If there are any more snails out there, they are hiding well. As I'm certain they are.
Strange to have a cool wet day this time of year, but welcome. Cats both wanting to be well brushed, which then necessitated vacuuming, since the dhurrie rug is the only place to be brushed, donchaknow.
Reminded of several instances of inadequate revulsion. In Basic, one woman who we always had to keep an eye on, because she would drop her underpants on the floor. Used ones. In the Army. Before inspections. She was not the brightest bulb. It was not the only way we all took care of her. She'd had a rough childhood, and from what she told us, we figured Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Vastly underdeveloped sense of disgust.
An open house, when we were looking. Renters present, one nursing a hangover on the sofa, another in bed. In a second bedroom, dirty underwear all over the floor. Felt so bad for the agent, who had no control over the situation. Very odd, very uncomfortable.
Which reminded me of How Clean Is Your House, the BBC show. Some of those people really needed expert treatment for their OCD/hoarding. One sweet little lady I remember really didn't quite understand why it wasn't a good idea to keep her toothbrush in the wire basket on her bathtub, along with her soap and sponge.
But then, most apparently clean kitchens are just culture mediums. My father objected to the use of bleach. My mother told me it was because his sister used too much of it, which really isn't an excuse. My mother had a well scrubbed kitchen, but rarely washed the rags we wiped with. Nothing disinfected. All handwashed dishes, rinsed in hot clean water, at least the glasses got clean water, everything after got tepid and slightly soiled, and hand dried. Heaven forbid they sit in the rack and dry, they had to be toweled off immediately and put away. I gotta think a lot of my childhood gut issues were down to chronic bacterial infections, as well as lactose intolerance.
If my kitchen is dirty, by gods, it looks it. When it looks clean, you could safely lick it. After the alcohol dries, of course. Bleach if I do handwash anything, a capful in a tub. Dave, when he was on chemo, knew he could trust any dish I gave him. In part because if he was coming, I would take extra precautions. We are used to our own bugs, won't hurt us, kept to a minimum. Something gets dropped, I look for gross contamination, and usually eat it anyway.
But for a guest? Sterile technique, more or less. Since, outside of surgery, or the CDC, it's a flexible definition. Ok, a clean room probably is more sterile than surgery. Is. But getting a floor nurse to understand that what they call sterile, we call clean/contaminated, at best, is no small task. At home, mostly it actually comes out at cleanish.
And dirty underwear, if on the floor, is only in the bedroom.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Sip
Tea and cereal, finally.
Out catching snails, which is not a high-speed pursuit. But it does take a little time to adjust ones eyes. Rained again last night, so I knew they'd be out and about this morning. As they were yesterday morning. Too right. A score, more, a couple of cups worth, although I used a plastic bag. Next March, I'm going for more aggressive methods. Can't be used around earthworms, as I understand the mechanism. Which is fine, since I'll be putting the bait into the hedge and under the fence among the ivy. I'm pretty convinced the snails are most of the trouble on that side.
Kept distracting myself on the path to breakfast, forgetting the kettle has boiled, forgot to pour it out, sat down and forgot what else I needed. Probably best I'm home today. Throwing dry cereal in a bowl is not complicated, especially since I don't use milk and therefore don't need a spoon.
I'd say I feel sluggish, but after having flipped a few in the bag, I find the metaphor disgusting. Slothful, maybe. Slow loris-ish.
Out catching snails, which is not a high-speed pursuit. But it does take a little time to adjust ones eyes. Rained again last night, so I knew they'd be out and about this morning. As they were yesterday morning. Too right. A score, more, a couple of cups worth, although I used a plastic bag. Next March, I'm going for more aggressive methods. Can't be used around earthworms, as I understand the mechanism. Which is fine, since I'll be putting the bait into the hedge and under the fence among the ivy. I'm pretty convinced the snails are most of the trouble on that side.
Kept distracting myself on the path to breakfast, forgetting the kettle has boiled, forgot to pour it out, sat down and forgot what else I needed. Probably best I'm home today. Throwing dry cereal in a bowl is not complicated, especially since I don't use milk and therefore don't need a spoon.
I'd say I feel sluggish, but after having flipped a few in the bag, I find the metaphor disgusting. Slothful, maybe. Slow loris-ish.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Sop
Rain, real rain. Over two hours now, soaking, sustaining rain. Glorious. We have the windows open, listening to it pour. The garden is happily lapping it up. We took a walk* and sopped up a bit of it ourselves. Eleanor sits by the open window, sniffing happily. Moby moody, has gone to lurk. He's never been a fan of the wet, especially if mixed with thunder. So we reassure him, and let him be.
We sat a long time on the porch with our books.
*A long held promise, to always walk in the rain together. And I had Who Do You Love† in my head.
†Now come on baby let's take a little walk, and tell me who do you love?
We sat a long time on the porch with our books.
*A long held promise, to always walk in the rain together. And I had Who Do You Love† in my head.
†Now come on baby let's take a little walk, and tell me who do you love?
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Sap
Friday evening, a knock on the door. Young man, clean, normal looking, starts this high speed spiel about how he works landscaping, has a job, wound up at (my old) hospital overnight, (pulls up his shirt) shows me something he wants me to think is a medical procedure evidence, shows me his arms and gums and assures me he's not on drugs... .
I say, gently but clearly amused at the obvious scam, "Wow, that's a lotta story you got there."
Which doesn't even slow him down. I start to close the door, and he begs for some work he could do for a few bucks, and more story and excuses. The door closes on him, quietly.
I shake the interaction off, and see him walk away. Like I'd trust him to do work on my home? Just an aggressive beg, a sob story. Someone really in trouble would have been given a social worker at the hospital, and I don't know what he thought was on his abdomen that would look like any procedure I've ever heard of. Nor would I have thought to ask about drugs, except that he made such a point of it. But I could see how an inexperienced and susceptible soul would get swamped by the flow of babble, and reward him with cash. If only to make him go away. But I'm not buying indulgences, and I won't reward flim-flam. A faint fear of retribution taints the air.
Last night, another young man is standing right at the porch, looking up. I wandered out, asking what he was looking for. He had a pen camera, and tells me he likes my prayer flags, and asks if I'm Buddhist. I say no, but I like the idea of prayer flags, and tell them where I got them - a local shop. He slowly wandered off. More than a little weird, but I think I mostly believe him.
It's true, I'm not a Buddhist, nor a Taoist, not Christian nor any other religionist. I pick a bit here that speaks to me, another thought there that makes sense, but I refuse to take in the whole culture, dogma, and ritual of any belief system. What I take in, I treat with reverence. Well, except for the glow-in-the-dark BVM, but since that was the faith shoved down my throat as a child, that's pretty mild mockery.
Pleasantness has grown in my life, still doesn't make me a sap.
I say, gently but clearly amused at the obvious scam, "Wow, that's a lotta story you got there."
Which doesn't even slow him down. I start to close the door, and he begs for some work he could do for a few bucks, and more story and excuses. The door closes on him, quietly.
I shake the interaction off, and see him walk away. Like I'd trust him to do work on my home? Just an aggressive beg, a sob story. Someone really in trouble would have been given a social worker at the hospital, and I don't know what he thought was on his abdomen that would look like any procedure I've ever heard of. Nor would I have thought to ask about drugs, except that he made such a point of it. But I could see how an inexperienced and susceptible soul would get swamped by the flow of babble, and reward him with cash. If only to make him go away. But I'm not buying indulgences, and I won't reward flim-flam. A faint fear of retribution taints the air.
Last night, another young man is standing right at the porch, looking up. I wandered out, asking what he was looking for. He had a pen camera, and tells me he likes my prayer flags, and asks if I'm Buddhist. I say no, but I like the idea of prayer flags, and tell them where I got them - a local shop. He slowly wandered off. More than a little weird, but I think I mostly believe him.
It's true, I'm not a Buddhist, nor a Taoist, not Christian nor any other religionist. I pick a bit here that speaks to me, another thought there that makes sense, but I refuse to take in the whole culture, dogma, and ritual of any belief system. What I take in, I treat with reverence. Well, except for the glow-in-the-dark BVM, but since that was the faith shoved down my throat as a child, that's pretty mild mockery.
Pleasantness has grown in my life, still doesn't make me a sap.
Peanut
This morning I sat out with a mug of tea, watching the scrub jay pair gather all the peanuts put out. I sat just two feet away, and still they flapped in, and away so close I felt the whoosh of the air from their wings. Then I could hear them in the tree, shelling the peanut, which is a funny noise, when you know what it is.
And I thought about my young self, who so wanted to be Dr. Doolittle, or Jane Goodall, or St. Francis, with all the animals trusting me. But I was full of my father's rage, and a child - which meant a lot of animals were going to be wary just about my age. I sat with her, and let her feel the bird so close, a cat in the window behind, and the assurance that dogs now love me to ruffle their ears.
I walk among the birds and bees and wasps. Mosquitos rarely bother with me.
She is reassured, if impatient. She'll get to me.
And I thought about my young self, who so wanted to be Dr. Doolittle, or Jane Goodall, or St. Francis, with all the animals trusting me. But I was full of my father's rage, and a child - which meant a lot of animals were going to be wary just about my age. I sat with her, and let her feel the bird so close, a cat in the window behind, and the assurance that dogs now love me to ruffle their ears.
I walk among the birds and bees and wasps. Mosquitos rarely bother with me.
She is reassured, if impatient. She'll get to me.
Denuded
Well picked over, denuded of seeds and leaves.
Moby at the neighbors' edge.
Sebastian, well camouflaged.
Full of seeds.
A better sense of the forrest. MIL tells me the photos do not convey the experience, so I try to show it here.
Variation on a meme, with cat and shadow.
It's that time of summer, when I wish I knew better how to plant. As the early bloomers wilt, and the space begins to look, um... seedy. So I could plan for later summer or early fall emergence. As I hope to put in early spring bulbs this fall. Still.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Horse
Sat out on the porch most of the evening. Apparently I have goldfinches and Cassin's Finch, but not flycatchers. Although I saw one bright yellow bird, wholly yellow with a splash of black, no idea what that one is. Not long enough to clearly identify, but bright as the sunflowers. Who needs a bird feeder, when I have a small field of sunflowers? The birds are welcome, if they manage to eat every seed, which I doubt, well, then, fine. I'll not begrudge.
These little bugges have been all over, and I've no idea what they are. Best photo I can get, they are small.
Enjoyed my day off. Not as hot today. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. Read the latest Longmire, Any Other Name. Dark and funny and so well written, but. Going back to the fluffy Miss Fisher. Relating to her gathering a home around her, nurturing talents.
Heard the fire alarm go off, for the Home across the street. Evidently a false alarm, although the fire dept. has to come by to end it. A sound that haunts my dreams, through school fire bells, Army fire alarms in the wee hours at Ft. Sam most nights, hospital codes, and the last big apartment building alarms. Triggers a hot hostility for me. Less this time, being only across the street. Part of why I hate clock alarms to wake to, and have one that chimes sweetly. Doesn't take much to startle that response out of me when I'm deeply asleep. Reflexive fury, hard to tamp down.
Sitting out this morning, watching bicyclists, walkers and dogs, and a horse with cowboy riding past. At a good canter, sub gallop*. The last, not something I see every day. I'm assuming he was on his way to the parade.
Is it that weird that I eyed the horse droppings for my compost pile? Didn't have a good way to pick them up, so I refrained, with some regret.
*I really don't know horse gaits.
These little bugges have been all over, and I've no idea what they are. Best photo I can get, they are small.
Enjoyed my day off. Not as hot today. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. Read the latest Longmire, Any Other Name. Dark and funny and so well written, but. Going back to the fluffy Miss Fisher. Relating to her gathering a home around her, nurturing talents.
Heard the fire alarm go off, for the Home across the street. Evidently a false alarm, although the fire dept. has to come by to end it. A sound that haunts my dreams, through school fire bells, Army fire alarms in the wee hours at Ft. Sam most nights, hospital codes, and the last big apartment building alarms. Triggers a hot hostility for me. Less this time, being only across the street. Part of why I hate clock alarms to wake to, and have one that chimes sweetly. Doesn't take much to startle that response out of me when I'm deeply asleep. Reflexive fury, hard to tamp down.
Sitting out this morning, watching bicyclists, walkers and dogs, and a horse with cowboy riding past. At a good canter, sub gallop*. The last, not something I see every day. I'm assuming he was on his way to the parade.
Is it that weird that I eyed the horse droppings for my compost pile? Didn't have a good way to pick them up, so I refrained, with some regret.
*I really don't know horse gaits.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Hallucination
Ok, help. I made a comment referring to the song, Pablo Picasso (was never called an asshole) by The Modern Lovers. And for the life of me I can't remember where. Checked the ones I thought, but couldn't find the original post, checked everyone I visit, came up empty and confused.
If it was you, or you read the same post, drop a line here. I'm feeling like I may have hallucinated the whole exchange.
If it was you, or you read the same post, drop a line here. I'm feeling like I may have hallucinated the whole exchange.
Drip
Normal day off, the first in several weeks, as we get people trained and taking their own rooms with a minimum of hints and tips. With the local holiday tomorrow, another day to ease off. Depending on a number of factors, I may well get Friday off as well, but they have not called me yet.
Very hot now, 101˚F 38C. Plumber and his son came and replaced the hot water heater this morning. Getting old when we moved in, so we put it off as long as we felt we could, then scheduled a new one before a collapse. The bathroom sink renewal is a couple of years off, as that is merely annoyingly hard to clean, and ugly.
Noticed on Sunday the basement floor was wet. Took us a while to localize the problem, the AC condensation. A bucket to catch the drips, and the floor is drying reassuringly. Plumber took one look and suggests the pump has gone out, gives me the name of a reliable HVAC guy. Took photos, sent them to Dave, who knows about this sort of thing, to see if we need it done for us, or if this is something even we can do ourselves. No point calling today, holidays being what they are.
Drove along one of the streets where the parade will be tomorrow, and there are people already camped out, blankets and tents, tables and sleeping bags. This seems utterly ridiculous to me, not to mention a bit mad. It's not that great a parade, and it's never that hard to get to a place to watch it. The two facts being connected. I may be bored enough to walk over and watch a bit of it, or not. D is wholly eschewing the experience this year.
Cats very unhappy at being put in closed rooms, but the Cat Exclusion Device was moved aside as the plumber and his son worked, and the front door was held open a number of times. Remarkably functional idea, from an engineer friend.
Update: Got clear directions from Dave*. Cleaned out the reservoir, and float. Mucky, muddy, greasy mess. Seems to be working, will check in the morning. Oh, and I do have to work Friday, bummer. Oh and 23 Jul 5:05 pm MDT 102˚F, 39C, 10% humidity.
*You know, Dave.
Very hot now, 101˚F 38C. Plumber and his son came and replaced the hot water heater this morning. Getting old when we moved in, so we put it off as long as we felt we could, then scheduled a new one before a collapse. The bathroom sink renewal is a couple of years off, as that is merely annoyingly hard to clean, and ugly.
Noticed on Sunday the basement floor was wet. Took us a while to localize the problem, the AC condensation. A bucket to catch the drips, and the floor is drying reassuringly. Plumber took one look and suggests the pump has gone out, gives me the name of a reliable HVAC guy. Took photos, sent them to Dave, who knows about this sort of thing, to see if we need it done for us, or if this is something even we can do ourselves. No point calling today, holidays being what they are.
Drove along one of the streets where the parade will be tomorrow, and there are people already camped out, blankets and tents, tables and sleeping bags. This seems utterly ridiculous to me, not to mention a bit mad. It's not that great a parade, and it's never that hard to get to a place to watch it. The two facts being connected. I may be bored enough to walk over and watch a bit of it, or not. D is wholly eschewing the experience this year.
Cats very unhappy at being put in closed rooms, but the Cat Exclusion Device was moved aside as the plumber and his son worked, and the front door was held open a number of times. Remarkably functional idea, from an engineer friend.
Update: Got clear directions from Dave*. Cleaned out the reservoir, and float. Mucky, muddy, greasy mess. Seems to be working, will check in the morning. Oh, and I do have to work Friday, bummer. Oh and 23 Jul 5:05 pm MDT 102˚F, 39C, 10% humidity.
*You know, Dave.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Chorus
"Hellooo down there!"
"Ain't she sweet?/ Pollen stickin' to mah feet..."
"Old friends, sit in a garden like bookends..."
Damsel fly, golden in the evening sun.
Broke the pot for one of the catnip plants, immediately planted it, and marked it with the broken pot. Apparently, it rooted happily, and is regrowing leaves.
"Ain't she sweet?/ Pollen stickin' to mah feet..."
"Old friends, sit in a garden like bookends..."
Damsel fly, golden in the evening sun.
Broke the pot for one of the catnip plants, immediately planted it, and marked it with the broken pot. Apparently, it rooted happily, and is regrowing leaves.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Guitar
D built hisself a Gee-tar!
He hastens to add that it's not from scratch, but from parts. He assembled, drilled and finished, and did the intonation, though. Also rigged up a place to hang the body while the multiple coats dried. Which all seems very cool to me. Something he's long wanted to do. When a very old friend recently re-established contact, he brought over a guitar he'd made. With yardsticks assembled into a neck. Beautiful instrument, and D began plotting. I provided unsterile surgical drapes to cover the dining room table, where the light is excellent, gloves and disposable plastic bowls, as well as the butterfly trivet for the soldering iron to rest on. Well, this is my training, glad to put it to use at home. Gather equipment and materials.
There are no doubt traces of cat fur in the finish.
It sounds very good.
Flashing
Yesterday evening, D sat on the porch near the citronella candles and catnip*, and I got mewed into taking Eleanor out. Sat and read among the sunflowers as she lounged and sniffed.
"I think Moby wants to come out," says D, and I hear his scratching on the door as well. Pick up Eleanor, she's had a good while, and swap cats.
Moby sits nearer the main sidewalk, watching people go past, as they notice him. When this is enough socialization, he settles into the sunflowers and grasses, continuing to watch. A young couple walk by, the guy stops to thank me for the beautiful flowers, and tells me, "You know your name is Sunflower!" I thank him and laugh.
And I think, me? Nice? Smiling at strangers, even if they are sort of neighbors? Accepting a compliment with a sincere "thank you" and no demur? Comfortable and easy with life? I know, yes, this is what I've been working toward, more or less, although I would not have described it thus. Still, how different from who I thought I was. Tears rose in a kind confusion, how did this occur?
Growing up in a large city, taught to avoid strangers, protect myself, nice was not a quality, it was a flaw, and a dangerous one. However much I was harassed by men to "gimme a smile, it can't be that bad!" I knew I was vulnerable, and kept up a wall of scowl. Walked fast, snarled and kept eyes forward. And it worked, never was attacked or mugged, and the possibility was quite real in some areas I frequented alone, as a young woman. Projecting an air of "I'm gonna be too much trouble" dissuades interest.
Trouble being that I was completely hardened. Mostly, I'm sure, because I wasn't safe at home, either. With age, assurance, and now our haven of peace, I've softened right through. Or gone slightly mad. Given the long grey hair, the latter looks more likely. Sitting among gigantic plants with yellow faces, reading a book with a cat on a leash, smiling and nodding at the folks walking by, young and old, reasonable or drunk, as they appreciate a small but dramatic spot of beauty.
Picking my way through another spate of hot flashes, the last time lasted two weeks. I wouldn't mind so much if they didn't disturb my sleep. Mentioned this at work when Scrub asked for the thermostat to be turned down. Hell, I can't tell if the room is hot, or if it's me, and it doesn't seem to matter if it's cold or warm. He mentioned his mother going through menopause, and having to tiptoe around her. I assured him I never wanted to take my personal discomfort and make it anyone else's, not going to be That Woman.
Talking to the young, female, anesthesia resident, making sure she knew she could use the warmer. She mentioned her Raynaud's, so I looked it up. Not the syndrome, but the phenomenon, I've had since childhood. Fingers that turn white when I'm cold. Associated with migraines, check. So, I wondered if the hot flashes manifesting mostly in the palms of my hands and soles of my feet, are also related.
Moby finally done, D helped me get chair, book, and cat back in. We like to sit together, but just knowing he was there, not getting eaten by bugges, was pleasant as well. Even when it's 90˚F, in the shade of evening, from trees and sunflowers, we were comfortable. Spending so much time inside, I crave light and sun, and air however warm.
On the other hand, sunflowers are tough, resilient, not to be messed with. As a totemic plant, it fits rather well.
*As mosquito repellant.
"I think Moby wants to come out," says D, and I hear his scratching on the door as well. Pick up Eleanor, she's had a good while, and swap cats.
Moby sits nearer the main sidewalk, watching people go past, as they notice him. When this is enough socialization, he settles into the sunflowers and grasses, continuing to watch. A young couple walk by, the guy stops to thank me for the beautiful flowers, and tells me, "You know your name is Sunflower!" I thank him and laugh.
And I think, me? Nice? Smiling at strangers, even if they are sort of neighbors? Accepting a compliment with a sincere "thank you" and no demur? Comfortable and easy with life? I know, yes, this is what I've been working toward, more or less, although I would not have described it thus. Still, how different from who I thought I was. Tears rose in a kind confusion, how did this occur?
Growing up in a large city, taught to avoid strangers, protect myself, nice was not a quality, it was a flaw, and a dangerous one. However much I was harassed by men to "gimme a smile, it can't be that bad!" I knew I was vulnerable, and kept up a wall of scowl. Walked fast, snarled and kept eyes forward. And it worked, never was attacked or mugged, and the possibility was quite real in some areas I frequented alone, as a young woman. Projecting an air of "I'm gonna be too much trouble" dissuades interest.
Trouble being that I was completely hardened. Mostly, I'm sure, because I wasn't safe at home, either. With age, assurance, and now our haven of peace, I've softened right through. Or gone slightly mad. Given the long grey hair, the latter looks more likely. Sitting among gigantic plants with yellow faces, reading a book with a cat on a leash, smiling and nodding at the folks walking by, young and old, reasonable or drunk, as they appreciate a small but dramatic spot of beauty.
Picking my way through another spate of hot flashes, the last time lasted two weeks. I wouldn't mind so much if they didn't disturb my sleep. Mentioned this at work when Scrub asked for the thermostat to be turned down. Hell, I can't tell if the room is hot, or if it's me, and it doesn't seem to matter if it's cold or warm. He mentioned his mother going through menopause, and having to tiptoe around her. I assured him I never wanted to take my personal discomfort and make it anyone else's, not going to be That Woman.
Talking to the young, female, anesthesia resident, making sure she knew she could use the warmer. She mentioned her Raynaud's, so I looked it up. Not the syndrome, but the phenomenon, I've had since childhood. Fingers that turn white when I'm cold. Associated with migraines, check. So, I wondered if the hot flashes manifesting mostly in the palms of my hands and soles of my feet, are also related.
Moby finally done, D helped me get chair, book, and cat back in. We like to sit together, but just knowing he was there, not getting eaten by bugges, was pleasant as well. Even when it's 90˚F, in the shade of evening, from trees and sunflowers, we were comfortable. Spending so much time inside, I crave light and sun, and air however warm.
On the other hand, sunflowers are tough, resilient, not to be messed with. As a totemic plant, it fits rather well.
*As mosquito repellant.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Ping
Moby very chasey, and Eleanor always up for it, a ping-pong ball in the mix proves the value of sports in comradeship.
By this point, both watching the ball.
By this point, both watching the ball.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Bends
Strong winds whipped through last evening.
7:05 pm MDT, 92˚F, 41 dewpoint, 17% humidity, winds N 35mph, Gusting 47, visibility 2miles.
Ruffled the sunflowers. But the most heavily seeding one seems to now have a permanent bend.
"Try yoga, they said. It's good for you, they said."
"I'm stuck!"
7:05 pm MDT, 92˚F, 41 dewpoint, 17% humidity, winds N 35mph, Gusting 47, visibility 2miles.
Ruffled the sunflowers. But the most heavily seeding one seems to now have a permanent bend.
"Try yoga, they said. It's good for you, they said."
"I'm stuck!"
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Fertilization
Bad hair day?
Mike tells me the yellow bits are modified leaves, and each of the little nubs in the middle are the fertilization sites - the flowers.
Bee knows.
"Boop-oop-a-doop!"*
"What kind of bugge am I?"
*
Audible
Happy Anniversary, Eleanor. It's been one year since you peered over the edge of the soft bed on the shelf in the shelter. When you stretched out on my leg, my knee bare, and the little girl two feet away shrieked, you did not put your claws into my skin. You flicked your ears a little, and earned my trust.
Amid the cacophony of opening day of the shelter, you were sweet and calm. Proof enough for us, so we brought you home. Perhaps a little selfishly, we wanted you as a companion to Moby. Given that you seemed to fall in love with him, perhaps we can be forgiven. He was terrified of you, rattled to the bones, affronted and bewildered. But I figured you would eventually win him over, at least in part.
Today, you both sit with me on the sofa. Moby already here, you hop up, politely sniff him, settle down next to me, and he yawns.
"Eh. She's alright, I guess. Happyanniversary, sheesh," deadpans Moby. You just snuggle down, not quite purring.
Your purr that first week, when I brushed the matted fur on your chin beneath your ears, could not be heard, only barely felt. This morning, when you walked up my chest, stuffing your nose under my chin, your purr was nearly loud. When D sat on the bench near the window sill where you sat looking out, you stuck out your face to him, to be petted, and I could hear you purr. We're glad you feel secure, and are beginning to feel loved.
And that you and Moby are, at least sometimes, enjoying each other. You chase and wrestle, and together you can stare gooshy food from either of us.
Amid the cacophony of opening day of the shelter, you were sweet and calm. Proof enough for us, so we brought you home. Perhaps a little selfishly, we wanted you as a companion to Moby. Given that you seemed to fall in love with him, perhaps we can be forgiven. He was terrified of you, rattled to the bones, affronted and bewildered. But I figured you would eventually win him over, at least in part.
Today, you both sit with me on the sofa. Moby already here, you hop up, politely sniff him, settle down next to me, and he yawns.
"Eh. She's alright, I guess. Happyanniversary, sheesh," deadpans Moby. You just snuggle down, not quite purring.
Your purr that first week, when I brushed the matted fur on your chin beneath your ears, could not be heard, only barely felt. This morning, when you walked up my chest, stuffing your nose under my chin, your purr was nearly loud. When D sat on the bench near the window sill where you sat looking out, you stuck out your face to him, to be petted, and I could hear you purr. We're glad you feel secure, and are beginning to feel loved.
And that you and Moby are, at least sometimes, enjoying each other. You chase and wrestle, and together you can stare gooshy food from either of us.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Crossed
I am a lover of crosswords.
D found a Useful Table at a yard sale. Our only success, but worthwhile. One yard sale seemed good, probably was for some people. But it had such an odor of religion, I didn't even want the rather nice wooden picture frame, put it back after fully looking around. We both felt the same mild revulsion.
He's building a guitar, enjoying the process. My excess supplies from work proving helpful, drape, gloves. I think it's all rather amazing.
Got no rain out of the week's ruffled streams, well, not enough to count. Lots of dark clouds and gusty winds, but now back to harsh sun and dry heat.
D found a Useful Table at a yard sale. Our only success, but worthwhile. One yard sale seemed good, probably was for some people. But it had such an odor of religion, I didn't even want the rather nice wooden picture frame, put it back after fully looking around. We both felt the same mild revulsion.
He's building a guitar, enjoying the process. My excess supplies from work proving helpful, drape, gloves. I think it's all rather amazing.
Got no rain out of the week's ruffled streams, well, not enough to count. Lots of dark clouds and gusty winds, but now back to harsh sun and dry heat.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Tall
Who needs a lawn, when the sunflowers will just take right over?
Despite heavy predation in one corner.
Not all over, the tall grass is holding it's own.
Still.
Despite heavy predation in one corner.
Not all over, the tall grass is holding it's own.
Still.
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