Hippos

Stopped by next door, their sweet child is one whole year old today. Got her Hippos go Berserk by Sandra Boynton. Lots of little people there. D dealt rather well, as did I, for a while. Children are really funny aliens. And we have very good neighbors.



We didn't stay long. Neither of us eat party food anymore. Trying to be healthier, and some foods are strictly icky. Not that we are missing it, really. I've found I don't really like breads, cakes, candies or cookies. Still soft on fudge and chocolate, but even then, it has to be really good stuff.

D has been going for a much healthier diet, and that means vinegary, olive and pepper foods that I don't like, but he does. We meet on the fresh vegetables and fruits. And I indulge in more of the vegetables he can't abide. After so long finding foods we both like, this has been a transition fraught with bad feelings on my part, and dodgy meals on his, as well as mine. We start to adjust, and I made a hearty barley soup with onions and peppers and bok choy as he dealt with the lab at work. I managed to clean significantly in the interim. Even scraped a bit more paint off a door. The endless task, but watching the wood re-appear cheers me. Not to mention, turning off the heat and running fans while D is gone is easier. Hot flashes mean heat is the enemy.

Cold flashes I ignore.


Or try to.


Getting really tired of both, not trusting my own sense of temperature.


On the other hand, the hormones are good for my heart and connective tissue, so I am resigned and complacent.

Steering

True, I wear a mask at work all day. Often, we forget we have a mask still around our neck that we pulled down, and put on another one.

This is not that.




Moby HAD to go out for a while this morning. This is where he found grass to eat.


The sun came out strongly, so I opened the blinds all the way. Cats immediately found it.



D writes of his first shift alone as the IT tech lab asst. librarian thusly.

An analogy:
A man walks into a car rental office. "Will you show me how to drive?"
The man does not know what a steering wheel is.

Mask

Found an unexpectedly nice mask at the local department/grocery store last month. Plain, "leather" but with a beak, not unlike a plague doctor or Venitian carnival mask. Good visual. Wore that off and on, mostly off since I had to work, but enough. Planning to wrap myself in black with that mask to give out treats tomorrow night.

Lovely this week, having enough old hands doing OR turnovers. A dance, we passed work backhanded to each other, shared out tasks wordlessly, seamlessly. Immensely satisfying, to run full speed without effort or tripping.

I always went trick-or-treating as a kid in Detroit, all along the block. It was a long block. Some years bitter cold or very wet, some years very busy, later years got thin, as there were few young children in that aging place.

We skipped our first year here, the second got maybe 20-30 kids, third was a weekday and got maybe 5. I expect this year, as it is a Saturday night, we will have a decent turnout. We give out little bags of chips/crisps, figuring that we should do good treats in an area with not a lot of well-off families. And, well, it's rather fun. A chance for me to dress up, which I have always liked. Even D gets into the spirit of it, even though he dresses as "Dave."

Mat is still out there. I'll put a small string of LED lights on him tomorrow evening.

I hope most of the 'treaters ring the door bell.

Photos tomorrow, not tonight.

Sprig

As I walked in, the charge nurse was changing the assignments, because of sick-calls. Lost two people today, which meant lunches were iffy at best. I would be shifted to get my own lunch, then two scrubs lunch relief, to return to my own room a bit disoriented, but glad to be back. Seven hand cases, fast, takes good planning first thing to keep it whirling properly.


Wet and cool, with snow at the higher elevations. The skiers are downright gleeful. After such a long hot, I am as well. But then, I love sweaters and jackets and gloves and mittens, and I have a lovely purple circle scarf I am most eager to wear.

Making a meal of chicken thighs simmered in satay peanut sauce with green tea soba, remarkably pleasant. Moby gets some of the chicken, which he loves as well.

It's National Cat Day, so we have pampered our cats. Moby had chicken and a space heater, Eleanor got a morning cuddle and a large sprig of fresh catnip. They seem pretty happy, generally.

Smashed my finger yesterday, as I swore, I was amazed that my swearing was largely religious, rather than sexual or scatological in nature. Amazing how often in great distress, part of my brain goes very analytical.

Suits

Finally getting autumnal weather, with a promise of mountain snow. The air held a mild chill, and the aroma of fall, so we hope.

Gave Eleanor some fresh catnip, which she took with gusto. There was a drug fueled cat-chase to follow, as Moby (I think) indulged as well. The rug was dramatically rumpled.

D rebooted my laptop. Reassuring me he didn't kick it hard. I say.

"No bruising, no bleeding... doesn't count." Which is my work motto.

Got Danish oil on the stripped door in the hall. This looks to be a good option. Not perfectly finished, but it's nice. Better than thick glossy black or grey paint. And I can always go back and do more.

Gearing myself up to post every day in November. Not quite up to nanowrimo level, I think. Not counting that out, but probably just a little something every day. Quiet as it is in blogland these days, it's just for us. Suits me fine.

Matthew

Enjoyed my Monday off, ran all Tuesday, enjoying my second day off. Eleanor snuggled in firmly, as I finished Die Like a Dog - Rex Stout. Moby up for a long hug once I got up. D has the music room toasty warm, so I can't stay in there long. He's on a new schedule since he has a new position at the library.* Slept mostly through last night, with only a few stretches of sweatiness in my elbow pits.

Saved a few sterile wrappers as stuffing for the Body, which goes out later today. I should call him Mat. Since he'll just be lying there.


Got a call from the survey people right after we'd already voted by mail. Old mayor is trying for a third term, and he's a pompous bully. New candidate was a State Representative, female, gay, very politically savvy and connected. I answered that she had my vote. Asked if her being gay affected my decision. I said, only because it had proved she was a fighter with some courage. It doesn't matter that she's gay. It matters that she's gay, out, politically effective, with a proven record of representing all her constituents.

Now, how well she'll do is yet to be seen. But Old Mayor is a turd, and needs to be removed. The other candidate I would love to have seen win, didn't make it past the primaries, sadly. Such are politics, which is why I avoid them as much as possible.

Can't just idle today, not sure what I most want to get done. As the air cools, I wake up and want to bustle about.


Expect an update with photos later.


And here it is...



And the glow-in-the-dark skeleton.



*His job in processing is being outsourced. So he applied for, and got, a position in the IT tech lab at the library. No more very early morning, self scheduled shifts. Lots of weekends and odd times, dealing with the public. Shoved right out of his comfort zone. He'll be fine.

Push

They really do seem to have worked out a sort of relationship lately.

Called off work today, I got the hall door to a point of strip adequate to put it back up. Still more to do, this project is the work of decades, an hour or two at a time off and on through the year depending on temperature.



Feels better than the thick glossy black paint, however otherwise conditional.

D began his new position today, a small promotion, more public service. Since his old job is going away as they outsource a lot of the processing. At the moment, he's still going to be doing a bit of both. He's anxious, which seems reasonable to me. Every new job has that top-of-the-first-hill rollercoaster moment.

Other stuff going on that I am not feeling are my stories to tell, much as they worry me. Nothing serious, mostly old issues rehashed. My bulldog tendencies - to protect those I love and snarl at threats, have been triggered, and I need to calm and contain them. And trust others to do their jobs taking care of themselves. And I do trust, which is why I'm only growling very low and quiet and feeling a bit guilty about even that.

Lemme just say, pushing for a relationship between two people, neither of whom is you, and wanting more closeness with both, is going to result in the exact opposite. Do this by putting guests on the spot, manipulating them and demanding, and the DIL will not advocate for you. Again, opposite. Pushing means pushing away.

I understand this because, cats.

Heat

Colder night, and Moby has fallen in love again with the space heater. Then, with the sun so warm this afternoon, and Moby basked to his heart's content.



Put the round fleece bed beside the heater, and he's been in it, after a period of contemplation of his options, for several hours. A day for a cat.

Eleanor snuggled up to me around 0400 this morning, curled into my arm, until I got up around 7. Pressing into my side or my back, as I turned. Staying warm, close and safe.

Dug a bit in the back garden, a strip not tilled the first year, full of tree roots. Another three weeks before the trees come out, not sure this will help with the root issues, but a bit more sun next summer for the tomatoes.

At work people have been turning on the movie channels, which have been Halloween themed, horror mostly. Now, I like a certain kind of suspense, and I have a fondness for a tiny handful of horror movies. But mostly I find them stupid, lame and unpleasant. They don't scare me, although I will startle strongly - which I also find unpleasant. The exceptions are Shawn of the Dead, Army of Darkness, Pan's Labyrinth, and of course, I Walked With a Zombie. Gore doesn't bother me, but it's simply ugly.

I expect there will be more bad horror movies on this coming week. The real horrors of the world are so much worse than cinematic fakery. I'd prefer neither.

Let me simply face the mundane realities of death and decay, which is what the holiday is about. Burying the roots to settle down for winter in hopes of spring. Bring out the bones, lay out the dead, put on the costumes of change and disguise. Face fear and dance with DEATH. I hear, he's a very good dancer.

Nightmare-ridden child that I was, Halloween was the one night of the year I never had nightmares. Bringing it all out in the open, facing the eyes and bones, the honesty of it, soothed me, apparently.

Peanut

Cooked up the chicken thighs in satay peanut sauce, with green tea soba. As I cooked, Moby came to me, over and over. Eventually, I put down tinned chicken for him. He sniffed it, then returned to sit on the mat in front of the stove where I stood, and purred loudly, vibrating the floor. We remembered how, at one place in Boston, he would sit in the hall by the neighbors' door as they cooked with the most aromatic of Indian spices, and sniff contentedly. He also loved when we brought home food from India Quality, one of our favorites as well.

When I sat on the sofa with my dinner, he hopped up, and extended a paw. The sauce was not heavily spiced, so I let him have a piece. He carried it off to a bit of carpet to devour. Well, alright. Gave him another bit, which suffered the same fate.

He found a place on the sheepie in the sun, and seemed the most contented of creatures. He's still there.

Thinking about duck, which I cooked for myself last year, with mixed results. Lovely at first, but heavy and soggy later, since I was the only one in the house who wanted any. Well, Moby had some the first day, but a cat's portion is not large. So, I found the menu online for the best local Chinese place, and the duck dinner is about $13. Not far off from what it would cost to cook it myself, no doubt better, and I won't have to clean up after. Some time in the next month or so, I will dine on duck, no rush.

Drip

Time whizzes by. I don't mind, I'm getting used to the pace, as I step aside for the young to whoosh past me on their rush to their own futures. I like the aesthetic of the young lately, the draped clothes, the dyed and creatively shaved hair, a certain insouciance and temporary brashness combined with a wash of tattoos. The fashions change so often, I don't worry myself over a style that I find unappealing, after all, it will be gone in an hour or so. But the current one, I like unreservedly.

I keep realizing lately how much I would have shriveled in my childhood dreams of success. To act, to have my own sit-com, or movies, even treading the repertory stages of the hinterland. To be locked into the directions of others, in a dark box room, or putting my body on the line, judged for my 'beauty' or weight, or box office appeal. I might have done acceptably as a voice actor, maybe, but I really don't have the talent, nor the impetus. To constantly need to find jobs, making it all up as I go along, with my livelihood dependent upon that drive. I'd've been lost and despondent in no time at all.

I wanted to fly, but I get nauseated so easily with movement. And I have no head for numbers nor spacial relationships. I'm sloppy with extraneous details, wanting to prioritize what I need to be perfect on, and what to let slide to the back. Not a good life choice for a pilot.

Long ago, The Courtship of Eddie's Father, a character talks about becoming a pediatrician to take care of children. That sounded like such a good answer to the "what do you want to be when you grow up" question, I used it for many years. Even I didn't believe that one, but adults loved it, so I used it long past it's use-by date.

I wanted to travel, but I'm really not a good traveler, see:nausea. I get very tired and disoriented with movement and time zone changes. Some parts are fine, but I get ill when I eat out too often, dehydrated on planes, and sore with bad pillows or cars for too long. When I was young enough, there was no money for travel, and I was with a wrong person anyway. I can sleep anywhere, though.

Loved pottery, particularly throwing on a wheel. but my back says no fucking way, so I don't push the issue. Loved singing Sacred Harp, but my soul rebels at the religiosity of the words, even as it adores the sound.

This is all fine, everything has it's season. The crocuses bloom and wither, the sunflowers take over, then die back and I take them down after the birds are mostly finished feasting, now the strawberries are flourishing, and I watch in amazement as the onions return in force as well.


My early dreams died, not just, as I once thought, because I had no time, money, support, opportunity to try them, but also because dreams are short-lived creatures. (Just as well I wasn't given ballet lessons when I was five, my feet and back and hips would have needed surgery/replacement by now.) They may well come back another season, another year, they may not, but that's fine as well. If the conditions are wrong, they go underground, and wait. Mutate and adjust, sometimes, other times they rot so that other dreams can live.

Whatever rocky soil I had to start in, I now have plenty of compost, and there's no point wishing for rhubarb when the water is scarce, but I might get raspberries if I try again. Try again, try again, try again, and wait, watch, listen.


Digging at the roots in the sun-starved back garden this morning, (my reward for going to the mandatory fire-safety meeting at work, and dusting, and grocery shopping) I realized why the garden has been unreliable. Tree roots hurt my tomatoes this year - badly, as well as the trees above blocking light. I will hold back the chaos a little next month, as the opportunistic tress along the fence - fall. Pile up the chips along the edges. Plant again in the spring. Turned the compost, enhanced by coffee grounds and peels scavenged at work. Not up to the salvaging when I was ill, my cow-orkers complained, good naturedly, but definitely, so I brought back the bin as soon as I could.

I could not have properly loved this house, these cats, this guy, when I was young and damaged. My childhood was not as bad as some, but there is no advantage in comparing misery. This is my life, as dealt, and I think I've managed to make something rather good - of rather poor materials. Found objects, garbage, turned into art. Imperfect and beautiful and rich in it's own right. Right now, here.

Have not seen Crimson Peak, but I want to. Loved Pan's Labyrinth, for inarticulate reasons, and this seems a continuation. The need to sometimes forget, after diving into the horror. Learning to forget. When to forget, what to forget. Not that it's gone, but it can be shoved in the back of the drawer and ignored indefinitely.

So much of what I thought was impossible when I was young, turns out to be the answer. Taking responsibility for my own life, my own reactions, my own feelings. Not letting anyone else have unearned power over me or my life. Living in the moment, rejecting fear and anger. Not that the reflexes don't trigger, not that new issues don't need to be dealt with, only that I no longer see this as mandatory, permanent, insurmountable, terrifying. Mean people still trip me up, bad processes still thwart my best intentions, but I don't take it all so seriously, nor do I let it stop me cold.


In many ways, I don't care as much what happens to me or the world. I will be gone, and there is nothing more I can do anyway. Other ways, I care more, and do what I can, even knowing it's a mere drip, and not enough to matter, except that there are more drips like me.


Water dripping upon stone.

Tactics

We played Scrabble. Eleanor came by to see what we were doing, found the catnip plant, and enjoyed it's intoxicating properties. Moby investigated, batted her tail, jumped up, drank some water, observed. He moved to hop down, slowly and with his customary caution, so she bopped him. He backed off, then batted at her. This game continued at much the same pace as the Scrabble game.




Serious, but not dangerous.

Spiraling

The relationship between them continues to spiral toward progression. A great bout of play through the morning, they seem to be very good for each other. Slow, incremental warming, with backsliding, then regained ground.

Rain yesterday, rain through the night. Waiting for rain this afternoon, promising dark clouds, but nothing yet.

Moby keeps taking any chair I'm in, as soon as I get up.

"You have good taste in chairs, take it as a compliment." Says Moby.

Mucous

The usual lunar miseries, which seemed terribly unfair since I'm still congested from remains of damn virus. We went walking, though. Found some of our preferred soba, walking helped. So, I cleaned the dining room, in a series. Moby slept on the chair throughout. Ignored the vacuum (not unusual, as long as it's not coming straight at him) did not move as we moved the table out, mopped around him, even sliding the chair to complete the moppage. Cat Did Not Care.




Curled into my jacket, he had no intention of moving.

Place smells cleanly of orange oil. Needed doing. Still think of the last apartment, needed serious dusting every other day at least. Here, once every couple of months, need to dust well.

Making progress on the german roaches, haven't even seen a dead one in several days. No live ones for over a week. Going to be hard to keep vigilant.

Eleanor, on the other hand, caught a mouse this morning. D says, "Eleanor? What are you doing?" I looked over to where she perched on the mud room litter boxes, and knew. I pulled one away, and she reached down and caught it without fuss, carried it off to the kitchen to make it squeak disturbingly. Not sure she ate it, as she seemed to let it go in the living room, and later spent a long time in the corner of the room, staring. I hope she ate it.

Moby found the sheepie, Eleanor wanders by.



We are getting two more trees out of the back along the fence, since there is very little sky, meaning sunshine, in our poor back garden.




The strawberries, now in front, are flourishing.



Phlegm residue aside, life is better than last week.

Moose of Memory* (Zach) is getting ready for Halloween.





*Zach has been helping in a series of reminders. Zachary is a name that means "remembers."

Charcoal

Change in the wind, not evident yet. Still 80˚F, not that I saw it. Stuck in the OR all day. Full day, five rooms, all still running at 1630, the whole place lively, so much energy. Better than a four room, two surgeon day with gaps, which tends to draggggggg. Beginning to moderate, pale sky with clouds that look like they were drawn in charcoal.


Got my mind stuck in some of my father's abuse last night, the weird extremes of what he considered "rude" - one of those trigger words for me to this day. Rude if I read anything in his presence, since it was rude to read in front of anyone. Rude for me as a kid at his sister's house, if I didn't keep up with the adult conversations, ready to answer a random question at any moment, ask appropriate questions about home repairs or curtains, as a ten year old. I would hear it on the long drive home, that I was sulking, pouting, snubbing, even as I felt miserable and ill as I sat there with nothing to do but parse the bad grammar of stupid people, knowing I would pay for whatever I did or didn't do, and the headache and stomachache formed.

This ugly man, that made all sorts of criticism of my appearance, wondered why I didn't listen to him about how to look attractive. That he also made sexual remarks to me, and touches, meant of course, that I tried to be as unattractive to him as I could. He still never figured out why he could tell me the same thing as anyone else, and I would listen to them, but not to him. Gosh. Wonder why. He could not have come up with a better way to be utterly ignored.

At my mother's urging, I tried, after he asked about my day in the car on the way home from work, to tell him. I was perhaps 13. He ignored me and interrupted as though I wasn't there. Not about to ever try again. Came to see he hated me as much as I hated him.

Happily, I was able to reset and restart. Worked through it and let it rest. This is progress.

Should be rain tomorrow, rain Sunday, rain Monday. The strawberries will be happy.

Coughing

Moby on my lap on Sunday.

Another eleven hours of sleep, and by morning the cough did not return. Although I was covered with red crease marks, so little did I move, so heavily did I sleep. After lunch, I felt the virus lose it's grasp. An hour later, we all felt the fuel fumes. Not completely uncommon, a truck idling at the loading dock causes this, but never for so long. We rattled some cages, and one of our supply people (who tends to be a problem solver by nature) got the Operations Manager to investigate.

Apparently the Marketing department was having a wrap* put on (during the week during the day) on the windows of Rehab, and they had generators (multiple) running for over an hour (at that point) for this Most Important Project. OM - Bill (btw) had to manage enough Spanish to convince the poor contractors (whose decision this obviously wasn't) that they had to turn the generators off, since they were causing health problems for patients in the OR (as well as staff.)

We were told Marketing would be mad about this, to which we all thought the same raised finger of notgivingashit. We were able to breathe again shortly after, with Bill's number to call if it started and persisted again. There was a quick wave of stink, but it was gone within five minutes, so that was alright.

My room ended just after 5, helped get OR 5 started, I gave an I&O break to R, and helped clean up room 3 as they finished, clocked out just after 1730. Feeling only a bit more tired than I would usually be after a full day. After eating cough drops on the half hour all day yesterday, and coming home wiped (with an old moldy sponge) and ready to crawl in bed after a mere 8 hours, I consider this a huge Win. Glad to have tomorrow off, though.





*Like this, but not this.

Columbo

Happy Columbo's Day, tomorrow!





Moby sat in the greening clover and grass this morning.



More strawberries growing in the raised bed in front. Poor plants, survived the sad place I'd put them originally, now flourishing since relocating. Amazing how the garden is reviving as the heat abates, tall grasses feathering out, scarlet flax reblooming, even coming up new from seeds dropped months ago.

Viral assault is ebbing, after a drugged night's sleep, with acceptable breathing. Nyquil doesn't have pseudoephedrine, nor diphenhydramine these days, so I added those into myself. Took a while to get a patent nostril, but then it was clear sailing until I woke up to Eleanor pressed up against my back at 0800. Nothing quite like warm fur against a sweaty back. Ugh and cute together.

Mud

The nights are always the worst, with congestion. The desire to lie down, and the fluid dynamics of the sinuses, are not compatible with sleep. Nyquil™ got me nicely into a snoring coma, but didn't keep me there. Wound up taking a hot shower at 0200, and making up a bed with lots of pillows, on the couch. Read myself back to weird dreams.

Adding cayenne to my tea on Friday resolved the worst of the raw throat. Strong ginger ale is nice. Read and dozed and idled today. Damn virus.

Stuffy headed, muddy minded.

Still, a weekend to heal.

Left

Virus declared itself Wednesday evening as we were at the neighborhood community council meeting. Came home, crawled in bed. Stayed there through Thursday until Friday morning. Work today tolerable misery. Congestion settling in for the evening.

D's week was pretty awful. Dead body outside his staff room on Monday. Police uncommunicative, but likely an OD, not a crime. He happened to see them turn the guy over, and really did not want that in his head. Thursday, a bomb threat. He wrote me "Bomb sniffing dogs apparently still at the airport. Probably at the baggage claim, waiting for their luggage."


He wants to put out a mock-up of a body on the lawn for halloween. Face down, back-pack and syringes scattered nearby. Catharsis. I'm good with this, as long as we let our next door neighbors know ahead of time. In retrospect, he hesitates, thinks it may not be a good idea. I encourage him, as long as it's clearly a Halloween thing, the week of, and that, once approached, it clearly is a straw man.

Many years ago, when I worked at the old library, I got off the staff elevator, and saw a body just outside in the hall, as the doors opened. A moment of panic, then slow realization, remembering it was Halloween, and there was no head, no hands nor feet. Clearly just stuffed pants and shirt. A great prank, quickly resolved, very well done. I never know who by, although I have a few guesses. Never forgot that moment, the adrenaline rush, the relief.

So, yeah, I'm up for the "body" thing. We've done much the same, mannikin sitting in a chair on the porch before. This is just a variation.


Off to indulge in Nyquil™.

Parts

Part of a hand.


Cat waiting with minimal patience for some of the roast chicken.



Documentary about the US government's war on gays. It's 30 minutes, very much worth it. Interview on NPR as well.

About to turn into the driveway between the houses, a large woman had her shopping cart in the narrow way, looking at the lemon balm. She finally sees me and moves. As I drive past very slowly, I open the window and tell her she can take some if she wants.

She asks in a heavy Russian accent if it will grow. I say, sure, give me a minute, I'll cut you some.

I park in the garage, take the shopping bags in, run through the house with scissors, and greet her still waiting in front. Snip her off several stems, tell her they should root nicely. She's very grateful.

"How much money?"

I shrug and shake my head no.

More thanks. I actually have shivers. I tell her to come back for more if they don't take, and rush inside.

Never can tell how people will be, especially in the face of generosity.

Skull

Two days of rain, and taking down the biomass of sunflowers, seems to be allowing in a wave of new life.

Scarlet flax, onions, strawberries, lemon balm taking over (as I was warned) and a new crop of buckwheat as well. The soil is still warm, as I found out putting in crocuses for spring surprizes. It always is a surprize when anything comes up in the spring for me.


Moby and Eleanor having a free ranging chase this morning. That blur on the right near the dustpan is Eleanor, Moby is the black blur on the left.



"Wow, she is fast."




Birds massing in the hedge. LBBs*.



Seasonal decoration up. Minimal, but I think more effective for that.






*Little Brown Birds, per Phil.

Charity

The back room/porch clean up continued, until I gave in and put up a yard sale ad on the local. Had enough stuff that was going to the charity shop anyway, decided to give the Yardsailors first shot.

Guy showed at 0700, "Is this the Estate Sale?"

No, no it isn't, only a Yard Sale (sign hadn't gone up yet, either), it's still dark, it's raining buckets, and I'm not quite ready. As in, I was up half the night and I'm awake, but still in pyjamas. I do have some stuff ready by 0730, and all set before the scheduled 0800, which is better than many manage. Wound up with an array on the porch, because it was still drizzling intermittently, with real rain threatening. George* stood out on the walk, with a Not For Sale sign (didn't want him to think he was going to be sold, heaven forfend.) Neon posterboard sign on tree (home lettered.)

One woman picked up a couple of things, looked at a bag and thought it might work for a student of hers. I told her to take it, if it didn't work, no loss. Hey, kid in school needs a bag, I'll give 'em a bag. Up one whole dollar!

Older guy and (grand?)son stopped by, poked around, left. Neighbor came by, paid in dimes for a hat and a pan... I gave her the sandals and still felt guilty taking her $1.50 in change. And that was it.

Oh, well, nice cool morning to sit outside and read through my sites as I would anyway. Moby got out several times as we went in and out the door, didn't go far because of the wet. Sebastian cat walked by a number of times, as did dog Spike and human Mike.

I did some things right, but mostly on wet days, people selling abandon the idea, so those of us who usually go to scavenge know not to bother. Maybe try again in the spring, maybe not.

Three young guys, one on a bike, meandered up and down the street for over an hour. Loitering, smoking, talking loudly. I might have been able to buy drugs from them, were I in the market for such. I'm not. Did take a photo of them, just in case.

Heard the unmistakable squealsmackcrunchcrash sound from the northern corner of the block. At the southern intersection, an ambulance waited at the light, then drove over, and stopped at the crash. Stayed there for a while, for some reason.

I assume they have the same obligation I have to stop and offer assistance, as does anyone with any kind of medical license. D was ready to let me run over, but an ambulance would be much better staffed and equipped to do some good, and I'd've just been in the way after that.

Weird week at work. Anesthesia resident(aka Peach) being extraordinarily obnoxious, especially for her first month of residency. Supposed to be learning, and Peach is resistant to all instruction, hostile, negative, impatient with patients, and not at all skilled - which is of course, all everyone else's fault. Oh, and loud, seems to think she's charming, pink shoes, pink hats. Her image of herself may well be the polar opposite of what others see.

Mind, we are used to egos and crankiness, we've seen some doozies come through, although most anesthesiologists are very personable and compassionate (overwhelmingly so, it's a valuable trait for them) there are variations. Peach is right off the bottom of the charts. Anesthesiologist (aka Smith) who is trying to mentor her asking several of us who have witnessed Peach's antics, for the sake of understanding and correcting. That she bitterly complains about her attending and the anesthesia tech, to the OR staff, as soon as they leave the room, for instance. I quote Peach - statements from her stick in the mind - including her accent, apparently perfectly. Smith kept asking me to "say what she said again!" and then giggling.

Gotta laugh.




*The inflated 4' Emperor Penguin.