Game

When I got in this morning, my name was not on the assignment board. I thought, "Hey, maybe they'll just call me off!" Ha. No. I became back-up Lunch Lady and general resource, which was fine. Busy. Once everyone had lunch, though, I asked the charge if I could go home.

"Not feeling well?"

"No worse than anyone else today, but I asked first."

Hotflashy night, third in a row. My hands aren't happy with me, either. Nothing much, but home just seems like the best place in the world to be today. I'll make up for it another time.

D and I very happy with each other, after working so closely this weekend. We shore up each other's weak spots, and get along so well. Very reassuring, enjoyable, however tired we now are.

When I was a kid, maybe 8 or 9, my mother decided to refinish her dining room set, table, chairs and china cabinet. I learned to sand and strip, stain and lacquer that summer, mostly on the undersides, and bottoms of legs. It turned out very nice, lighter and without decades of waxy dirt. A beautiful old large table, with extensions, that I loved polishing. On birthdays and holidays, a dozen people could eat around it, on white tablecloth, gas candles, the good white china with tiny blue flowers, the electric overhead bright above. Nothing ill-lit about dinners with the whole clan. "I like to see what I'm eating" a common refrain.

After dinner, cards. Euchre and 500 for groups of 4, the dealt cards slipping over the shining wood. Or with larger groups, Michigan Rummy, with an oatmeal box full of rubber betting tokens (no money). Waterworks or Uno. How much fun this was depended largely on who played, and if I were being allowed to play - or made to. And how late, since when I was tired, I played to lose, just to be let go to bed.

The appeal of games remains limited for me. Much as I would occasionally love a fast few games of Euchre with three other experienced players, I also remember how frustrating it was to remind Uncle Milton of the basic rules, or that it was his turn. Or how mad my mother would get about how badly I shuffled, or dealt. Or how game would grimly follow game at granny's, with only my parents and myself, since there was nothing else to do, and leaving too early was a sin.



Still, I approached refinishing the stand for the sink, knowing I could follow instructions and it would work out quite well. The plumbing had me worried, but D seemed to think he'd be able to manage it. We did a lot of preparatory research.

Waterworks

We have plumbed. The drainage, now working precisely, is entirely to D's credit. My mind simply would not wrap, but he got the waterworks puzzle solved.



I'd forgotten about the little wrenches for that game.


We did a happy little water dance, and D shaved. And the rain is pouring down outside in sympathetic celebration.

Next, adapting the drawer so that we can have a little space, which will also obscure the pipes a bit more. We have a plan. No rush.

So tired and sore, so much accumulated cleaning to do, laundry. Still have to dispose of the old sink and faucet. I'll call the re-use place later this week, and we'll try to offer it on gregs-list again, maybe for $1, and free. No nibbles yesterday, who knows why. You'd think, given how pricy this stuff is new, that a free working faucet and sink would be worth picking up for somebody. I'd rather not just break it up for lawn mosaic, but I will if I have to.

Update: guy came by to use it for a garage. Done and done.

Cats seemed to be having a really fun runaround this morning, madly chasing, taking turns, even running side by side. Eleanor is very good for Moby. We think we are a good home for her, as well. She seems happy and healthy, which is all we can say for certain.

Vanity

Rain-in-sun spattering as I left work yesterday. Booms and lightening, the power flicked off about 8pm, so we shrugged and crawled in bed. Awake and miserable at 1am, with the sinus headache I'd been fighting for two days, I read for a while, power had come back up while I slept. Back to bed, more very loud stormage and rain around 4am. Woke at 7am to Eleanor nuzzling in to my stomach as I lay on my side. Tea and cereal, showered and dressed, we began on the sink project.

Pipes disconnected with the requisite amount of frustration and swearing. The drain full of muck, which I tried to remove by hand. D tried using a snake, after a long search for same, part of which then broke off inside, never to be seen again.


I really thought removing the old cabinet would be the simplest bit. But the inflow pipes were incorporated into the back of the cabinet. Trip to Hardware, came back with a small saw and other tools. A few score of drill holes, and a chisel, and an hour of hacking away, removed the back piece. Figuring we were now free, we tried to move it again. Still caught, D discovered a screw into the wall, which took a bit of doing, and the drill, to remove.

The battery drill we bought for the guitar build is proving a terrific asset, for the raised bed frame, removing the kitchen monstrosity, and now the ultra-long screw holding the bathroom cabinet in place. She deserves a name. 'Chuck' would be appropriate, but tools are shes, so... Charlotte? Got that long ass-screw out with barely a whimper.

Finally expunged, shuffled to the front porch, we stared at what was behind. The old green paint and gaps now visible, open plaster, baseboards gone in spots. No, I couldn't make myself take a picture of that. Ugh. D feeling rather discouraged, walked over to get just something at the big grocery store, and use their restroom.

I find the light paint we used in the spare room, clean the roller tray, find roller and brushes and chopsticks to stir. D taped off the pipes and edges before he left. And I slathered. Didn't take long. Even tried to get it all tidy before he got back, not quite there, so we finished that up together. Paint doesn't precisely match, but it looks fine as is, a little off, but clean and fresh.

Moved the new stand in, and decided that we wouldn't need to cut it to get behind the pipes, just perch it in front, since there won't be any standing water on the surface. It's a bit smaller, so it fits quite well. This makes it all so much simpler, and more stable. Ultimately, easier to clean, too.

Inflow, CHECK!


Outflow... mmm, not quite. Didn't have, and couldn't get, all the right connections. A trip to the Despot tomorrow. Still, we know what we need. D got it puzzled out.



The wall and floor behind are very shabby. Finishing up aesthetics will wait for another day. We are rather proud of ourselves. As well as tired and a bit scraped up.

Supervise

I woke to Eleanor on my chest, and Moby at my right hand. Both on the bed, two nights in a row. They slept there most of the day as well.

When I've been working on the stand, or we've been puzzling out the plumbing supplies, Moby supervises.


Eleanor ignores.


So much dust visible in the late afternoon. Must clean, but the project distracts, and I barely manage food.

Sinking

Stand off, typical.




More to do, but oh, so close. Not looking forward to dismantling the old one. Can't wait to get this in and flowing.

Drills

We have a routine for morning. Mostly because I need to adhere to habits, not to forget things when my brain is still a good 90% asleep. I shower, D gets the kettle started. I eat, D takes his shower. Poor guy learned the hard way just to keep of out my path first thing in the morning, for which I apologize, always.

This morning, he got delayed, because Eleanor was in the bathroom litter box. So, he's standing in the hallway, waiting, holding my towel that I forgot to hang up. As he waits - so as not to disturb her. I join him watching, when I notice Moby crouching at the door, watching her. Something Moby does, we don't know why, presuming it to be a cat-thing. The scene is ridiculous, two people and a cat, waiting for second cat taking a piss, utterly oblivious. And Eleanor takes her time, lots of scratching -"I'll be out in a minute!" Finally Moby rushes her, which we normally try to dissuade him doing, but this morning it's all too fast, and I'm laughing too hard.

Not a bad way to begin a day, belly laughs.

All the sink bits are here. Drill holes marked. Drilling them much more difficult than hoped. One cut, the other mostly, but the drill battery needs recharge. More waiting. Well, it'll do a fine job holding up the sink.


Eventually got through, rather, D finagled it. I laid on the first coat of poly. Next two tomorrow. Turned out, the faucet included a drain, the flat grid type we wanted, matching the faucet finish. So, we'll take back the other one, with receipt, still sealed.



Did one with my life name, D impressed, so I had to do one for here, as well. Right? The sort of fiddly job I tend to do when I'm in the middle of a project. To keep myself moving in between, when I have to wait. Like shining doorknobs, polishing windows, spackling, de-linting keyboards at work, tasks that are so often neglected, being unimportant. Although they feel nice done. Satisfying little jobs.

Waiting is easier if I keep my hands busy. Like doing crosswords on the train when we lived in Boston. Without that, I get drifty and mopey.

Short day at work, cancelled a very long case - for all the right reasons. We took one case, which gave another room time for their more complex case. Which was all that would shift. My scrub got to go home and study, which made him happy.

Equinox

Pestered my poor hand surgeon again.

"Is there anything I can do better for this?" showing him my coban'd fingers wrapped together.

"That's pretty good. Actually, there are velcro things for buddy taping. They are really cheap. Go up to Hand Therapy, tell 'em I sent you."

Which I did. Marvelous. Lovely people work in that place. Got a few in my purse, now. Since this is going to be mending a good long while yet, scheduling this for another five weeks.

In an hour, the year turns toward winter. Thursday likely to hit 90˚F again.

Sink arrived, even more lovely than I'd imagined. Awaiting the faucet. And retaining ring, which is separate, for incomprehensible reasons, not given.

Patching

So lovely having 3 1/2 days off, but I'm ready to plunge back in. Drowsy all day, thanks to grey skies and welcome rain. Still have not planted bulbs, need more good soil in the raised bed. Waffling on what to do, what to put where. Overwhelmed by taking down the sunflower forest. Leaving up some, at least until the snow flies, for the birds to perch upon and eat from.

A few minutes spackling. Really should put some paint over it, once dry, just to prevent soppiness.



Everything is patch, patch, patch. Well, certainly it is. I have everything I need, just have to use what I've got, now.

New apartment buildings going up like mushrooms nearby. As are rents. We hold hands, glad that we jumped off the Renting Life when we did. We'd have wound up in smaller, worse places, paying more and more rent, until we wound up in a box on the sidewalk. Instead, we have a home and house to put it in. The problems aren't.

Doodle

In that childhood state of mind, when the doodle is all.

I hope this is available when my time comes.

Capsula Mundi is a container with an old perfect shape, just like an egg, made with modern material -starch plastic- in which the dead body is put in a fetal position. Capsula Mundi is planted like a seed in the soil, and on a tree is planted on top of it. The tree is chosen when the person is alive, relatives and friends look after it when death occurs. A cemetery will no longer be full of tombstones and will become a sacred forest.

Gambit

She headlocks him, swings herself down, then bats at him from the floor. He tries to nip her paws, unsuccessfully. This goes on for a while, very intent and apparently engaging. He hasn't figured out how to win this gambit, except by walking away.

So much mess. I keep telling myself it was good for the soil, and we won't do this again. Have to wear jeans and shirt, gauntlets, to protect myself. So much more to do.

Noodle

Made ourselves a full breakfast, bacon & eggs with hashbrowns this morning, after very little dinner yesterday. Hard night, humid and hot for the time of year, intense lightening and thunder around 4am, lots of Eleanor on my chest.

We headed out to the despot, got a drain, but nothing else of note. Seems like they used to be more helpful. Maybe not in that area. So, we figure we're on our own. Online. Faucet ordered along with the necessary but not included mounting ring. Picked up groceries and rx. No more peanuts, raw, in shell, for the Scrub Jays, to be found.

D finished sanding, then I stained the basin stand. We think it looks grand. Many more coats of sealant to go, but pleasing so far.



Then I hacked at the dead sunflowers. Not going to let it go that far again. As an experiment, it was a complete success, no need to repeat it. We'll do the edge again, but not the forest. And I'll leave some up for the birds this winter. Most of them are up and out and into compost. Seed saving will be later on yet.

Moby would love to have been simply left outside all morning. He even went up to Dog Spike for a polite sniff hello.





We also got some dirt for the planter, to be shifted in later this weekend. I need to get the bulbs in. Mostly iris and allium. And cleared the dining room of sandpaper, swept, mopped and tidied. While protecting my knuckle.

Once everything has arrived, we begin assembly and final finishing, knowing we can get the inevitable extra stuff we didn't think of, at the local hardware.

In the middle of all this, we went for dim sum for lunch. I have a new favorite, hong kong pan fry noodle. Well, new one of my top three, shrimp paste on bell pepper, sticky rice on lotus leaf. No, wait, can't forget the egg steamed bun. Top four, possibly five.

We are feeling better nourished this evening, and may just have soba for dinner.

Weekends

A short day, even shorter due to a patient with issues who didn't show. Surgeon and pre-op nurses warned us ahead of time, and no one was surprized. So, I was home for the long weekend even earlier than expected, and it does not hurt my feelings in the least.

Driving home, the sun cut through my skirt, leaving the skin beneath feeling seared. My poor bare arm I kept pressed against the little shade right against the door, for minimal relief. Another blast of the late heat wave. Another over 90˚F, 34C. Neither of us could stand the idea of going out to the home despot, since it is in the tarmac thick warehouse district, which would be even hotter. Early morning suits us better, and anyway the sink likely won't arrive until Monday.

Promised rains have not arrived, nor even the clouds. Perhaps tonight, perhaps not.

Moby had to go out, to bask, once with D, then me. Both humans reluctant and cranky about this.

Very little accomplished. Neither in any mood to eat.

Sand

Sanded and sanded. Obtained stain and sealant, brushes. Hoping to get more pieces in place. wanting the sink project done.

Up before even the usual time this morning, so I tried to nap. Eleanor decided me lying down meant a cuddle.



A cat is never wrong.



Too damn hot.

A Few Clouds
94°F
34°C
Humidity14%
Wind SpeedVRBL 6 MPH
Barometer29.87 in (1005.1 mb)
Dewpoint38°F (3°C)
Visibility10.00 mi
Heat Index90°F (32°C)
Last Update on 17 Sep 4:53 pm MDT

Pokes

Low autumnal sun, cuts under the brim and pokes our eyes. Over 93˚F,34C - irritates.


Eleanor immune, seemingly.

Sunflowers looking ratty and sad. Minimal thinning so far, but I think it's time to hack and slash. Their day is done, all gone to seed. Some will remain for bird perches.



Nearly got sideswiped then run over by a large construction truck last block from work this morning. Nothing like a good start to the day.


Hand surgeon asked me about my wrapped finger, so I told him in accurate shorthand, and that his colleague had examined and x-rayed me on Friday. Dr. H. says "ok." Subject dropped.

Later, a resident who I find utterly obnoxious, and always have, who uses my first name way more than is normal in conversation, comes in and notices the wrap.

"Zhoen. You hurt your finger?"

"Mm." Acknowledgement, but deflecting in the extreme.

"Zhoen. What did you do?"

"(silence)" None of his business, he-who-cannot-take-a-hint.

"You should have Dr. H look at it for you!"

"(silence)" (Anyway, I'm busy.)

"ZHOEN!?" As though I couldn't possibly be ignoring him.

"Yes?" Yup, I know you've been being nosy and inappropriate, what do you want, Doctor?

He finally twigs that I'm not telling him anything. He's not my doctor, I am not, nor would I ever ask the little asshole for advice, ever. I've seen him screw up way too often, out of ignorance and stubbornness. Entitled twit.

Most doctors, in training or otherwise, are bombarded by requests for medical diagnoses by family and friends, strangers, and at some point in medical school, actively avoid involvement unless it's clearly appropriate. Those of us who work with full fledged doctors, will have them make a quick check if we have an issue, well within their area of specialization. And even that we do only with great discretion. Sure, I've gotten basic directions on sore knees and fingers, lumps and concerns. Only of the surgeons I've most respected, and am most comfortable with. These are very short, to the point, and wholly in jargon. If it looks like more is needed, we are eager to simply make an appointment. Mostly, the MDs wave that off, and consider it a professional courtesy, which we accept as a kindness, not a right.

I have never before had a resident push to offer his opinion. If I've ever given this particular one any encouragement, it was all in his mind. Because I've striven to always do the opposite. He struck me as incompetent, argumentative, and useless from the first day he barged into the OR, contaminating himself, then refusing to be corrected.

In the OR, if anyone sees a potential contamination, the hard rule is, it's a contamination. If in doubt, throw it out. Doesn't matter if it's the Medical Director of the hospital being told by a first year visiting nursing student, if something got touched, dropped too low, the ONLY response is, "ok, may I have a new (whatever got contaminated)?" No defenses, no excuses, if someone with the right view saw something, a correction will be made. For the vast majority of times, that is exactly what happens.

So, when an intern blows in, does something blatantly wrong, and two old surgical nurses tell him No, and he Argues it? ("That's what they do in the Cath Lab!") That was my first meeting with this dude, and I've never seen anything to change that initial impression. He must've gone to a Dale Carnegie course, or maybe EST, at some point, as a kind of charm school, which makes him ohsomuch worse.

He will be gone one day, and another with a different set of abrasive character traits will arrive. Such is life. Thankfully, he is the rarity, not the norm. Most of the folks who come through, and those who stay, are decent, intelligent, hardworking and capable.

Closed on Friday, so I plan to make a lot of sink progress this weekend.

Finger stable, if nowhere near happy yet. Long, slow, process, healing tendon/ligament.

Solid

Both of us exhausted yesterday. Both awake at 3am, my airways feeling reactive, D just uncomfortable. Despite several attempts, neither of us could sleep. For me in part because I'd taken drugs to loosen up the breathing tubes, as well as strong tea.

That and being hungry all day, not having properly nourished three days running. Sometimes I forget to eat well on my day off, especially if D isn't around for us to cook for each other. And N's visit added to the disruption. Then two very busy days at work, not taking enough with me for lunches.

When it was late enough, we got out for groceries and milk. Most of the day a hazy idle. I finally managed an hour's nap, which worked wonders.

We planned to go to the 9th&9th Street fair, hoping to hear a local ska/reggae band. D asked if I thought we should dismantle the bar thing in the kitchen. Since we had to waste an hour so as not to be too early, our most egregious and persistent failing, I said, Yes. And we did. Six long screws, and three long bolts. I sang Po' Lazarus as I worked out the bolts, being short enough be under the shelf and still work, my butt on the yoga block, the new/recycled shelf behind me in case the granite dropped, D standing at the legs as back up.

It stayed up, taking a lot of scraping to get the glue to release, as well as a layer of plaster. I was above it when it did drop, alarmingly, on the shelf. We rolled and slid it to the back porch, with difficulty. The weight convincing us that it would be harder to get cut than we imagined. So, scrap that, maybe sell it, just finish the wood really well for the bathroom sink. Spackled the gap in the kitchen wall, swept, and went a'fairing.


Lovely weather, although the sun cut low and hot on the pavement at 3pm. Enjoyed walking through with my Japanese parasol. Stopped by a small girl, perhaps 8, who asked where I'd found it.

"Yard sale." I told her.

"Oh. I thought you'd bought it here."

"No, found it at a yard sale, the only one." I felt a bit bad, but sometimes cheap versions do show up at these neighborhood fairs.

"I just really want one."

"Me too, I'd been looking for years, and got lucky to find this one."

"Thank you." Polite, but clearly disappointed.

"Keep a sharp eye out, good luck!"

No, I wasn't about to just give her my long sought after parasol, although clearly, that's what she was hoping for. Not that I blame her.

Resisted the urge to say something to the woman with the lovely, curly, very natural head of black hair. We've seen her around before, and she is a sight to behold, in all the best ways. However complimentary, public attention is not always welcome, so I held my tongue.


Sat listening to an accordionist play a Parisian style waltz, placed money in his tin. Passed all the hand made jewelry stalls, pretty but not for me. Found a permanent shop that sells estate sale items, displayed for the event, so we are renewing hope of finding a good comfy chair affordably. Saw one, but didn't want to commit ourselves. A rock-a-billy band played instead of the ska band on the schedule. Not bad, we found a bit of shade and a wall to sit on. Guy with a dog, collar tag marked "Sadie." I asked to say hello, he said 'sure!'- and she liked a good scritch. Went from tail wrapped under her belly to full wag and flopped onto my knees. She knew a sucker, and a good massager, when she saw me. Not a bad purpose in life, to make critters happy.

By then feeling side-baked, with no other band on deck, we walked back to the car.

Treated ourselves to a good, solid, dinner, after we moved the table into the kitchen. SO much more room in there now. Painting will happen in due course. No rush, after all. Some of it will be a bit tricky.

Granite

Cats enjoying the sun streaming through windows these days.

Buddy-taping the index finger, committed. As when I cracked the bone so many years ago. Pushed both two fingers into one glove to scrub or prep, when I had to remove the tape. For six, looooooooooooooong weeks. At least now, I'm not scrubbing so much, and I have access to coban. A self adherent wrap, one of our packs has it, but it's not used, so I scavenge the unsterile stuff. Soft tissue injuries can linger.

And so it begins. We finally got rid of that 'bar', counter, whathaveyou in the kitchen. Never liked it, right from the first Open House, but removing it seemed just too much to do unless we had a purpose. I found it useful, especially when my back still ached so badly. It's gotten better over the years, and I no longer need to sit so high.

The idea of using that bit of 'granite'for the bathroom sink cabinet has waned considerably. I'm thinking just the cutting board surface, stained with thick sealing material, drilled for the sink drain and faucet, will be sufficient. D, after moving the 'granite' counter material in the 'bar' is tending to agree. That crap is Heavy.



And we ate dinner in the kitchen on our old table. Good thing we kept the salvaged glass table, works for the lamp and speakers.




There will be Painting to come. Patched the wall, will need to do more. Feeling very good about all this. Took good care of my finger, promise.

Injured

Long, hard week. Helps to be woken by a snuggly cat, and a soft paw to the face. She takes care of me.

I've injured my left radial collateral ligament, index finger. Busted a knuckle. The same one I cracked many years ago. Three weeks ago, but just identified as a persistent problem, not a temporary bruise. Bugger.


Added later,

"While it's true you're haunted by your past, it's truer that you've traveled spectacularly far away from it. You swam across a wide and wild sea and you made it all the way to the other side. That it feels different here on this shore than you thought it would does not negate the enormity of the distance you traversed and the strength it took you to do it."
- Cheryl Strayed

Shallot

There was an odd Lady of Shalott,
Stressed her words as though casting a ballot.
Grew lovely shallots
In very nice pots,
And slept on a splintery pallet.



In response to a post over at separated by a common language.

Long, hard couple of days. Cats camped on me, which helps.

Rack

I've liked this coat rack for years, but not the price, given we already have a coat rack. Originally $140. The day after I sacrificed my yard-sale shelf thingamabob for the bathroom sink holder, wandering around the store, this was discounted to $44. Which seemed entirely reasonable, and a replacement for the shelves lost. But when I went to check out, turns out to be further discounted. At $22, a steal. Paid, had them hold it since I was on foot, rushed home, got D, we got car and returned. Drove home carefully, unable to close the hatch. Tightened it up once home, since it was the floor model. Perfect solution, hooks for pjs and drawers for sweats and shorts.


Old friend, N, stopped by from Portland, OR. Stayed up much later than usual, chatting and ranting. My eyes about ready to explode, but glad to have company. Cats very involved, lots of wrestling. We tried to keep it from getting too intense. But this morning, both were on the bed.

N stopped by again, both cats still contented on the bed. This evening, parallel to each other.


At least for a while. Peace descends. Our gods are mollified.

Took Eleanor outside for a while this morning. She startled and bolted, and bolted, startled again. I was angling for the cat, reeling her in with no small difficulty, finally snagged her, trembling and terrified. Glad the harness is sturdy, or I might well have lost her. This is why I don't take her out as often as we do Moby, she's still unpredictable and fastfastfast.

Snugged her in my arms, D helped me inside, got the harness off, and a few minutes later she was relaxed and oblivious. Restacked the rocks dislodged in her onslaught, brought her catnip, all became well.

Ah, cats.

Grimy

Sunflowers and tomatoes, story of my summer.



"We begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found, already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously who we were born to be."
- Anne Lamott
Whiskey River.

The bathroom sink is hideous. Always has been. Replacing it, as it is still functional, we put off.


It's hard to clean, doesn't stay clean, the caulking around the edge isn't cleanable, and the top is broken at the corner. But another, so far controlled, bout of fruit flies that love to live in the overflow, pushed me over. Really doesn't look much better when it's very clean.


So, I started looking online. Know what we'd like, but getting it all together a different matter. I can mostly find all the bits, but nothing all together, and we didn't know if that would be a problem to install.


Single handle faucet - check.

Vessel sink - check.


Small cabinet - check.




Found this, and although all the main boxes are checked, and it's a reasonable inclusive price, it's way too silly, even for us. Easy to clean? Uh, nope.


Went out to a decor showroom, and although we got good information, we also gave up on keeping this reasonable. Why is the cabinet, the most dull and least important part of this, the most expensive, by about twice what everything else together costs? We don't want something fussy or finished, don't need drawers or even doors. This doesn't even include the top, which is also separate. I feel slightly guilty about taking up her time and deciding on the way out not to buy anything there. Not much, but a little.


Dreaming about this dilemma last night, not sleeping well as I kept trying to work the puzzle of what to do, what to get first, how to ask for what we need. Not to mention the rapidly escalating cost, mostly toward what we didn't really want. If it was going to cost more, but be just lovely, that would be somewhat different. But to go to so much work and expense only to wind up with the wrong thing, intolerable.

In my troubled non-sleep I thought about the garage sale find I use to keep shorts and jeans and sweaters, that Eleanor likes to lay on. And it's about perfect. Then a DIY post about exactly our problem, and a relevant solution they executed.



Remove the wheels, and it measures up very well. Needs to be sanded, stained and sealed, but I know how to do that. D seems to think we can drill the right holes.


May even be able to use the 'granite' from this, which has proved useful, but never liked.

And use the table in the kitchen, which seems altogether better.



And we do have a dining room table.



Obviously, what I most need to do first is tidy up. I'm not comfortable in this much clutter and grime, but it's hard to avoid some weeks.

Remembered my mother getting sick of the old, worn, yellow flowered linoleum in the kitchen. She began pulling it up. So when she went to pick my father up from work, they went out to get tiles to replace the floor. Older story of her taking a sledge hammer to a wall one day, in one of those old houses too much broken into too-small rooms. They spent that weekend making an arch. This makes me laugh, and rather like her a bit. I can relate.

Raku

Story over on NPR about women and Clothes. And some of the questions they asked for the book.


What is your cultural background and how has that influenced how you dress?

Catholic, lots of catholic. Ultimately, though, not so much a different culture as a different time. The century previous to the one in which I was born. I hear these days from cow-orkers, of toddlers running about naked, and mothers correcting but also laughing and accepting. I'm sure my mother never did this. For me, even as a baby, clothes were mandatory at all times. Save in the bath. Until my brothers were allowed to see me in the bubble bath, and I had to wear underwear or bathing suit, in the tub. I was perhaps 2 or 3. So much shame.

Taken in, added to my own inclination to privacy. I hated to feel exposed. The sunsuit that felt way too much like a bathing suit, worn to Granny's. I felt so naked and cold and wrong in it, it seemed to break all the rules my mother imposed on me, but she was making me wear this, out of the house, and visiting, and no way to change or cover up. Shamed for the shame she usually imposed, when it was inconvenient.

Aunt Alma was always a bit aghast at my extreme modesty as a small child. But my father put the fear of being seen through the window at all undressed, pervert men looking in, specifically, in so many words. I strove to never be naked changing clothes.

I liked long skirts, in part because they felt nice against my legs. And I didn't have to worry so much about 'sitting like a lady.' Parental urging to wear more fashionably short skirts just seemed perverse. Mother amazed that I didn't want to do cheerleading as a class, because as soon as the woman signing kids up enthused about my getting to wear the short skirts, I absolutely refused. I liked the more romantic image of long dresses, ball gowns and pioneer dresses.

My little girl self loved skirts that belled out when I swirled, which got me in trouble at a teacher conference. I was very young, idle, twirling in a corner, lost my balance, fell down. My mother had me out of there before I drew breath, snarling at me for 'shaming' her, in a rage over my inappropriate behaviour. I stuck to wanting very long skirts after, as I knew the temptation to twirl would always overtake me.

I liked dark colors, but those were not 'right' for a little girl, only pastels. No jeans. So many arbitrary rules, all with the force of moral certainty. I fantasied about being a stripper, the ultimate in transgression.

Do you think you have taste or style? Which one is more important?

My style is rather plain, dark, rumpled. My taste is actually pretty good, although plain, given a bit more money to indulge it. If I can't have the really good stuff, I'll dress down rather than above my income. It's a very stripped down style, and I often ignore looks for the sake of comfort and function. Unobtrusive. Whatever it is, it's not fashionable. Some women can be fashionable with second hand and homemade, I don't have that much taste.

How does money fit into all this?

With unlimited budget, everything would be tailored, fine soft fabric, durable, wouldn't really look much different.

Did your parents teach you things about clothing, care for your clothing, dressing or style?

My mother was a seamstress. Of trusses. And she made some of my clothes, most of which I rather liked. Lovely pinafore of dark blue wool as a school uniform, one of my favorite bits of clothing ever. Long enough for comfort, dark only because it was the uniform mandatory color.

She taught me to look for poor sewing in store bought clothes. Which today leads me to see how much of the clothing for sale is not worth what is asked. Why I buy more men's t-shirts and shorts - they are better made. Not taking proper care of my clothes was a matter of anguish for my mother. I still don't really, so many bleach spotted shirts over the years. I just can't get myself worked up over wear and tear, and I want durable.

Taught to iron, I rarely have as an adult. Don't polish my shoes, either. Nothing to polish.


Please describe your mind. Please describe your body. Please describe your emotions.

I think about everything, all the time. Turn it and turn it and keep trying to see and understand. Poking for holes in my understanding, checking for errors, striving to be intelligent. My body is serviceable, even through the pain. Sturdy, but aging, showing signs of wear. But good, appealing, at least to some. My emotions are rattled but earnest, easily upset. I'm nevertheless absolutely stubborn when pushed too hard, too long. Deep veins of hurt run through granite, fracture lines where I periodically crumble under sufficient pressure. I'm all wabi-sabi.

Born a little broken, still cracked and crazed.