Pretty

Not, it must be admitted, the prettiest of flowers. Not something to show up in a wedding bouquet.

But, green onion flowers certainly have character and a sort of weird charm. The bee appreciates their beauty.



As someone who could be similarly described, I feel the kinship.



Show offs.



But, awww, so delightful to the eye. And they have a right to their more generally noticed beauty as well.

Addendum: For those of you who have not read Pratchett yet, IO9 has a handy guide with descriptions.

Aptitude

Forty years ago, I had no idea what I could be, what to do for a living. Counselors had interest and aptitude tests that were useless. I was interested in everything, as a good generalist student. People had opinions, but the idea of a woman with a career was still a bit new to be considered as a serious question.

I knew I didn't want to work fast food. Nor wind up in a factory like my father, nor sewing as my mother'd done until marriage. Other than that, I had little more than vague fantasy.

Kids today I imagine feel much the same, differing in the detail. Something to do with the internet is probably as far as they get, but how real will that be in 20 years? What comes next, and will it bear any relationship to now?

What I did get was a solid academic education, rigorous homework and tests. One excellent class "Growth as a Person"* that taught me how to make decisions. I learned to study, work hard, and stand by my choices. Having ballet as a kid taught me a kind of grace and comfort in my body, with the mindset to endure discomfort and pain. Learned it again in the military. Never could manage a musical instrument, but I sang in the choir, which helps fluency.

When D started back to college, he credited his Critical Thinking class for a great deal of his skill dealing with research. He played guitar, and wooed me. Still plays and composes for the sheer joy. As maker fairs appeared, we both wished we could have had access to building skills early on. For the sake of problem solving and perseverance and confidence to make mistakes. We are struggling with basic handyman work.

One of my surgeons was taught to tie flies as a kid, challenged by his father to do them faster and faster. Those long practiced movements serve him well tying suture, his hands blur, and it's astonishingly assured.

All this is about as good a training for an unseeable future as possible. Since it's less what we learn than how we approach learning. One form will convert to another.





*I shit you not. I didn't want to take it, but wound up needing it for credits. And it really turned into a great lesson.

Onions

Onion garden on the north, flowering. Clover and lavender largely on the south. Lettuces in mini-skirts in the raised bed.

I remember asking if there were green flowers, and getting evasive and bored answers. The green onion flowers look to be my answer, although they are also white among the green. And I remember being stymied by the "go look it up" response, since I didn't know HOW. Library books for kids didn't have indexes, and how would you look up "green flowers" in an encyclopedia?

Still wouldn't know how to look that up in the books I had available at the time.

Out with Moby, who got to chase a butterfly.

Static

Took Eleanor out this morning for the salad bar. Took her a while to decide, but soon enough figured out what she needed. Ate an impressive amount of grass, then low-crawled to me to go back in. The traffic at this time of morning a bit more than she can take for long.

Turned the compost pile, and it's looking good. I'll sift and spread it right before putting in the tomatoes, which will be next week. For now, just getting the fresh stuff down where it will degrade.

Not up to much more today. Head booming, still chipping away at the deep congestion. Flushing with saline, drugs and tea. Reading online easier, if only because it comes in tiny bites. A novel sits waiting, but I can't seem to swallow it, nor follow the plot in such small sips.

Some coughing through the night, a long session this morning, but productive, and settled now. Still silent, to rest my throat, mouthing words to D as needed, signing or writing.

When I was a kid, I often considered which sense I could most do without. How would it feel to be blind, how could I cope if deaf? I don't remember wondering about losing my voice, perhaps since I already felt I didn't have one. Eventually decided losing my sense of smell would be least annoying, although I've since reconsidered that opinion. A reasonable choice for a city child assaulted by stenches. Anosmia interferes with taste, a whole host of emotional cues come through odor and aroma. Bad enough when I have a cold. Lost sensation of any kind divorces us from our world, a grief, damage.

Loss of sight would be more than stumbling around the house, loss of connection not only through books, but these days, the whole tech world is largely visual. My own vision issues make this a real issue, no romantic story attached.

My current muteness is largely voluntary, a step toward healing an irritated airway, temporary. The loss of my voice, so long fought for, is difficult. To be silenced again, a sort of ache. Intensely frustrating. Dr. H did the Time-outs yesterday when I could no longer be clear nor loud. By the time I left, incomprehensible.

We need all the sensory apparatus we have, we need all we can muster to communicate. Hard enough to listen at the best of times, hard enough to be understood. But sometimes, forcing the hand, demanding the eye, means we must actually look and struggle for comprehension. We think we know, but we don't. We make best guesses and sigh.

Principle

"And the question is, do you as a society force them to do that out of principle?"

Yes. Yes, we do. If the principle is to serve people regardless of their ethnicity, or religion, or gender, then, yes. If your religion says you have to treat anyone with genetics that express as dark skin as second class, then don't go into any public service business. If you can't get your head around the fact that sexual orientation is any more a moral choice than if we "prefer" to be male or female, then no, you don't get to refuse them service.

I didn't make a moral choice to be a woman. Decided long before I was born. And if a culture has an issue with that, then the government has a responsibility to enforce a principle of justice and equality on them. Other gender variations are the same.

And no one needs to "promote" heterosexual marriage. It's the assumption and norm, and needs no more forcing. If it's falling apart, it's about more than a law that allows any other group to benefit from the same status.

Marriage fell apart because it was no longer the only choice for women, no longer the enforced state for anyone wanting any place in society. Maybe, only half of people need to be coupled in this way, and orientation and gender identification has nothing to do with this. If this causes societal disruption, then it needs to be turned over and changed. Ending slavery causes turmoil, does this mean we should defend it because of the bother?

By their fruits shall you know them.

Do onto others as you would have them do unto you.

Love one another, be kind to one another.

Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.


Compassion, really, really the way through. Compassion for the closed minded does not mean letting them continue to be cruel.

Article over at Cracked, Reasons Gay Marriage IS Traditional Marriage.

Larynx

So much coughing and congestion has finally taken away my voice. Wasn't feeling that bad at work, not great, but nowhere near ill enough to call in. Tired, but not exhausted. I'd been sucking on cough drops and taking mucous thinners, irrigated sinuses last night. But as the morning wore on, my raspy voice became harder and harder to produce, until I started signing and writing notes, finally down to wheezes and squeaks. So, when S came to relieve me, I reluctantly accepted. I could no longer function, since I couldn't be heard.

So, I'm home, still coughing, still stuffy, and now on a complete vow of silence until Thursday morning.

This is a nasty virus we are all dealing with. My surgeon today is just getting over his bout with it. So, this morning when a number of critical problems came up, he refrained from venting his frustration at his fellow sufferer, or at the float scrub who came in today to help. He bit on a towel to express himself, but otherwise kept it to himself. I hear he lost it in front of the charge nurse, but even then kept it from being a personal attack. He is one of our more volatile surgeons. Although those of us who have worked with him a long time also know he has a good heart, and much of the noise is because he is passionate about the care he gives his patients.

One of the notes that I kept for reuse was "STOP MAKING ME TALK!"

Sending D messages via chat.

Windows are open, air is warm and summery.

Staring

Hey, look over there! It's Frank Sinatra,
Sitting in a chair.
And he's blowing
Perfect. Smoke. Rings.
Up into the air. And he's singing.
Smoke, makes a staircase, for you
To descend.
So rare.


Ah desire! So random So rare
And everytime I see those smoke rings
I think you're there.
Que es mas macho staircase or smoke rings?



- Laurie Anderson, Smoke Rings

All Things Linguistic joined in on a Sign meme.

I especially like mine.
Pisces: Your star sign should be spelt ghoti.


Aries: Proctology, or at least the ER taking foreign objects out of rectums.

Taurus: Have you considered large animal veterinary nursing?

Gemini: Psych nursing, for the irony of being split personality, and having the insane care for same.

Cancer: Well, obviously oncology.

Leo: Speech therapy.

Virgo: GYN.

Libra: Bariatric.

Scorpio: Toxicology.

Sagittarius: Acupuncture.
Capricorn:

Aquarius: Like Saussure, you understand the arbitrariness of signs.

Pisces: Your star sign should be spelt ghoti.

Onion

The garden is wet and joyful. Grasses and clovers, lettuce in the box, allium and green onions blooming. Scarlet flax coming up all over. Lots of onions, including leeks, a variety. They don't keep the snails down, but they aren't eaten by them either. Still sunflowers, as I ruthlessly stem the tide of the little buggers. Still love 'em, not letting them take over this year. Smells lovely out there, with the mints and lavender, thyme and well rained upon soil.

We slept a good bit of the night, enough to count when both of us are coughing, and off our feed. Headed out to get comfort foods, juices and soups. At about midnight, I was up and taking drugs, aware I'd not had a proper meal in several days. Neither of us really has eaten well. Nothing we had looked appealing, too much cheese, too much flavor. Resolved to sally out to forage as early as possible, so we could return and collapse, but with nourishment to hand.

Hunkering down, taking care of each other as best we can. Our own private pity party.

The Scrub Jays are back, and happy that I put out peanuts for them.

Coughing

Rough week. Both of us ill, D much worse. Unusual, he's rarely ill for more than a day or two. Nor are we often sick together. Coughing through the night, for the worst of it. Litany of viral distresses.

Trouble at work from the sort-of-gone, not quite gone enough, evil manager. Written up, and it feels personal and vindictive. Anonymous complaint, again, and vague. When I asked the circumstances and what exactly happened, she shrugs and says "I don't know, I'm not back there!" And the also usual, "everybody" vague complaint. So, I take it to the people I work with, who are baffled, grasping at something that makes sense. One suggests I make a list of everyone I speak to, which makes a lie of the "everybody" and I know who I believe. But I'm fighting it, and appealing the write up* according to policy.

I suspect it is personal, as she tried to lash out at the nurse who'd gone to do her thesis, but was kept on the hired list. Shot a blank there, see. My thorough and open honesty is making a lie of her complaint against me. It's still a blow, and I'm doing my best tai chi on it, to turn it back on her. She may well have made it all up out of whole cloth. Or a couple of the ancillary people saw banter and took it personally and out of context. OR banter is rough and sarcastic, and I'm good at keeping up my end.

The unabashed support I got from everyone I work with, including the astonished and forceful reaction from our head anesthesiologist, cheers me even more than her sniping harm. Still, a night without decent sleep while coming down with a coughing virus, not what I needed. Last night, D took to the spare room to avoid keeping me awake with his cough. I am entirely grateful. Although at one point we were both awake, barking to each other like seals across the pier.

Raining, and the garden is happy. Seeds coming up, allium blooming, everything greening.

On Wednesday, I read by the window with tea. When I got up, Moby decided this was a really good idea, and took over the chair.



He's back there now.



He's always been a cat of particular moods, choosing a favorite place to sleep for a stretch, then another. Last week, he only wanted to be in the back room on the bed. Sometimes it's D's chair, or the sofa, or the sideboard. We just assume it's a Cat Thing, and we Wouldn't Understand.




*Left to stand, it will deprive me of any raise or bonus this year.

Bigger

Sitting by the front window reading, cup of tea on the sill. Young woman with a stroller walking by, stops, walks back. Gets out her camera, so I do the same.




Moby jumped up on the table, I still had the camera out, so.



Then I realized there was more going on.



And kept watching.




Car is oiled and tuned. Mechanic laughed when I told him about being pushed by the dealer to get a list of maintenance when we got the recall stuff done. He did a tune up, which ran about $10, flushed and checked. They are a national chain*, but they act like an honest independent shop. They treat me well every time, never shove, and so I always go back.

Mom with camera walked back past, gazing at my garden with rocks in.








*Not an ad, just feel they deserve a wave.

Caring for feet, and foot

Fit

No work Monday, so I scheduled a car appointment. Get the oil changed and the tune adjusted. Thinking about how car trouble throws me into an unwarranted panic. The thought of being out on the road with useless equipment and no way home, or crashing, instantly overwhelms my mind. I've never started a trip of more than a few miles without imagining disaster on the freeway.

This is not entirely out of the possible, which is why it's hard to see as unreasonable. But as cars have gotten more reliable, even if the traffic has gotten worse, my response has not adapted. When we watched old episodes of Rockford Files, I strongly noticed how cars fail regularly on the show, at least momentarily. I vividly remembered how cars of that era, often took several tries before starting up. And a car out of commission meant not just not getting where we were going, but me holding a worklight in a cold garage while my father swore at me.

I didn't mind having to walk to school, although it was a substantial walk. It was both parents upset, over the expense or the difficulty of repairs, that made life more unstable than usual.

Just being in a car with my father driving was frightening enough, and I was there three times when he was in accidents. My mother was driving when she got rear ended by a teenage driver, but she was a very good driver and that one didn't bother me as much. My father drove too fast, and badly, and angry and (very rarely) after he'd been drinking.

So, going to get our little Fit in shape. So we can do a trip in May. While I manage the anxiety. Stuttering a lot this week, not sure why exactly. Could simply be that haunting happens most when I'm short of sleep and psychologically vulnerable.

Belly

Belly written for a young blogfriend who bemoaned her post baby belly.


Skin ahead, be warned.








Eight years later, a bit fluffier, not so bad. From 45 to 53.

90

Tomorrow my mother will be 90, and I will think kindly of her. Without contacting her. This is not happy, only a pushing away of misery. I would I could feel safe talking with her, instead I stutter at the thought.

She wasn't abusive in any legal sense. Still, I recoil at her eternal words, her attitude toward me, her lukewarm passivity and absolute judgement on the most trivial of matters. Her empty tears and willful blindness. She didn't cause her own damage, neither did she strive to heal it, only passing it on to others. Yes, I pity her, but give her enough dignity not to tell her. No one wants their own daughter's pity.

If I could have gotten through to her... but that required her to listen all the way down to her heart, searing into her shrunken soul. I never expected it, nor really hoped for it in the last twenty years or so. I wouldn't insist, not my job, couldn't succeed.

D's father's mother is to be 101 years old, not much older than my mother. He wants to visit her one more time, and is anguished at her recent decline. He's urged D to form a relationship with her over the phone, which my dear one is not up to in any way*. And I stay silent on the subject of my estranged parents, who left me with scars of anxiety and pain. Their pain, my inheritance.

I think this is why I've been stammering and worrying so much, on top of the much disturbed sleep from the hot/cold flashes. Obsessive thoughts of wills, or contact with my brother. I sincerely hope I have been legally disowned, only right really. But I also know I will not be told of her death, whenever it occurs.

This knowing I won't know is eroding my fragile peace of mind. And I am feeling very fragile, not knowing what temperature anything is, fractured sleep. Which are weeds, which are from the seeds I've planted.


At nephew's 1st birthday party (don't ask) SIL's mother (grandmother?‡) announced they'd come from a funeral, deciding they would "Let the dead bury the dead." One of those verses that I puzzled over as a child, and embraced as an adult.

Nephew is a good little egg. Given a cake to smush(?†) he patted it and grinned, as if to say, "What do you want me to do with this? This is as far as I'm going, here. I'm not making a fool of myself, you know. I'm NOT YOUR MONKEY!"


Vigilantly weeding this morning, thinning the sunflowers. Young man walks by, I say "good morning" as I do. He stops and tells me about living in Hawaii, with stacks of lava rocks, and a friend taking a photo of him, and an orb appears in the photo near his head. I do not tell him that was a dust mote, but smile and thank him, tell him I'm glad my cairns please him. He's maybe 20, thin and thoroughly tattooed, tank-topped and bushy haired, with that sweet air of new age spirituality. He offers me some "crystals" if I ever want any. I decide to translate.

"All these rocks are from around the house, I balance them as a sort of gift to the house."

It's all about play, to me, but I don't think he would quite understand that impulse. So, I try to find his language, and explain there. House needs no jewels, she is one.

Taking a break from stripping paint, my arms ache, and D has been coughing from pollen. There is time, no rush.




*We don't even talk on the phone much. Typical conversation goes,

"Hi, I'll be on my way."

"Ok, see you when you get here."

"Anything you need me to pick up?"

"No, just come home."

"Ok, love you."

"Love you too."

*click*


†Ok, this is a new thing apparently. Where one year olds are given a small cake to smash up and make a sugary mess, as parents take photos. Totally alien to me. Wasteful and indulgent in my mother's eyes. I don't really object to letting a kid fingerpaint with icing on B-day, but I don't feel any need to be the audience, either. Is this local custom or internet meme?


‡SIL's family is hardcore Utah-mormon. Gave D the heebeegeebies big time. Nice enough, but don't ask about the portraits of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young in the living room. On the other hand, my mother had a large print of St. Veronica Giuliani in the living room.

Bell

We have a new door bell. Non-electric, manual bell. I braided the cord for it, and incorporated some i-ching coins that came attached to a book D processed for the library. (They don't circulate the tchotchkes that sometimes come with books.) Took only two trips to the hardware store to get all we needed.




I think he's rather proud of his new skills being handy.


The allium and green onions are budding. I wonder what the onion flowers will look like.



Eleanor watches us work.

Signs

Moby on top of his tree is a very good sign.

101

It's been ten years for this blog. I'd started one on the mac site, but it was cumbersome. This was the first post here. 3234 posts. Whew.


This is the new one.

1. I love my life.

2. I love our life here, in this house, with these cats.

3. I love you all, and your kind attention and care.

4. Many things I used to worry about, I no longer care about.

5. I really have given up anger. Close as I get is tired frustration.

6. Which means, I'm snippy and grumpy on occasion. Hormones are an issue.

7. Keeping the bullies as strangers helps. No bullies as friends.

8. The garden is a blessing, I think it likes me. Hoping it germinates.

9. Teleportation, I really want teleportation. Just can't tolerate flying anymore.

10. I look like the women in my family at this age, plump and solid.

11. But I braid my long, grey hair, which they never would in their permed helmets.

12. I'm stripping down the stuff I display, clearing away the excess.

13. I still have wheat germ with cereal, almonds and dried fruit every morning I work.

14. I enjoy hot, spicy food greatly. No garlic, though.

15. I'm glad our cats seem happy and secure, and I think they'd let me know if they weren't.

16. I'm so grateful the chronic back pain is down to a trickle these days.

17. Watching the flowers come up this year, from bulbs planted in the fall, seems like a miracle.

18. Finding marbles, and other small items in the soil, delights me.

19. Getting fresh eggs from happy chickens nourishes me.

20. I can list everything I've planted, and know if it took. I sometime forget exactly where, though.

21. I love that my fingers have some ground-in dirt, although I try to keep them well scrubbed only because of work.

22. I think relieving suffering is more important than saving lives.

23. I have no faith in justice. But then, I have no faith.

24. I am anti-islamic. But then, I'm also anti-christian. And anti-religion. Believers scare me.

25. I know religion helps a lot of people, and I recognize faith as a real phenomenon. But I don't understand it, just as the color blind don't really get greens and reds.

26. Some opinions cannot be voiced in most situations, so I keep silence.

27. This is where I put all my thoughts that are not socially acceptable.

28. I'm just smart enough to know how dumb I am. Which is pretty smart, but there is a sky full of headroom.

29. I struggle with people who cannot imagine anyone smarter than they are, when they are none too bright.

30. I still miss throwing pots, knowing I can't do that ever again. But I get to dig in dirt.

31. I have a red face, rosacea apparently, with Rx cream to treat it. I don't mind, except in color photos.

32. I want menopause very much, but I've reached a point of acceptance that it could be a while yet.

32. Well, it's probably better for my heart and skin to have working ovaries. Dammit.

33. I love strong language, and have been indulging in a little more at work. After training myself not to swear so much after overdoing it for many years in the army and before.

34. Linguistics interest me, but only as a hobby. Crosswords, although I'm only middling at them.

35. The internet is like having a library at my fingertips, and I love this so much.

36. Internet is also like having an instant post office, with pen-friends all over the world.

37. I sometimes wonder why British ex-pats in Brittany (and the antipodes) seem to meet here, but I don't want to over-analyse this.

38. I can't get drunk, but I almost always get a hangover if I try. This annoys me, but I try to work with it, since I do like beer, and seem to need some alcohol to stay even keeled.

39. Going through PTSD therapy continues to support my emotional health, and I'm endlessly grateful.

40. I got to see my therapist, and give her a little, shiny fabric, lizard, after her surgery. And thank her. I ended therapy abruptly without explanation, which I don't feel guilt about, but it would have been better to do it with more grace. This felt like a way to do that.

41. The best moments of my life involved expressing gratitude to good people in my life. Like meeting my anatomy prof years later, and thanking him for his amazing class.

42. There is no answer, we just move along trying to be compassionate.

43. Watching the cats interact, especially chasing, amuses me so much. Or hearing them thump about at night.

44. I love Eleanor jumping up on us in bed pretty much every night, and kneading uncomfortable places.

45. I love when Moby sits between us and purrs madly.

46. I enjoy meeting our neighbors walking by. And their dogs. Even as a mixed blessing.

47. I love making people laugh.

48. I especially love making D laugh.

49. I love being made laugh, especially by D.

50. Cats make me laugh a lot. Our cats especially. Great friends we got here.

51. I love the light that streams in this house, especially in the spring and fall afternoons.

52. I love watching the progress toward acceptance of varying sexuality.

53. This is a good age to be.

54. I just wish I felt better about feminism lately, which has been backsliding. Frighteningly.

55. Lost my interest in movies, almost completely. Still enjoy documentaries.

56. So much bad in the world, but if I let myself dwell, I get very morose and paralyzed.

57. My vision is not what it was, and never will be. This is troublesome.

58. Art is vital, not just decoration or luxury. We need beauty and creativity and expression.

59. The most important need is to be heard and acknowledged, we can deal with most other deprivations.

60. Ok, aside from breathing. Breathing is Important. I'm a big fan of breathing.

61. I think we should all be able to chose our own ends, given a long enough life to want to.

62. I keep thinking fear of death is related to fear of life, but I can't form a cogent reason.

63. Musical ear worms plague me. I use They Might Be Giant songs to shoo them away. Sometimes it works.

63. I've come to like bugs and worms, I've always liked spiders. It's all alive in the soil.

64. Life is sacred, but so is death.

65. There is no excuse for being unkind to a child.

66. I don't generally like children, at least not because they are children. I treat them kindly, always.

67. Compassion really is the way through, and it's a bugger.

68. I am such an introvert. Not socially awkward, I can do small talk and be quite charming. People exhaust me, though. And I love being all alone. D and cats count as "all alone."

69. We live in a diverse neighborhood, which feels utterly right. The crazy and homeless, noise and mess and all.

70. Old hurts still appear, like the weeds in the garden, and I think this is just how life is.

71. Everything I want these days is to do with the House. Otherwise, there isn't any thing.

72. I love rain.

73. So nice to have space. And a toy drawer.

74. Hot flashes are really weird.

75. I do acupuncture on myself, because it helps.

76. I have always loved getting really dirty working outside, still do.

77. Yard/estate sales fascinate me, as I get to peer into other lives, and get good stuff cheap.

78. Daily writing helps me think.

79. I still love soft fabrics and surfaces, as I did as a child.

80. I would like a deep tub, ofuro, to soak in, which is sort of for the House.

81. I hope I comfort my patients, even when they can't remember me.

82. I try to be a good customer, and treat anyone in public service with extra gentleness.

83. I'm amused that I usually get more comments when I put photos up with posts, especially of our felines.

84. We both enjoy going to yard/garage/estate sales, I like that D gets into this as well.

85. I'm really good at getting rid of excess stuff.

86. Numbers fox me, not the math, just the actual numerals, slide off and transform between my eyes and brain, or brain and fingers.

87. I love sitting outside on our porch, watching people, dogs. Reading, sipping beer, basking.

88. Cleaning isn't fun, but the results make me feel wonderful. So, I clean.

89. I find I'm more compassionate, when I realize that what people accuse others of, is what they most fear in themselves.

90. I'm afraid of being irritating and incompetent, and that bothers me in others excessively.

91. I'm invariably early, despite great efforts not to always be. Apparently, just how my internal clock is set. That and pessimism.

92. I know I cannot multi-task, but I'm told that I'm good at it. No, but I can switch tasks sometimes, and the rest of the time I don't even try.

93. I'm very nosy, which is why I'm good at my job, and attend yard sales. Those two outlets mean I avoid meddling with friends, or otherwise intruding.

94. I also tend to give advice, and mind when others offer their advice too often, so I have learned to restrain myself somewhat.

95. I love the guy I get to live with, and how he cares for me.

96. I got the best of the deal.

97. I love shaving his head.

98. He's a great hugger. Very reassuring, especially after a hard day.

99. It's great that we have such compatible tastes, especially in color and art and style. And humor and cats.

100.Still learning, all the time.

101.I fart a lot.

Strange

Long ago, when I started college, seeing couples with vastly different skin color shocked me. Not disapproval, mind, just struck me as odd, in a visceral way. After a while, I simply stopped noticing. Seeing same sex couples was a shortened version of the same process. Like seeing anything new and unexpected, until it just became background, unremarkable and ultimately invisible.


Seems to me the whole country is going through this, with a lot more people so disturbed by the unfamiliar sensations that they react with hostility. Most folks, though, are adjusting, shrugging and getting on, to varying degrees.

The universe changes, and the strange becomes the ordinary.

Refreshing

Garden seems refreshed after the snow, buckwheat and thyme at least coming up visibly. Strawberry plants returning, all is well.

Melting

Still the snow falls. Not cold enough to really accumulate, melting as it goes. Got about 6" measurable. Lots of water. Hoping it's not killing the seeds, which is all I can do about it. So weird, all this spring snow amid this dearth of snow all winter. Shoveled our walk, for the sake of the postman. Melting on bare pavement, sticking to grass and snow. Can't find my boots.



Didn't want to strip with the heat gun without the windows open, so I blistered up a few areas, let it cool, then scraped. Which kept me occupied, I don't know if it will now be more or less difficult to strip the remainder. Certainly didn't do as good a job, but I got in the crevices well. May well have made it worse for myself later, but I consider it an experiment. Failure is always an option.

Planning to use chemical stripper, but first on doors outside, learn how to use it, then work with it inside. For now, patiently picking, knowing I have all the time needed to clear away the layers. Just three, as far as I can tell. Probably a base coat, mint green, then the glossy black. I wonder when it was first painted, and I suspect within the last 15 years, tops. This is a guess, but given that the whole front half of the house is still original wood finish, it seems likely. Still no idea how I'll complete the surface, but I have plenty of time to figure it out as I go.


Moby has been as exclusively on laps as he can manage. Eleanor was very sparky yesterday, but now is off napping by herself. I've got the heat turned up a smidgen, for when I'm not throwing off my sweater, and for D, who is chilled.

Lt Snow, Fog
34°F
1°C
Humidity 88%
Wind Speed N 7 MPH
Barometer 30.13 in
Dewpoint 31°F (-1°C)
Visibility 1.75 mi
Wind Chill 28°F (-2°C)
Last update on 15 Apr 4:05 pm MDT

Surprize

Well, then.

... and somewhat later

Haboob

Blowing Dust
51°F
11°C
Humidity 44%
Wind Speed WNW 35 G 48 MPH
Barometer 29.81 in
Dewpoint 30°F (-1°C)
Visibility 0.75 mi
Last update on 14 Apr 3:35 pm MDT


Wild weather, the sky a greenish orange, dusty becoming muddy air, no rain yet. Semis toppled on the east-west freeway, I-80, as is typical when the winds pick up around here. They really should close it preemptively, with a truck shelter over in Wendover and Tooele, until the winds abate. Instead, they close it after multiple accidents and people are killed and injured.

One case left at work when I ran off home, everything else tidied and tended. I could have lingered, but I wanted to watch the storm develop. Wanted to be home. Would like to go out, but with all this dust, it's not good. Waiting for the rain to start, first.

They set up a party for the departing manager. Who protested that she isn't gone yet, she'll still be around sometimes. Lots of bitten tongues around there. I avoided the staff room lounge, not just because of the lack of space, mostly not to say anything impolitic. I'm far from the only one quietly gleeful at seeing her go. Although I'm wary that the replacement may be no better. Either way, she didn't spot me, because I saw her first, a couple of times, and ducked out the other way. Well, it was safe in the OR, she never went in there.

Sitting here by the window, watching the winds ruffle the world.

According to the Wasatch Weather Weenies,

Typically the dust becomes highly concentrated at the cold front. It will be haboob-like when it comes through. You won't want to be outside during the frontal passage.

Some guys are playing soccer (football) over in the park.



1730, it's snowing. Not that it will stick, and it's mixed in with rain. Still, better late than not at all. Water!

1950, went out walking in it. Lucy's scarfhat kept me cozy, as well as my old raincoat and umbrella. Still raining, with snow mixed in.

Patience

Came out of work, and a dog is sprinting around the grassy area. An older woman is calling "Bobby! Bobby, come here!" Dog is way too happy and excited, so just speeds up exuberantly. I stop and call to the dog.

"OH, yes, he'll probably come to you!" She says.

I crouch down, and he's still whirling, but interested. Eventually he circles me closely, and I wait.

"Oh, grab him!"

"I'll just wait, he wants to be petted." I wait, and he circles closer, still running and wagging madly. Finally, he comes in for a snuggle, and I ruffle him. She comes with the lead, and I hold him. She's fumbling it a bit, and he squirms, but I've got him snugly until he's leashed.

A puppy Sheltie, she tells me. Looks like a small collie to me. I mention that I've heard of people who've gotten sheep for their dogs like this to herd. She laughs and says maybe she'll try that on this "mad man" dog, they have the space out in the woods. And thanks me for my help.

Not what I expect to do on the way out, but I smile all the way home.

When I wasn't looking, patience crept up and found me.

Stray

Stray thoughts.



D's father telling me, again, as both PILs have, that the house has changed me, that I've "blossomed" since living here. Still not quite sure how to react to this. Certainly I'm happier here, my first home in a house, with a garden. Apartments were all I knew. The house I grew up in was no home to me, not a safe place where I could be myself.

Finding D was more home that I ever imagined, sufficient. Before that, I lived in my skin, impervious to the weather. After, what did it matter where we lived in our little paired system, even after Moby became our cat, so long as we were together? The house was a purely economic decision, rents going up, house prices and interest rates down, fewer apartments that allowed cats. Finding the right house was nice, but not critical.

Or so I thought. Until we moved in, and the house held me close, and Moby became it's god, and I dug the garden to heal the soil, and D laid out his guitars in his music room, and home became Home. I had no idea, just as I couldn't understand love until love grew, slowly and persistently, in my life. Our home, to do with as we like, to feel safe, to create in. Yeah, I'm probably a larger person than before.

The allium about to bloom is damaged, intentional or not, who knows. A child, a crazy person (like our guy who argued with and attacked the sunflowers, and now is tidy and stable and smiles and greets me when I'm outside) or someone so mean they express their anger by hurting flower buds, or a dog racing over the edge, oblivious to human plantings. In all cases, I can only feel a sad compassion, and be glad there are more buds to bloom.

Our dear Fresca, not having to work through the notice period. One of the blessings of the OR, the last week or the first are the same. Walk in, run the room, clean up and leave. I've gone through many "last two weeks" and they suck so badly. So hard to keep my attitude from ennui. But in this job, every case is the same, no matter if it's first or last.

Cats continue to chase and co-exist in relative peace. Ate facing each other, not my choice, but where they were when I put down gushy food. Moby stared at Eleanor eating for a while, then noticed the food, and started to eat.

Professional emails, as from a manager to staff, should not regularly contain misspellings, nor exclamation marks. Certainly not consistently and reliably have misspellings, poor grammar and exclamation marks.

Lunch

Woke to Eleanor purring on my chest, which is actually rather nice. I'm decidedly HER human, no real question about it. Cleaned the kitchen - to include mopping and the window sill, one of those cleanings.

Then we prepared lunch for D's parents, which we rather enjoy. Enchiladas and salad, his dad never fails to remind us we can invite them over for this meal anytime at all. Eleanor hopped on both of them, but especially his mom. When they left, the door didn't latch, so Eleanor got out, although she ran right back in when we approached the door.

Moby, on the other hand, was hanging out on the porch, as if to say "See? I don't need the harnessthingy, I'm just fine naked outside, really."




We stayed with him as he did his usual "walk" until he headed to the neighbor's yard.

"C'mon, Moby, let's go in." D says, as we herd him. He cooperates, rather than suffer the indignity of being picked up like a football and carried in. A very cooperative cat, generally.


We ran an errand, came home, and I stripped paint. Seriously, I have been dreaming about this, as in actual dreams at night. Did a little too much, the heat gun started feeling like it was going to overheat. So I shut it off, and realized I had only reached the halfway mark on the work that needed to be finished before I could just stop. So, scrape, scrape, peel, peel, then swept and vacuumed and documented. There is an area where the paint stuck more, and darker wood in that corner. I begin to wonder if there had been some fire or water damage, that started the whole painting process here. In a house of this age, it has to be possible.


Kept the mask on throughout, and glad that I'm used to wearing masks all day. Still a bit uncomfortable, but I ignore that. Feeling very good about what I accomplished, the hall lighter after each stripping. I find it rather satisfying, like the garden archeology. No speed here, although I'm getting more efficient, thoroughness is the point. Pick, pick, pick.

Sprouting

Less than a day of rain, but worthwhile.



The yard waste bin doesn't get much use, since I compost. So I use it as a rain barrel. A little over 3/4 full, and will water the front garden.

Today, sun. Again. As per. Allium look about to go sssspppfffftt! and bloom, perhaps in the next week.



In a purple sphere of flower.


Heard today that my manager-who-never-had-our-backs, who was supposed to be around for another 18 months, will be essentially gone in a week. Ostensibly to another job. To be replaced with an actual OR manager. I have to wonder what politics were involved, but probably happier not knowing. Happy enough just that she won't be around.

They've been holding meetings in our tiny lunch room, at exactly the time we give coffee breaks, when the only place staff have to go for ten minutes to sit and grab a snack is the tiny lunch room. One of our nurses, B. told them off today, and they held the meeting elsewhere. B. is one of those people who can tell you about an undone zipper or tp on your shoe, and you won't mind, so they apparently didn't. So annoying they didn't themselves think to use an actual conference room instead, but our useless manager no doubt held meetings there out of convenience to herself. She has no clue what we do, after nearly seven years, nor any interest in understanding.

Thankfully, she's also been largely absent. We run ourselves, just needing a little upper level support long term. I'm not expecting much from any manager, really. Would be nice if someone had our backs, though.

Happier watching the garden, not sure if it's weeds or intentional seeds, but there is sprouting.

Barrel

The yard-waste bin is open to the rain off the roof, storing a substantial amount of rainwater.

Lt Rain, Fog
38°F
3°C
Humidity 89%
Wind Speed calm
Barometer 29.93 in
Dewpoint 35°F (2°C)
Visibility 5.00 mi
Last update on 08 Apr 5:35 pm MDT

When it finally started, the rain persisted wonderfully. The dirt was so dry this morning, when I pulled out a sprouting weed, I could easily push my whole hand in to remove the big root. Well watered now, though, and more to come. Watching closely for sprouting that isn't the old weed.

Allium are getting all revved up to blossom. Pulling out excess sunflowers, especially where they might interfere with scarlet flax and other seeds. There will still be plenty.

Snow in the mountains, not enough to make up for months without, welcome nevertheless.

Thermostatic

We removed the black painted door to the ill-used closet in the music room, put in the tool box and music books, and a cat.

Ok, the cat went in by himself. D took this image in the wee hours. Moby would have liked to get to the top shelf, but there isn't a clear path up. We may need to rig something for him.

Makes a nice niche, lighter and more open. Not sure what we will do with the old door, perhaps it will become part of the back porch renovation, if we ever get to that. Certainly, it will hang out on the back porch.

Doing a lot of rethinking how we use the space. Clearing away clutter and making closets designed for hanging clothes work for other purposes.

Woke with Aunt Evelyn's voice, how often she woke "drenched, just drenched!" Hot flashes I assume, or symptoms of more serious conditions brewing later. I've not had to deal with that much sweat, a tad damp is all. Weirdly, the insides of my elbows (antecubital space fyi) is the sweatiest of all. Slept very well last night, with only a few wake-ups to throw off covers and a velcro cat (Eleanor). If the process would only let me sleep, I really wouldn't mind.Then cold, then the shivering sets in, but I always know it's not real. I have an imp fucking with the HVAC.

"Hey! Hey! wake up! Ok, now I'm going to turn the thermostat WAAAAAYYYY UP!" Whoosh.


"OH, whoops! Better turn it all the way back down now!"






No rain yet, still waiting.

Mostly Cloudy
49°F
9°C
Humidity 36%
Wind Speed SSW 15 G 23 MPH
Barometer 29.65 in
Dewpoint 23°F (-5°C)
Visibility 10.00 mi
Wind Chill 43°F (6°C)
Last update on 08 Apr 7:35 am MDT

Bare

Wheeling thoughts last night, forgot to use my therappy techniques. Overwarm and then fine, over and over, not quite flashes. Day of only two cases, but surgeon frustrated with the damage he agreed to repair on both cases. Eventually satisfied his own high standards, with all hoping for improved outcomes for the patients. Last case with a different surgeon shifted away, as we'd taken a lot of time.

The heat doesn't so much distress me as distract. My own sense of temperature a mere guess, subject to interpretation. The world loosens it's grip on me, and reality is, as always, a fragile and changeable circumstance. Nothing solid, nothing assured, I learn to drift.

Buds appear everywhere, but my seeds stubbornly refuse to germinate yet. Rain expected, hoped for, tonight, in the wee hours of the morning, tomorrow, the day after, and I am patient. Pollen floods the valley and D suffers, I sniffle a bit, and we all wait.

Now cold, now hot, now cold, the earth shifts, reality bares it's holes.

Waiting for rain.

Consolations

I find it odd to be wished a Happy Easter, and not because I don't observe it. I grew up in a Catholic family, going to Catholic schools, and Holy Week was a grim time at the end of the solemnity of Lent. Death and grief, torture and injustice, with just a whiff of redeeming hope right at the very end.

While I certainly had a white or pastel hat and dress, new only if last year's dress no longer fit, there was no sense of festivity. It was a purely religious observance, not at all a social holiday. Sometimes a grandmother or aunt&uncle would appear for dinner on that Sunday, but it wasn't a tradition, just a family meal. Or we might take a lily plant out to the grandmothers in Windsor and La Salle in the afternoon, but never stayed long. Food was an afterthought, ham only because it was convenient.

The sole consolation for the extended time spent in church on hard pews or kneeling benches, was my* basket with chocolate and candies. It was welcome, certainly, if not quite adequate consolation. Especially once in Catholic schools, where I spent an hour in daily mass throughout Lent. There really is nothing like mass surrounded by a bunch of pre-teens. Not in terms of noise or misery, teachers prevented that, only a generalized, albeit specific, sort of distastefulness. A wooden purgatory, with snot. Spending that time in church with my mother, painful in a different way. Part of why I joined the choir, gave me a purpose, and I sat far from my parents. The music for Lent and Easter helped greatly, as well as the candles. I still have a soft spot for a space lit entirely with candles.

Easter for an agnostic adult? Perhaps in a year with a solid winter, a marker for hope of relief. In a warm, dry winter, a blip of distant annoyance, and an opportunity to add a half-price sheep (stuffed) to the household. And to deal with a spouse's own dogmatic issues with family, poor soul. ADD and a dull, mandatory churchgoing do not mesh well. I try to be supportive, without urging toward my own, rather extreme - if justified, estrangement from kith, if not kin.

I wandered over, and got a chocolate bunny, solid, as consolation. Well, I have always called him my Solid Chocolate Bunny, a beneficence for previous suffering, and the same goodness all the way through.

Moby is asleep at my feet, D strokes his back, and the cat's ears... relax even more. "OH, I'm in good hands" his ears seem to say. Yes, well.


Smells faintly of fake chocolate scent.




The years creep by, and we abide.



*One year, my basket was retrieved from the attic, only to find it had been used as a nest for mice. My mother threw it out, over my objections. I though it could be cleaned, she thought not. The new one was not as nice, not at all.

Oh, the green fake 'grass', and the chocolate covered malted milk balls. I could have dealt with the mouse poop pellets...

Woody

Another doorway substantially stripped. Next time, I will only do this on a day when I can open windows. The smell isn't bad, but it does linger, and probably isn't the best thing to breathe.

Finding it engaging and satisfying, like peeling a sunburn. Similar to the work I assist with many days, as surgeons dissect layers of tissue. I expect the final cleaning, probably with turpentine, will be far less enjoyable. For the moment, I'm simply removing the large amounts, to dramatic effect. So much more light, even in an internal hallway.

As the weather becomes summer, the doors will go outside, and I'll remove paint with the heat gun, then stripping compound.

I like watching the lovely wood beneath emerge.

Dreams of the dead. At work, in a large conference/lunchroom, charged with cutting the string off the flower buds so they could open, I had to untie a cord attached to the mouth of a dead man propped up in a suit. Once that released, he toppled over, as well as the other dozen dead men in suits put up in a display. Everyone agreed that housekeeping needed to come in and take them away, since they've all fallen over, although then we figured maybe we should call the morgue instead. I still had to cut the twine on the flower bud, but then the dream drifted.

Went with D to visit my grandma, she laid in bed as I always remembered her, but she was in better health, and spoke clear English. Guy from work came in, and I introduced her as my step-aunt, because my father had remarried. This is nonsense, but I was convinced of it in the dream. (She actually remarried, she was "cared" for by her daughter, my aunt, father's only sister, Madeline.) Grandma asked me to fix her an egg, everyone else now in the room asked for food, so I went in the kitchen to get various refreshments. Then I went back to ask her how she wanted her egg, and she said, "baked."

"I don't know how to bake an egg!"


The alarm chimed, I reluctantly got up, to see the lunar eclipse. Hard to focus, but once I got my glasses on, and despite the meager redness, still worth the effort to see an object that takes imagination to see as anything but two dimensional, so obviously a whole sphere. Cats very happy to have us up, and ran around cheerfully.

We dragged back to bed, me shivering and sweating by turns.

Thrumming

Got a call from work yesterday afternoon. Two people needed to be called off, would I like to be one? Sure, lovely, gratefully, yes. Much better night, the flashing is slowing back down, feeling quite well, if a little tired.

Reading Simenon, Maigret on the Riviera, completely drawn in. D found a couple of French movies of Maigret from the 50s, with Jean Gabin, very compelling. Re-watching the Michael Gambon version as well. So, we also got what books the library has. Reminds me a bit of the two Le Carre mysteries, a wandering quality in a dangerous world. A rich resource, many stories.






Thrum under the soles.
A train, rain, loose change, letter.
Awaiting, patience.