is a risky choice. Hard enough to depend on one other person to be happy with me, and he him. Presumptuous to try to create a relationship between several other people, none of whom is oneself.
Nice when it just happens, when those you love enjoy each other, just can't create it, nor expect it, certainly not demand it, force it. My M&FIL so want their five sons to be besties, and it ain't happenin'. I've met the eldest once, and I can't abide him, in part because I figure anyone who would ever hurt D has a deeply flawed character. The rest because he strongly reminds me of my own oldest brother, the salesman/recruiter/believer/teaser. His other brothers are good people, but with very different interests and lives.
I'm flanked by cats, which is becoming regular, but no less wonderful.
Wednesday, March 05, 2014
Homogeneity
D off to game night, and I have the house to myself.
Talking to myself.
Telling small self that she has to go through everything she does in order to become the person she needed then. Nothing to do, but stay aware, take everything as a lesson, to wring it for everything it's worth, the more painful, the more valuable. Show her around the house that will be hers, all the lovely things she will gather and treasure, along with the person who will love her, oh, love her so. And the cats she will take in, who will be such fine friends.
But, first. Yeah, going through hell, but I did just keep going.
Maybe I got the message, in the past, deep down. The need to see my choices through to the inevitable ends, the worst case scenarios. Time being not as linear as we too often assume. Not to be entirely trusted, but hints here and there. To stay open, cautious, hedge my bets, and keep searching.
After I had my degree and a real job, I kept looking through the Help Wanted ads. After we had apartments, I checked Apartment for Rent ads. After we moved into the house, I kept being careful of floor noise for the apartment downstairs. Takes a while for these things to wear off, the old precautions, old habits.
A steadiness remains. A quiet joy, that refuses to be shaken. I remember that, when I was young, the sense of being rattled on the surface, but a core of iron. Stubbornness, my mother called it. Her words still drift through, but she doesn't haunt me as before. A step beyond a defiant "I don't care!" into a genuine, compassionate, letting go of care. The iron melted away in the furnace, leaving a soft pool of cool water. The brittleness melted, I'm all squish.
This the the point, to become soft. Less emotionally breakable, even as our bodies become more fragile. To learn real bravery. Knowing only our love survives.
Talking to myself.
Telling small self that she has to go through everything she does in order to become the person she needed then. Nothing to do, but stay aware, take everything as a lesson, to wring it for everything it's worth, the more painful, the more valuable. Show her around the house that will be hers, all the lovely things she will gather and treasure, along with the person who will love her, oh, love her so. And the cats she will take in, who will be such fine friends.
But, first. Yeah, going through hell, but I did just keep going.
Maybe I got the message, in the past, deep down. The need to see my choices through to the inevitable ends, the worst case scenarios. Time being not as linear as we too often assume. Not to be entirely trusted, but hints here and there. To stay open, cautious, hedge my bets, and keep searching.
After I had my degree and a real job, I kept looking through the Help Wanted ads. After we had apartments, I checked Apartment for Rent ads. After we moved into the house, I kept being careful of floor noise for the apartment downstairs. Takes a while for these things to wear off, the old precautions, old habits.
A steadiness remains. A quiet joy, that refuses to be shaken. I remember that, when I was young, the sense of being rattled on the surface, but a core of iron. Stubbornness, my mother called it. Her words still drift through, but she doesn't haunt me as before. A step beyond a defiant "I don't care!" into a genuine, compassionate, letting go of care. The iron melted away in the furnace, leaving a soft pool of cool water. The brittleness melted, I'm all squish.
This the the point, to become soft. Less emotionally breakable, even as our bodies become more fragile. To learn real bravery. Knowing only our love survives.
Hardly
March is a peculiar month for me. Not hardly winter, not hardly spring. Muddy and grey and unpredictable, but with growth. I pulled up the deep mulch to see if the strawberry plants survived. They did. I just peeked, then covered them back up. But, it's nice to know.
Got a call a bit earlier, no work for me tomorrow. Well, that's ok. Perhaps a bit adrift, but I have work to do. So many intentions last week pushed aside for idleness. Today, actually got a bit done, and tomorrow with no excuse whatsoever, I will do more.
Weirdly mild outside, so I got the last daubs of paint applied to the front of the porch, pulled up some more of the plastic infested sod. That one strip is where I will plant more scarlet flax. That was the most lovely, and loved (by bugs and bees and cats and us) planting last year. Hopefully, more will do well this year. Ordered a few tomato plants and chilies from my favorite nursery. There shall be more sunflowers. And Poppies! Called about a boulder. I suspect one part of the yard out front will simply never grow, so a large bit of rock might be the best solution. If I can get one on sale, should be affordable. The green onions are thriving, as I was assured they would, to the point of being unkillable. Well, that works for me.
More statice, more long grasses, more mulch and compost and digging. Lots of worms, which is also hopeful. I have really come to appreciate worms.
And grown eagle eyed for nasty weeds, that I hack out as soon as I spot 'em.
Don't know how far I'll get with the raised beds this year, but I'm plotting.
Oh, and this about Kitty Genovese, explaining that the story is more complex than the myth. And that her death was not in vain, but spurred changes in the EMS systems worldwide.
Got a call a bit earlier, no work for me tomorrow. Well, that's ok. Perhaps a bit adrift, but I have work to do. So many intentions last week pushed aside for idleness. Today, actually got a bit done, and tomorrow with no excuse whatsoever, I will do more.
Weirdly mild outside, so I got the last daubs of paint applied to the front of the porch, pulled up some more of the plastic infested sod. That one strip is where I will plant more scarlet flax. That was the most lovely, and loved (by bugs and bees and cats and us) planting last year. Hopefully, more will do well this year. Ordered a few tomato plants and chilies from my favorite nursery. There shall be more sunflowers. And Poppies! Called about a boulder. I suspect one part of the yard out front will simply never grow, so a large bit of rock might be the best solution. If I can get one on sale, should be affordable. The green onions are thriving, as I was assured they would, to the point of being unkillable. Well, that works for me.
More statice, more long grasses, more mulch and compost and digging. Lots of worms, which is also hopeful. I have really come to appreciate worms.
And grown eagle eyed for nasty weeds, that I hack out as soon as I spot 'em.
Don't know how far I'll get with the raised beds this year, but I'm plotting.
Oh, and this about Kitty Genovese, explaining that the story is more complex than the myth. And that her death was not in vain, but spurred changes in the EMS systems worldwide.
Shoots
A Crow* found some pretties, and in warm friendship, sent some to me. A beautiful pumpkin pot, with variegated ribbons, excellent tea, and Red Rose figures. Best of all, a drawing of our household gods. I'd never seen any of these, although I had a different turtle once. Tortoise and Hare reminded me of Boston.
We have chickens and ducks in the neighborhood, and although we've not seen them, neighbors tell us the chickens like to stop by our yard. There was a different elephant figure, too, I think. Hefalumps and Hippos, and the other hippo - horse.
Last, but to even such a new gardener, certainly not least, shredded cardboard mulch!
Among new friends. I did not wash the much-used pots (white porcelain and black iron.) This assortment will keep me from buying any more teapots for a long time. Wow. Didn't realize I had so many. Yes, the blue one is lidless, but such a lovely cobalt.
The tea bag squeezer sits beside the silicon toaster tongs beside the tea towel.
Everyone finding home, for a season, to fast and remember and savor both the old leaves and the new shoots.
*If you visit her, be very quiet and gentle, please.
Monday, March 03, 2014
Cookie
Give an agoraphobic a house, and
She'll want a cat.
Give her a cat, and she'll want another cat.
With two cats, she'll want a garden to grow grass for the cats.
Give her some grass, and she'll want flowers and tomatoes and chilies, and start making lists.
After that, she'll want a decent bed for her sore back.
After a nap, she'll want a nice cup of tea, and start gathering teapots.
She'll paint and polish and sit on the porch, and never want to leave.
So, she'll want to stay home, and indulge her mild agoraphobia.
Not, of course, how it worked out in my case, but the initial phrase, so like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, has been chasing around my head, and I needed to write it out. Actually, I'm yearning for Yardsale season, for the sake of a few side tables. And whatever small treasures might appear.
This past week has teemed with unexpected gifts, a woman at work cleaning out her basement, came across a crossword puzzle device, and brought it for me to use. The bedframe arrived, and both cats have enjoyed it. Another friend donated to a favorite charity in our name. And a box arrived today. As for the last, I have no words, but it will be shared in deep gratitude, and hopefully creativity, sometime this week.
She'll want a cat.
Give her a cat, and she'll want another cat.
With two cats, she'll want a garden to grow grass for the cats.
Give her some grass, and she'll want flowers and tomatoes and chilies, and start making lists.
After that, she'll want a decent bed for her sore back.
After a nap, she'll want a nice cup of tea, and start gathering teapots.
She'll paint and polish and sit on the porch, and never want to leave.
So, she'll want to stay home, and indulge her mild agoraphobia.
Not, of course, how it worked out in my case, but the initial phrase, so like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, has been chasing around my head, and I needed to write it out. Actually, I'm yearning for Yardsale season, for the sake of a few side tables. And whatever small treasures might appear.
This past week has teemed with unexpected gifts, a woman at work cleaning out her basement, came across a crossword puzzle device, and brought it for me to use. The bedframe arrived, and both cats have enjoyed it. Another friend donated to a favorite charity in our name. And a box arrived today. As for the last, I have no words, but it will be shared in deep gratitude, and hopefully creativity, sometime this week.
Sunday, March 02, 2014
Teatime
Fifth day off in a row, and suffering from a bad case of sundayafternoon, or the Long Dark Teatime of the Soul. Having taken all the baths I can reasonably take. Started about 1300, feeling cranky and dissatisfied, clumsy and distressed, bored and itchy. Nothing serious, just a matter of having found my ease, I have to prepare for starting up normal operations again. Have really enjoyed going at cats' pace, and the cats have been responding to it, having us both here so much. Napping together (not touching) on the couch most of the morning.
But it's time to pack up and go back to work. Perhaps if digging the garden more had been a good idea, but warm weather aside, it's not. Really have to let whatever is gong to come up again to declare itself, before I dig about too much. The green onions are gorgeous already. As for not getting much else done regarding cleaning inside, I have only myself to hold responsible. Except that I don't feel like holding anything. Including a thought in my head.
Finished reading Busman's Honeymoon. It's not a really good mystery, but it is an excellent, and remarkably unromantic, love story. I think that's what I loved about it years ago when I read it, and even more so now.
But it's time to pack up and go back to work. Perhaps if digging the garden more had been a good idea, but warm weather aside, it's not. Really have to let whatever is gong to come up again to declare itself, before I dig about too much. The green onions are gorgeous already. As for not getting much else done regarding cleaning inside, I have only myself to hold responsible. Except that I don't feel like holding anything. Including a thought in my head.
Finished reading Busman's Honeymoon. It's not a really good mystery, but it is an excellent, and remarkably unromantic, love story. I think that's what I loved about it years ago when I read it, and even more so now.
Saturday, March 01, 2014
Ogden
D loved these railway watches, clear and stylish, very appealing.
Got on the train up to Ogden yesterday. A date for the train museum, and model railway con. Outsmarted ourselves a bit, up there early, but the museum didn't open until the con started, so we had a couple of hours to dither, with a cold wind. Wandered through the gift shop a couple of times, ate a very nice meal, trying our best to eat more slowly than usual. As we waited, we overheard some of the guys talking trains, both struck by how much geek-talk is the same, regardless of flavor. Sports, Trek, comics, trains, only the nouns change. We both felt comfortable, but kept quiet.
One boy, maybe 9 or 10, sported a red satin bow tie. All I could think was, if I were his age, I would have such a crush. Not many guys can pull off the look, but those who can rock a bow tie are rockin' indeed.
Some of the scenes were made up, since there is no train running by Hovenweep. Appealing, though.
The set ups were creative, and like actual trains, often ran through the seedy parts of town.
Rained through the night, lots of wind. Eleanor snuggled in while I slowly woke up. Once I had my tea, Moby had to sit on me, on the sofa. Eleanor hopped up beside, and both wound up dozing, even after I coaxed Moby off my lap. The improvements are uneven, but discernible. Last night, they chased fast and long, with a wrestle at the end - without hissing or growling. Eleanor is so fast, even when hopping up and over furniture, a blur of grey-gold fur. Moby is very good at sneaking up on her.
February was so mild this year, I regret the turning. Two weeks, I will plant cold weather seeds, though. The garden will return.
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