Roses

It came to me in a slow dawning, thinking about my neighbor's neglected and shaded rosebush, thriving and blooming away happily. And my FIL talking about their rosebush that he considers "unkillable." And I realized I've overlooked this obvious solution to the back garden dead spot.

Roses.



The most obvious flower of all anymore. And the socio-economics of bought, cut roses is pretty awful. Cut flowers generally, roses more than most.

My father's mother, Grandma, grew lots of roses around her house. My mother says she could shove a stick in the ground and it would grow. Her backyard roses all came from Grandma. So mom would get livid when dad damaged them with the lawn mower. I don't even want to unpack that whole mess.

My father never bought my mother flowers. Then he got the job as caretaker at the cemetery*. He'd bring home day-old flowers, mostly in wreathes. Always practical people, mom was delighted, would have scoffed at 'spending good money on flowers that will be dead in a few days.' For all his years there, the house was full of really lovely flowers, largely roses, that mom and I salvaged from their arrangements. One of his rare, but not unknown, acts of kindness. Generosity, even. We really were poor, a condition kept in check with persistent frugality, which made his propensity to largesse difficult.

Much as I love fresh flowers in the house, it's been rare most of my life. Self bought, which is fine. I do share my parents' stinginess concerning luxuries. I stick with Sweet Williams, and not often.

So, roses may have been a blind spot. Even with the long neglected rosebush in the front, that I had to disentangle from the Hedge, take down to nothing. Rotted and infested with some sort of rusty rose disease. And it's pink. Not my favorite, to say the least. Still, it's looking hale and hearty this year, very little of the rotted spots of previous years.

Apparently, they grow reallllllllly well here. So, I started researching. It's late to start any this summer, but that's fine. I need shade tolerant, hardy to zone 5, want a good scent, nofuckingpink, shrub rose with lots of blooms through the summer.

My childhood preference for dark red velvety roses has passed, thankfully. This will be a winter project, since this is rather like buying a tortoise (don't buy a tortoise, btw) or a parrot (no, don't buy a parrot either) since it will be around for a lifetime or two. Best taken slowly, with thought and care.

Time to get some decent rose gloves, too.

Writing here as the Scrub Jay picks his peanuts up. A pleasant end to a tiring, if satisfying day.


*After the copper tubing plant shut down, he worked at a steel mill for a year, which then laid him off. That was a harsh year or so, as puberty hit me, and he lost his shit. Explains a lot, still doesn't excuse him.

Happier with the porch this evening, since I completed the painting down to the bottom. Had to wait for the putty to dry completely. Touched up a bit. Still have other columns to do, dealing with the downspout complicates them, so we will tackle the rest later. Not to mention I'm very tired.



Amazes me every time a project works out better than I'd imagined.

Could not stay inside today, even when I should have been taking care of indoor tasks. Suddenly, there I was on the other side of the door. Warm, 78˚F (25C), breeze. By next weekend looking at 90˚F(32C), which is typical.

Planning to walk the few blocks over to the Pride Parade next Sunday, with hats and water bottles. Usually we just catch one of the side streams, where they stage entrants. If it doesn't get too hot, I want to get to the main route this year.

Stealth

Moby doesn't do 'nip, but he does like the smell. He enjoyed sleeping in his garden.

Got the house numbers painted back on. Nice font, but with a bit of slop, and I'm not satisfied with the color. It'll do until we get more details worked out.

Sifted the compost, got my ankles covered in little ants, some bit itchily. Leaving that for another time. Stripped on the back porch and jumped in, keep the little buggers outside.

Woken this morning by a horking cat on my knees. Followed by a run downstairs to throw the quilt in the laundry.

Bunching

Some things stick with me. Re-told a story (hi pc), that turns out I've told several times before.

Well, there you are then. The years are bunching up.

April 2012




Today






More to go, have to take the downspouts off, remove panels, replace downspouts. Got a pop rivet gun, just need the right size rivets, and we can do the rest. So far, it all feels so much brighter and happier. Some burnt-orange accents on the details, later this summer. Still have to get someone to come and do some TLC on the windows on the side and back. Can't get anyone to call us back, though.

As I remove all these damn panels, I suspect they were intended to make the place look "rustic" (when it should have been looking Craftsman) as well as cover the damaged wood. Neighbor tells me previous owner put them up right before the place went on sale, as well as laying the (damn plastic impregnated) sod. I'm astonished at the amount of work put in on covering it up, when it would have been much easier to seal the wood properly, repaint it and keep the period details. Neighbor tells me they were young, but I suspect they were also rather stupid. "Rich boy" he tells me, "Dad bought the house for them." Which fits in with all the half-assery we've found, the botches covered with decoration, the ikkeah crap, the oversized and very expensive fridge that had to be trashed. Wondering if the sense that they were somehow trying to game the system during the sale, meant they were trying to get Daddy to bail them out of their financial mess somehow, and it didn't work.

Either way, glad we rescued the House from them, and are getting her feeling better. They obviously didn't love Her. We do, though.

I want to do something with these panels, not sure quite what. Perhaps succulent containers in the back. The broken ones are all in the trash now.


Cats spent most of the day, together, on the bed. Good to seem them being buddies.

And to round it off, again for pc, probably not a birch canoe, but a dugout, and a cat. Yes, random, but tangentially appropriate.



George Caleb Bingham, The Trappers. (sorry to be late with the citation)

Tradition

All in the details, in this case a very Craftsman style detail. Which I plan to restore later.



Taking off the panels hiding the damage to the columns. I feel a bit guilty dislodging all the spider eggs, although by this time they are probably mostly hatched anyway. We removed every last panel, warped and broken mostly.


Significant damage. Got something called Wood Hardener. Will fill in with wood putty tomorrow, followed by Monet green paint.


As for the removed panels, some with a couple of screws, some a screw and a nail, some with two nails, some three, at least three different sizes and lengths of nail. Salvaging them, although I'm not entirely sure what I can do with them.




Just getting those damn things off makes it look better, even rough and blotchy, it's better. We will get the other two done in time, but the new downspouts are attached to them. A bigger project for a different summer holiday.


Doing this sort of thing on Memorial Day is very traditional. We also did some yard sailing, picked up a meat grinder, some gold-plated spoons, and a back massage device.

Puzzle

Off work early yesterday, so I worked on this. Got some product for the bottoms of the columns. Prying off the nailed on panels that are coming off anyway. Bigger project than anticipated. But you know what? I'm enjoying working the problem.

Fallen

Feeling untethered and adrift today. Like falling suddenly as the concrete wall turned out to be wet paper, and I'm on my face - confused and concussed.

Hormones in a whirl. Dealing with my body becoming thick, evidence of the years accumulation. Menopause looming, but not quite established. Flirting, unconsummated. The beginning of the final stretch. Looking like all the women in my family. Peasant stock. Solid, not sleek.

First the grey hair, and now the widening. When I was so dark haired and slim, this takes adjustment. Being loved entire means it will be fine, but it does take getting used to. Having no floor length mirrors let it sneak up on me.

It's fine, it's all fine really, no honestly. Just need a moment.

Ok, ok, I'm good.


Still, moody. Fatigued for no real reason. Dithering and easily distracted.

Pulling off the decorative cladding on the porch columns, and the bottoms of the hollow wood supports are in very poor shape. Painting is now fallen back on the list of tasks, as we will need to add planks, after taking off the warped panels, and only then paint. Going to be a summer-long task.

House is fine,knows we love her and are taking care of all this. Bit by bit.

Wound up having to talk to too many people today, and so not in the mood to socialize. Want to hide out and fall silent, go dark.

Evil

Hard to believe it's been a whole year since my last work eval. By Eviljanevil* the former manager. Who was convinced I was a nasty, mean, spiteful bit of evil.

Met with newer manager today for my annual review, and... turns out I'm not evil after all! How nice is that? I'll get my raise this year. Well, I think much the same of New Manager. She's so genuine and funny, capable and smart. Quite a change.

Rain barrel arrived today, will set it up tomorrow. Ate a dinner of eggs, and homegrown lettuce and strawberries.



*a joke upon her name, about her nature, not so much a joke.

Weedy

The raised bed on the verge is doing what it can, fennel and jalepenos and the catnip hybrid. Surrounded by a forest of sunflowers.



They are a little worrisome, especially since this is still only May. Pulling them out in the fall is going to be a job.






Strawberries doing well. Encroached upon by elm seedlings.

Poppies and onions going nuts.



In back, older succulent and new spreading perennial looking promising.

Among the pavers covering the mud, tons of weeds and more elms, making their own soil out of the elm seed covers.




Learning a lot from weeds. Everything enjoying the generous spring rains this year.

Angels

Long, long ago, I began to write here. Actually, I had a very minor foray into the idea of a blog through Apple, which was cumbersome to say the least. But Dylan posted our photos on that site, to share with friends and family, while we were exploring Boston. Blooger was just... easier. Made for the purpose. Even as it changed and "fixed" things that weren't broken and made me want to leave several times, this corner of the blogiverse is mine own thing, and seems to remain so.

In those early days, finding other bloggers was a sort of miracle. Someone who posted often enough, but not too much. Whose site wasn't flashy or flickery. I wasn't terribly discerning. Came across a lot of poets and photographers, the ex-pat Brits in Brittany came later. No one commented as often, writers often didn't reply to comments. Rather like the first year of college, meeting so many new people, forgetting their names right after you found out they were different majors, or if they asked you to a prayer/NRA/chess meeting. (Delete one.)




Paula was one of those. Astonishing micro photography. The wonderful odd story. But then she wrote about her religious faith, and it hit every sore spot of my childhood. I tried off and on, visited to see how she was doing, then left again and for the same reasons. The assumption of god is just not a mindset I can deal with much. Still dealing with it in real life. And I'm not much for poetry, either. Heard that Paula died in September, and I felt sad and neglectful. Judgmental. I don't know how often, or if she ever commented here, back in the day. But my site was still on her list. Left a positive and very politic comment for her husband, there.


But then I searched for old comments, and found one of mine over at Lorraine's site. She writes about preferring those who call themselves "atheist" over the "not religious but spiritual" because they "believe in something." For me, this is off. Because what I object to is belief itself. I prefer those who question their faith, examine what they believe in, and even if they then choose to believe, they are more credible* to me if they know it's just belief, not knowledge, not supported by evidence. Whatever their reasons, or lack of reasons, belief may be a comfort, but it's not logically or rationally defensible. It's no virtue.

Belief is not proof of anything, not worth or laziness or mental status. Having never felt the allure, believing only as a small child in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus (evidence for both, really) I never felt Love Of God. Never, not for a moment. No clue what they are on about. God never gave me a hug, never whispered "good job" in my ear. I felt the wind more than I ever felt any god. It was all hot air and empty words. Belief only ever seemed to me a false comfort, product of the imaginations of the self proclaimed religious, who never struck me as kind. Quite the opposite, they always seemed cold and distracted. Admittedly a small sample, that I resist extrapolating from.

In my childhood experience, the most religious were the least approachable. Prayer was NOT to be interrupted, play was scorned, all choices judged. Maybe I'm just colorblind to whatever they felt, I accept that. But I still can't see it.

And I still have never been told what they think god is. Ask them to define the word 'god' and they get defensive. What is it they expect me to believe?

Religion may well have great evolutionary advantages to us as a species. Keeps people involved in their societies and communities, so they live longer. Personally, though, leaves me lukewarm at best, repulsed at worst. Just don't buy it. Can't. Nothing there. No evidence of anything. I don't know this, so I can't be atheist, only agnostic. There may be a god, if properly defined, then data may be gathered... . I doubt it, but then, neither do I absolutely believe there isn't, since that too would be 'belief.'


Debating the nature of god assumes there is a god to start with. I don't start with that assumption. Which puts me right out of the discussion before it starts, and there is no backing most people up on that point.

Angels on pinheads, Shriners† in cars.


I hope Paula found her Heaven and her God. I really do.

I don't really care if my father found his hell, but it seems more likely.



*Yes, I know.
†TMBG

Farewell to the low land, farewell to the Lakes,
The birth-place of militias, the country of fakes;
Wherever I move to, wherever I stay,
The swamps of the low land forever's all grey.

Though born in the low lands, my house now is high;
My ssn's from the Mitten, where I never was dry;
Snot black all winter, sleet ice and snow,
Humidity all summer, and all the fans go.

Farewell to the river, a whole mile wide;
Farewell to the slums and the entire east side;
Farewell to the forests and maples in fall;
Farewell to the mould and "shots fired" calls .

But My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not there;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Enemy

The enemy lives,
Sprouts elm seedlings everywhere.
Shoving, intruding,

Catsoup

Catsoup Recipe:

Two large dark meat turkey parts. Thigh and leg work well. Back and neck require more sifting out of small bones later.

Spray crock-pot with small amount of sproil. Put in crock pot with sufficient water to cover, but not to float.

Turmeric sprinkled over. Perhaps two to three generous tablespoons.

Cook on high three hours. Shut off for last hour to cool.

Remove bones and largest amounts of skin. Shred meat, leave in connective tissue. Cats may not eat it, but they will chew on it. Mix in with a half can of pumpkin, store in non-plastic resealable container. Let cool in fridge.

Spoon out in bowls, heat 10 seconds in microwave, add stool softener in small amounts, as you would for lightly salting. Polyethylene Glycol powder recommended for cats (available in most drug stores.) Mix in well. Add hot water if it seems dry. Present to felines. Expect to be ignored, or not, as the case may be.

If Eleanor, give small number of kibble in small dish. Right next to catsoup. She will eat both.

If small amounts are left a while, add more hot water, and mash with fingers.

Watch dangerously thin and bowel-obstructed old-cat get sleek and strong again. Watch young cat crave her crunchies, but adapt as well.

Feel good about making nourishing meals for at least one species.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seriously, Moby really is looking well again. Burly and sleek, despite the grey. Slower, but still willing to scrap with young Eleanor.








Eleanor walking on me this morning. Straddled my arm and sat on my hand. Then I feel her nose at the same elbow to be petted. "Cat, that ain't gonna work."

Some noise outside last night, mechanical, engine thrum, in the wee hours. Awake, hot, awake. Struggle to get back to sleep. Struggle to wake up with the chime.







*Sproil, spray oil. Natch. Makes it easier to clean later.

Poppies

Moby enjoys the garden, much improved from the first summer, when he primarily wanted to sit in neighbor's grass. These days, he likes his own variety, tours around.

More poppies out, and more working their way open. Stunning color.

Rain this morning, sun in the afternoon. Got up to 87˚F yesterday, today, 66˚F. Should turn the compost, finally get the frame sorted, not on my last day off. More to do, there always is. Feeling productive enough. Weeding strangely satisfying, I know all the types, if not by name. Rather like picking zits.

Stein

Poppy bloomed, brilliantly.



More to come, and looks so established, no doubt many more for years to come. The iris is not offering any buds, perhaps next year.


Just two of the guys last evening, both kind and funny, we played Illuminati, which is always amusing. I play for style points, winning is merely accidental. This was a teaching game, so very low stress. Hope to follow up soon. Like the people, like the game.




Really wanted to get the bottles in, and the back reasonably tidy. Aching now, but got that far. All the large bottles are planted, the walk scraped and swept, Monardella macrantha found by chance, planted. (Drought resistant, perennial, shade loving, spreading, made to order.)

My neighbor drove in, stopped to chat. "Why the bottles?" Well, when we moved in here, they didn't recycle brown bottles, so I saved them intending to build a bottle wall. Gave up learning to work with concrete, found this way to use them for the dead soil that wouldn't even grow weeds. Gave her a very short version of this, and I could tell she wasn't following.

"It's supposed to look pretty." I said.

What I would say now is, this is my creative outlet. This is folk art. And it is. House encourages me, wants my insight, my sweat, my interpretation. Arts & Crafts House likes when I take what is here, and puts it together in a way she's never seen before. House loves us, patiently, as a centenarian can.

Feeling much better about life, since the garden looks less like a construction zone. I'm not a terribly neat person, but too much mess unnerves me. Related to how I set up my OR, or my sterile field when I scrub. Doesn't have to be a particular perfect, but it has to be clear, make sense. I'm pretty flexible about what order it's in, unless I'm the only one who has to work with it, then I want it the easiest way for my brain.

We went to the Hong Kong Tea House again, Dylan got Pepper Chicken, I had shrimp balls, sesame dumplings and well, a different kind of sesame dumpling. Brought home most of them and ate 'em for dinner. Feeling well nourished. We also went to UMOCA, which is always a crap shoot. Either it's a mixed bag of interesting, and flickering nausea, or it's purest wankery. Today, totally the latter. The one exhibit upstairs was all raw construction site 'displays.'

"I think she's fucking with us... " Then I saw the wall of half buried screws. Yup, that was the "screw you" wall. Hard to see it as anything but. Now, I'm not against modern art, not at all. I don't have to understand it, no need for pretty. I'll give any of it a chance. But I knew I was being had on this one. Or someone was.

We also did a short round of yard sales.

Found this, Rou.

Cousins

Uncommon Crow*.

We made it to our neighborhood aviary yesterday. They do free flying bird shows, inside all year, outside in the summer. The birds are 'trained' to behave in natural ways under unnatural conditions. They do a lot of bird rehab, teaching, and raise funds for habitat preservation. Not as wonderful as wild birds, but they do what they can. Dylan got to have a toucan relative, Inca, hop across his hands. I got a more clawed, more dinosaur-like bird, Kembo, land on my palm. Rather awesome, really.




My ability to remember the names of birds is even worse than my memory for people's names. Utterly useless.

Sitting out on the porch, watching the sunflowers engulf the verge, and the Kentucky Coffee Bean Tree.

Brought Eleanor out to smell the catnip. She was not best pleased with the harness, or the noise, but she seemed to enjoy the nip and the thyme, briefly. Until a loud car noise overtook her, and all she wanted was "IN. IN. IN." Later, neighbor dog Spike came up on the porch as she sat in the window. He was all "hiwannabefriendshihihi!" And she was all "What. Are. You.?" Spike likes cats, lives with one, he's cool, if a bit enthusiastic. Eleanor not bothered, she's seen shelters, man.

Enjoying my week off immensely. Digging in dirt, pulling out weeds, visiting birds. When I'm out front so much during the day, I get a lot of comments on the garden. "Love your garden!" "Thank you!"

Touching and kind. Older middle european man with a vile cigarette stopped to ask about the rocks, how I kept them up. "I balance them, gravity does the rest." He asked if that was mint.

"Yes, would you like some?" I grabbed a few handfuls of the peppermint and lemon balm, then offered a stalk of green onion. He was grateful, but I figure this as part of my duty. I've taken it on of my own accord. The earth gives it to me, I pass on some. Only fair.

Moby all Adventure Cat© today. Several turns around the front garden, both adjacent lawns, back garden, and neighbor's back yard. Sniffing the green onion flowers about to bloom. There are more neighborhood cats around. One young tiger-stripe-short hair sitting on the sill across the glass from Eleanor inside the front window yesterday evening. Another calico with a collar in the back. Ah, spring.


Tonight, Game Night, report to follow.

Tomorrow, UMOCA. Utah Museum of Contemporary Art. Bit of a crapshoot, often pretentiously depressing, but occasionally witty, even amazing. They did the art putt-putt golf exhibit, that was actually (mostly) playable. A couple of the holes had a par ∞, so it was unwinnable, or un-loseable.

Warm clear day, sitting on the porch. Hard to remember this is only May, and the blooming is yet to come. The tree is leafing out nicely, finally, but such is it's nature.


*Raven, but sending love to Crow.

Stinks

This weed stinks of old urinal. No idea what it is.

Any thoughts?

Considering begonias in the lightless bit of soil in the back. Hostas would be better, but I just don't like them.

Resumption

Eleanor Sitzonher.


Philomena Cunk on Trump.

Saw Diane Morgan, as herself, on Have I Got News For You -(a bbc quiz show.) There is a truism that it takes a very intelligent person to play stupid really well. It's easier for a dim actor to look bright. She came across as very intelligent as herself, so I started looking around for her Ms Cunk persona, and came across a quote from the linked clip.

"It’s exciting watching footage of his rallies thinking, oh this will be in a documentary in about 20 years time with ominous music on it and here’s me watching it live."

Got an email from my Massachusetts cousin. Have to share her description of a tree planting.

How to plant a little Kousa dogwood tree (thank you Laurie):
1. Dig hole. Fill bucket with rocks.
2. Hit big root. Move hole over.
3. More roots. Get hatchet. Fill bucket with roots.
4. Put compost and other sh*t in the hole.
5. Get watering can, add water from fish pond.
6. Oh yeah, put the tree in the hole.
7. Find more dirt - too many rocks and roots.
Hope it will be happy. Pix to follow if it lives.
8. Walk to Vermette's and get spinach and wine.

OK so I've never been a conventional gardener

Since it's looking a bit nippy for the park today, we're looking at seeing Keanu. Inside, with beer and nachos.

My room ended around 2PM yesterday, I decided that was a fine time to resume my vacation.

Nonchalant

Rain wasn't predicted, then it was, 20%chance. Then the clouds mounted up. We'd gone out for a walk, came back as it started spitting. Soon the thunder rolled in, became a a constant roar. Rain poured, then teemed, then got heavier than I've ever seen here, full of marble sized hail. Leaves beaten off the trees, a wall of white. We stood in awe, rivers appeared overwhelming pavement. Which is why this photo is after it had abated. Soon, the sun appeared, warm and nonchalant.




Petunias and alliums are a bit battered.

Estella

As though in a spotlight, my little star.

Moody

Rain, rain, and more rain. Much needed. Much as I would have wanted to dig and place bottles this morning, far too wet. Got more sand.

Oh... yeah, I've been burying bottles, bottom up, to make a kind of pavement, in the strip of dirt near the garage that refuses to grow anything. I hope to separate and plant some of the turkish veronica from the front later in the year. Gave up on learning to make concrete to make a bottle wall. Needed to move all the bottles I'd saved for the past four years, since the garage needs painting. Not to mention the bottles have become a snail refuge. So, I dug yesterday, after dreaming of this the night before. Worked better than I'd hoped, although some framing will be needed next. Further to go, but it looks pretty good.



Ok, well, it will look good, once it's done and settled, with sand fill, and veronica growing amid. Better than the waste ground it has been.

Whole lotta bottles to go. Whole lotta snails among 'em. Four years ago, brown bottles weren't recycled here, so I kept them all to make... something. Finally getting there. Now, we have a glass recycle bin of our own, but it's only once a month, and it's not that large, and it got forgotten in April. So I looked at the bottles with a steely eye, and thought and thought. Then dreamed.

Damn snails. Whole lot fewer of them this spring, elsewhere. Lots among the bottles. Which is why the sand. Once clear, I'll beach the area, which snails no like, then paint the garage.

Taking a long weekend, work a day, then get five days off. My version of a vacation. Well, cow-orker G already had Tuesday off, so I didn't fight it. A split vacation might be easier, really.

Anyway, mood. I'm in such a mood this morning. Not a particular one, simply uncomfortable and upset, but without clear reasons. Mother's Day is part of it. Expected to have to drive out to West Valley for Dylan's mum, but they are having dinner with us Monday instead. Which is nice. But I felt at loose ends, wrong footed, off balance. So, I could dig this morning, except that I can't. I would be a son of toil covered in tons of soil, largely clay, and get nowhere slowly.

Looking for figures to do a miniature garden tour photo essay. This is what I have on hand, mostly from garage sales.



I looked for "action figures" which are overwhelmingly male, and hostile. So I looked for "doll house figures" which are overwhelmingly white/middle class/suburban/sitcom. Then made the mistake of looking for 'female action figures.' WtheactualF! All are porn-busty, naked, sexy. I knew there were issues, but jesssuspeople. I didn't plan on spending more than a few dollars on this, but I may wind up sending for a TreeChangeDoll just to counteract the misogyny.

If you have any suggestions for figures I could use in my tour group, I'm so open to ideas. The whole feminism backslide distresses me immensely, some days. In many ways, it's worse that women are not just relegated to house now, but to only the bedroom. This should not be so bad after so long! What is it with the most defensive and fragile masculinity that beats at anything female? Part of the Mood, certainly.


Have I mentioned how much I love Dylan lately? How kind he is, how supportive, how decent? Just thought I should add this.

I may ask his comic-minded friends on Friday for female action figures. If anyone has some, they do, and they may be willing to loan a few for a silly photo project.

Yo'mama

Short day, one surgeon, one room. And the RN intern showed up, so I ceded the room to him. Not easy, to let someone tread water, figure out how deep they are, and not help them until they start going under, or if asked. But that was the opportunity, and I wasn't about to steal it from him.

I offered, but except for turnovers, or doing exactly what I would do for a cow-orker, I stayed out of the room. Rasps against the grain, but I know full well that letting him struggle was much more valuable. He seemed to appreciate the chance, and did quite well. Soon, he'll be on his own, and with no back-up.

In return, I got to feel very good about my own skill and knowledge base. Nearly smug, even. Not an easy job to learn to do well.

Dark skies, lightning visible as I walked in to work. Raining all afternoon, welcome. As I turned in our drive, after work, saw the garden afresh, and struck by how beautiful it's become. A tiny urban oasis of my making. More lightning and thunder. So green and growing.



As I left, I made sure to wish the mothers a happy mom day Sunday. They tried to wish it back for me, I reject this. "But your cats!" Not my children, I've never birthed kittens. I ain't nobody's mama. Nope. Cats are my friends. Never wanting children, why would I make another species my children? For those with children, or who like and want them, sure, I get that. But that's not me. I don't consider it a compliment, to be dubbed 'mother.' Nothing magical about the position, no automatic virtue. It's all in how well it's done. Done well, it needs no accolades, since it abounds in love. Done badly, there is nothing to be bragged about. Kindness is not restricted to mothers, nor is it universally found in all women who have given birth.

The new light has a golden glow.



Another of Eleanor in the window, which she loves. Clearly.



Starting a long weekend, followed by some vacation time. Going in Tuesday, because G already had the day requested, which is fine. Tomorrow is the pink race, right in front of our house, closing the street. I'll weed as they run by. Sunday, sweep out the garage of drifts of leaves and elm seeds.