Yes, I'm with her. I will be voting for Hilary Clinton, no question. She's been First Lady, Senator, Secretary of State. She cares about women and children and every other citizen, or potential citizen. She's intelligent and hard working and capable. That's really all there is to it.
A vote for anyone but her in this system is a vote for the abusive, bullying blusterfuck. Abstaining is another vote for that weaselbrained neo-fascist. Libertarians are a joke. An earnest, well intentioned, folk-singer-songwriter with an acoustic guitar sincere, joke.
Is she perfect? Exciting? No, so? We are not voting for a messiah, we are voting for an administrator. She will be a fine administrator. She will get progressive judges on the Supreme Court that will have an effect for another generation or more.
She's solid. She's sane. She'll do.
I just hope the quarreling, nitpicking liberals don't shoot us all in the foot, sacrificing good on the altar of perfect. As a devoutly liberal, dyedinthewool feminist myself, I'm saying this.
With me, all the Star Trek folk.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Glum
Monday and Tuesday were both very short days, still left exhausted. Disturbed sleep will do that to me. I keep thinking of Aunt Evelyn complaining of waking drenched, having to change sheets and pillowcases, as well as nightgown. She was well past what would have been her menopause (but for hysterectomy), her night sweats were likely from her other health problems. I merely wake up generally sweaty, and sympathize with her. Finding that a half benedryl and a melatonin at least means I get sufficient sleep, despite interruptions.
This too shall pass. Like kidney stones on roller coasters. (No, thankfully I don't have that, but I love this bit of science.)
Cats were happy about it at 0330, since I had to get up anyway, I also filled their dishes. First Moby, as I set it down, Eleanor appeared, staring at me expectantly. Ok, fine. Sounds of both cats chowing down. Dylan got to sleep a bit more.
Talking with Mike next door, we think we have an airbnb place on the half street, new people walking dogs, visiting. He says it's "like San Francisco!" We agree, and mention that we like SF. As an older gay man, he says he does too. At Trader Joe's yesterday, a young man in very tight jeans and a belly shirt poses in the line, Dylan and I agree, yes, it is becoming more and more like SF. Odd to see in SLC, but what the hell.
We chat about how people who dress provocatively, seem not to really get how they appear. Young women showing a bit of cleavage or shorter skirts, often tug at their clothes to cover themselves pointlessly. There has to be a moment when they are looking at themselves in the mirror, thinking "this looks cute!" and later feel vulnerable and exposed. Others, like our TJ dude, really OWN it, and we hope he attracts what he intends to attract, even if it is clearly not US. Maybe not flattering, but perhaps effective? What would we know?
Pulled out the remainder of the sunflowers. Left a pile for the birds to feast upon. Nice to see the shape of the garden reappear. I like the sunflowers, they keep the house cooler, the dog shit elsewhere, keep weeds down, attract birds and bumblebees,and they are cheerful. They do get to be a bit much, though. I'm glad of the end of their season. There will be fewer next year, as I remove them mercilessly. Prickly Pear, grapes and roses are the plan.
Our ACE Hardware store (in the same strip as the TJs, three blocks away) has been closed for the past two months. The renovation was supposed to be a couple of weeks. No idea what went awry with that plan, but it must've been a doozie. We've put off a number of small jobs because we couldn't walk over to get necessary tools/supplies. Glad to have them back. They kept their employees working and earning, but they are relieved to be back to their normal duties again. We know them all rather well. They know us. It'll be five years in January that we moved in to House, and we started spending quality time at the hardware store.
Spent a big part of today clearing out the Porch. Our plumber is coming by next Wednesday to draw a bead on the Project, and help us coordinate with a general contractor and electrician. There will be concrete. No more wood touching dirt and rotting away, which is a big part of the problem. We knew this from the initial inspection when we bought the place, we're just delighted we can take care of this within the coming year. Every time Dylan and I have had to hit the bathroom at the same time the last few weeks, we say "Yup, we need another bathroom."
My parents' small house originally had two bathrooms, no doubt useful with two sons. When I came along, they converted the large, upstairs one into my bedroom... which seemed to make sense at the time, I'm guessing? With just the two of us here, we often want a spare toilet. In a strangely trivial way, this feels karmically correct, to restore the balance of toilets.
Finished watching Stranger Things, amazed and a bit haunted. Best kid actors I think I've ever seen. Solid story, effective atmosphere, strong cast. Damn eerie. I highly recommend it. At one point, Dylan says that Steve "thought he was in a John Hughes movie, finds out he's actually in a John Carpenter."
Also watching Travel Man with Richard Ayoade, so deadpan and funny. I think he has a slight crush on Jo Brand. Watching several in a row seems to heap up the humor, which is dry beyond dry.
Liked Richard Ayoade in The IT Crowd, and respect his ability and desire to only present a persona to the media, for the sake of his privacy. Brilliant humor, so twisty and glum.
Oh, yes, and something meme-ish! After many long years without.
Describe yourself in three fictional characters.
Anne Elliot.
Granny Weatherwax.
Alice, of Wonderland.
I leave the why of these up to you.
This too shall pass. Like kidney stones on roller coasters. (No, thankfully I don't have that, but I love this bit of science.)
Cats were happy about it at 0330, since I had to get up anyway, I also filled their dishes. First Moby, as I set it down, Eleanor appeared, staring at me expectantly. Ok, fine. Sounds of both cats chowing down. Dylan got to sleep a bit more.
Talking with Mike next door, we think we have an airbnb place on the half street, new people walking dogs, visiting. He says it's "like San Francisco!" We agree, and mention that we like SF. As an older gay man, he says he does too. At Trader Joe's yesterday, a young man in very tight jeans and a belly shirt poses in the line, Dylan and I agree, yes, it is becoming more and more like SF. Odd to see in SLC, but what the hell.
We chat about how people who dress provocatively, seem not to really get how they appear. Young women showing a bit of cleavage or shorter skirts, often tug at their clothes to cover themselves pointlessly. There has to be a moment when they are looking at themselves in the mirror, thinking "this looks cute!" and later feel vulnerable and exposed. Others, like our TJ dude, really OWN it, and we hope he attracts what he intends to attract, even if it is clearly not US. Maybe not flattering, but perhaps effective? What would we know?
Pulled out the remainder of the sunflowers. Left a pile for the birds to feast upon. Nice to see the shape of the garden reappear. I like the sunflowers, they keep the house cooler, the dog shit elsewhere, keep weeds down, attract birds and bumblebees,and they are cheerful. They do get to be a bit much, though. I'm glad of the end of their season. There will be fewer next year, as I remove them mercilessly. Prickly Pear, grapes and roses are the plan.
Our ACE Hardware store (in the same strip as the TJs, three blocks away) has been closed for the past two months. The renovation was supposed to be a couple of weeks. No idea what went awry with that plan, but it must've been a doozie. We've put off a number of small jobs because we couldn't walk over to get necessary tools/supplies. Glad to have them back. They kept their employees working and earning, but they are relieved to be back to their normal duties again. We know them all rather well. They know us. It'll be five years in January that we moved in to House, and we started spending quality time at the hardware store.
Spent a big part of today clearing out the Porch. Our plumber is coming by next Wednesday to draw a bead on the Project, and help us coordinate with a general contractor and electrician. There will be concrete. No more wood touching dirt and rotting away, which is a big part of the problem. We knew this from the initial inspection when we bought the place, we're just delighted we can take care of this within the coming year. Every time Dylan and I have had to hit the bathroom at the same time the last few weeks, we say "Yup, we need another bathroom."
My parents' small house originally had two bathrooms, no doubt useful with two sons. When I came along, they converted the large, upstairs one into my bedroom... which seemed to make sense at the time, I'm guessing? With just the two of us here, we often want a spare toilet. In a strangely trivial way, this feels karmically correct, to restore the balance of toilets.
Finished watching Stranger Things, amazed and a bit haunted. Best kid actors I think I've ever seen. Solid story, effective atmosphere, strong cast. Damn eerie. I highly recommend it. At one point, Dylan says that Steve "thought he was in a John Hughes movie, finds out he's actually in a John Carpenter."
Also watching Travel Man with Richard Ayoade, so deadpan and funny. I think he has a slight crush on Jo Brand. Watching several in a row seems to heap up the humor, which is dry beyond dry.
Liked Richard Ayoade in The IT Crowd, and respect his ability and desire to only present a persona to the media, for the sake of his privacy. Brilliant humor, so twisty and glum.
Oh, yes, and something meme-ish! After many long years without.
Describe yourself in three fictional characters.
Anne Elliot.
Granny Weatherwax.
Alice, of Wonderland.
I leave the why of these up to you.
Monday, September 26, 2016
Connection
More connections, this time concussions and PTSD.
Shoddy sleep, moldy too. Strange disquiet at work, others noticed it as well. Hot sun after the promise of Fall, that sharp, glaring light.
Shoddy sleep, moldy too. Strange disquiet at work, others noticed it as well. Hot sun after the promise of Fall, that sharp, glaring light.
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Orientation
When we give Eleanor her Hairball Control treats, she prefers them in a huge pile to gobble down like a hoover, then hork up shortly after. She would prefer we not do "enrichment" and "hide" them in an egg carton, where she has to "work" for them. But she does pursue the much desired treats with great energy, once her humans refuse her preferences. Damn humans. We get no treat credit when we use the Deterrent!
Poor cat.
Rain through the last two nights. And cats. Eleanor on my chest, even put one paw on my left cheek... then another on my right. Moby jumped up on Dylan's chest. I got up and put out food, which was accepted, although not much eaten.
I sometimes send silly photos to Dylan when I'm at work. In my thyroid shield, hat, mask and scrubs.
I don't have all the citations on the Cracked.com stuff, but this seems right to me. Don't fucking hit your children and call it good damn parenting. Seriously.
Dylan working today, and I'm getting some cleaning done. Also reading the most recent Craig Johnson book, An Obvious Fact. So far, so funny, with a dark ground.
Found a good, soft, pretty, shirt to go with the dressy skirt, so I can feel less schlubby on Thanksgiving Boxing Day, when all Dylan's cow-orkers stop by for food and mst3k. Not only then, but it's a start.
Cats mostly sleeping today, as per. I've cleaned the oven and kitchen cupboards, a bit of the bathroom that needed de-furring, and got the mattress pad on the spare bed. The last so if either of us get a bad cold, the other can have some comfort and sleep. Since I got my flu shot, hopefully not a flu. Making potato leek soup, since it turned out so well last time.
Cooler, wetter the last few days, finally. Got a sunny and warmer week ahead, including an 80˚F day. Snow in the mountains, though. Furnace on this morning to take the chill off of 64˚F house. Well, Dylan needed me to shave his head, and he gets cold.
I no longer know what temperature I am. Hot, cold, shivering, sweating, cut loose and flapping moorless, without reference or orientation.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Drenching
Ok, the usual method of turning off WV/Captcha does not work. Believe me, I've tried several more times. Yes, I have tried turning it off and on again. And I can't even comment on my own blog because the captcha keeps giving me more images, and eventually fails me anyway. I've reported it, in several places. What do I need to do to stop this? Any ideas? Gods, I hate those little images.
I'll take spam over this ordeal. Any time.
Sorry, not what I needed when I got home. Long, hard week.
Still, the rains finally arrived, good drenchers through the night and into today. Cooler and wetter and I'm so relieved. After the heat and dry all damn summer. GCFU† in full force, depresses me to dwell on it, and the willful ignorance of the deniers. So much stupid around.
Still, rain. And the rye is coming up, as well as leftover buckwheat. In spots, at least. And snow up in the mountains. Happily wearing a sweater, settling in. Cooked up the fennel bulbs, lovely meal. Eleanor even let me pick her up for a snuggle, a rare treat. The picking up, not so much the snuggle. Well... oh, you know what I mean. Or you don't, but I'm not up to further clarification.
Ran into my PTSD therapist, and one-time-patient at the wine* store. Kind and warm, we both kept a certain distance, as well we should. Tricky thing, to run into one's patient out in public, there are (legal) issues of confidentiality. As I left, I touched her arm and told her it was so good to see her, and she responded in kind. We are not friends, as such, and are trained not to break confidences - in this case, our very relationship, since that would break confidentiality in itself.
*The State runs liquor stores, and a few wine stores - that also sell beer and a small selection of liquors. It's all a bit complicated, but I'm glad I can pick up decent strong beer closer to where we live, even if I have to ignore the mass of wine.
†Global Climatological Fuck Up.
I'll take spam over this ordeal. Any time.
Sorry, not what I needed when I got home. Long, hard week.
Still, the rains finally arrived, good drenchers through the night and into today. Cooler and wetter and I'm so relieved. After the heat and dry all damn summer. GCFU† in full force, depresses me to dwell on it, and the willful ignorance of the deniers. So much stupid around.
Still, rain. And the rye is coming up, as well as leftover buckwheat. In spots, at least. And snow up in the mountains. Happily wearing a sweater, settling in. Cooked up the fennel bulbs, lovely meal. Eleanor even let me pick her up for a snuggle, a rare treat. The picking up, not so much the snuggle. Well... oh, you know what I mean. Or you don't, but I'm not up to further clarification.
Ran into my PTSD therapist, and one-time-patient at the wine* store. Kind and warm, we both kept a certain distance, as well we should. Tricky thing, to run into one's patient out in public, there are (legal) issues of confidentiality. As I left, I touched her arm and told her it was so good to see her, and she responded in kind. We are not friends, as such, and are trained not to break confidences - in this case, our very relationship, since that would break confidentiality in itself.
*The State runs liquor stores, and a few wine stores - that also sell beer and a small selection of liquors. It's all a bit complicated, but I'm glad I can pick up decent strong beer closer to where we live, even if I have to ignore the mass of wine.
†Global Climatological Fuck Up.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Reset
Three sick calls on Monday, I wound up scrubbing all day, last room running. So rusty, although at the end I found a bit of the old sense of flow. Tiring, and my back has been bothering.
Through the night, got up to use the bathroom, and... I think I fell asleep before I got there. I walked into the doorframe, hard. Hit my cheek, knee and shin. Made it to the toilet, thought, I know why I did that. Until on my way back, and realized it only made dream logic. Semi-sleep-walking. Laid in bed and cried over the cut in my cheek, hurt so.
Friday ran for a pleasable, but only if I run hard, surgeon. Another full ten hour day, which is good, tiring. Another night of aching back. Doing all I can to get it sorted, doesn't bother me during the day much, mostly at night.
Swimming in hotflash seas, so what sleep I get is spotty, damp, and unrestful. Dreams about Moby being cared for while we were away, suddenly realizing Eleanor was not there. Very real, woke anxious, until I realized she was tucked against my arm.
Went to financial counseling this morning from the investment co. that does the work-IRA stuff, a free benefit. Nice clear plan in place for the lump sum pension offer. Largely because he listened* when I explained what we needed. Getting the utility room done now will pay us back the rest of our lives, in the way getting a piddling bit of pension every month in 10-20 years won't. He didn't try to talk us out of anything, just set up a good solid plan, ran the numbers and... peace of mind. Yay. I think part of my brain has been worrying at this, even though I'd silenced the active chewing. Needed someone with the right knowledge and program, to sort the numbers.
Still, going out this morning felt horrible. I've missed so many of my idle Wednesdays, and it shows. Feeling thick and mucky. Dressing solely for utility for so long has left me feeling schlubby and dull. Shopping for clothes is not easy for me, the styles that work on me, that I like, that I can afford, are rarely in fashion. Did find a nice dark blue skirt, and in time I'll find a top of some sort to go with, which helps.
Weather predicted to be changing some time this afternoon. Proper rain and autumnal temperatures. Waiting.
Dylan's cooking up chili. I'm trying to rest and reset.
Ok, ok, going now to start cleaning up the counters.
*He actually listened to us! That was wonderful all in itself. Not sure if they're supposed to do that, but, hell, we're grateful.
Through the night, got up to use the bathroom, and... I think I fell asleep before I got there. I walked into the doorframe, hard. Hit my cheek, knee and shin. Made it to the toilet, thought, I know why I did that. Until on my way back, and realized it only made dream logic. Semi-sleep-walking. Laid in bed and cried over the cut in my cheek, hurt so.
Friday ran for a pleasable, but only if I run hard, surgeon. Another full ten hour day, which is good, tiring. Another night of aching back. Doing all I can to get it sorted, doesn't bother me during the day much, mostly at night.
Swimming in hotflash seas, so what sleep I get is spotty, damp, and unrestful. Dreams about Moby being cared for while we were away, suddenly realizing Eleanor was not there. Very real, woke anxious, until I realized she was tucked against my arm.
Went to financial counseling this morning from the investment co. that does the work-IRA stuff, a free benefit. Nice clear plan in place for the lump sum pension offer. Largely because he listened* when I explained what we needed. Getting the utility room done now will pay us back the rest of our lives, in the way getting a piddling bit of pension every month in 10-20 years won't. He didn't try to talk us out of anything, just set up a good solid plan, ran the numbers and... peace of mind. Yay. I think part of my brain has been worrying at this, even though I'd silenced the active chewing. Needed someone with the right knowledge and program, to sort the numbers.
Still, going out this morning felt horrible. I've missed so many of my idle Wednesdays, and it shows. Feeling thick and mucky. Dressing solely for utility for so long has left me feeling schlubby and dull. Shopping for clothes is not easy for me, the styles that work on me, that I like, that I can afford, are rarely in fashion. Did find a nice dark blue skirt, and in time I'll find a top of some sort to go with, which helps.
Weather predicted to be changing some time this afternoon. Proper rain and autumnal temperatures. Waiting.
Dylan's cooking up chili. I'm trying to rest and reset.
Ok, ok, going now to start cleaning up the counters.
*He actually listened to us! That was wonderful all in itself. Not sure if they're supposed to do that, but, hell, we're grateful.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Rocking
I find myself looking at rocking chairs, then looking away. The very idea makes me a bit nauseous. To think, I once loved them, hoped one day to have a really nice one. We now have a house with lots of wood floors, perfect for a rocking chair. And... nope, not a chance. Blergh.
So many things I'd have enjoyed as a kid, or young adult, that I now think... meh. Or, ugh. A pool. Oh, I so wanted someday to have a proper pool to swim in. Now, even if we are at a motel with one, I don't really feel any draw. Swimming in chlorine? Putting on a bathing suit? SO expensive to build and maintain. I'll take a long hot shower and call it good. A fireplace? Smoke, in my lungs, and ash on everything, has to heat up all the bricks to be proper warm, naw. Parachuting? Rappelling, abseiling?
Ok, well, I think that would still be amazing. Have to take care of old knees, though.
Akin to all the "wonderful" foods, desired when one is hungry or malnourished, that lose their intense appeal once the body is fed. Haven't eaten Pringles for 20+ years, nor Nutella for a bit less, yet at one time. Well, it's easy to wish when one is far from realization. Reality in the face requires more practical choices.
Once dreamt of visiting all over the world, rootless and roving. Traveling has gotten more difficult globally, it's not just us. Partly us, not only. And House provides a lot of what travel once did. Beauty and Comfort especially.
Again, dreaming of feasts when starving, then once a good solid meal is available, the hunger for fancy excess drains away. For me, anyway. Never being a greedy sort. Or easily pleased. Take your pick.
Saw a gorgeous rocking chair, though. Rounded, swirling wood, beautiful. I kept my distance, admiring the skill, avoiding empathy.
So many things I'd have enjoyed as a kid, or young adult, that I now think... meh. Or, ugh. A pool. Oh, I so wanted someday to have a proper pool to swim in. Now, even if we are at a motel with one, I don't really feel any draw. Swimming in chlorine? Putting on a bathing suit? SO expensive to build and maintain. I'll take a long hot shower and call it good. A fireplace? Smoke, in my lungs, and ash on everything, has to heat up all the bricks to be proper warm, naw. Parachuting? Rappelling, abseiling?
Ok, well, I think that would still be amazing. Have to take care of old knees, though.
Akin to all the "wonderful" foods, desired when one is hungry or malnourished, that lose their intense appeal once the body is fed. Haven't eaten Pringles for 20+ years, nor Nutella for a bit less, yet at one time. Well, it's easy to wish when one is far from realization. Reality in the face requires more practical choices.
Once dreamt of visiting all over the world, rootless and roving. Traveling has gotten more difficult globally, it's not just us. Partly us, not only. And House provides a lot of what travel once did. Beauty and Comfort especially.
Again, dreaming of feasts when starving, then once a good solid meal is available, the hunger for fancy excess drains away. For me, anyway. Never being a greedy sort. Or easily pleased. Take your pick.
Saw a gorgeous rocking chair, though. Rounded, swirling wood, beautiful. I kept my distance, admiring the skill, avoiding empathy.
Scatter
A full and tiring week. Every day at work a BIG DAY. After a long stretch of slack this summer. It's football season, school is in, and bones are breaking.
We are trying to figure out how to deal with the windfall, squashed between IRA and IRS, unnecessarily complicated as per. Then we'll have to find contractors and... Yes, well, it'll be a process, but for an incredibly useful result.
I pulled sunflowers from the verge to put down winter rye. And the rain is gone, so I'm having to water. Goes against the grain.
Many of the sunflowers are seeded out, denuded by finches, still full of personality.
Some still flowering, and ignoring siblings.
Not a good photo, just to illustrate that they don't all face the sun.
Feeling scattered myself.
To continue the theme,
"The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity."
- Graham Greene
via whiskey river.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Away
Lt Rain
59°F
15°C
Humidity 67%
Wind Speed E 6 MPH
Barometer 29.97 in
Dewpoint 48°F (9°C)
Visibility 10.00 mi
Last update 14 Sep 5:05 am MDT
Finally, rain. 0.15 inch through the night, which is the best since early June. Cooler. The rye seeds will be happy. I got the most of the rest of the verge sunflowers pulled and the rye seeded. Sunflowers closer to the house will remain as bird feeders for a while yet. Autumn is very welcome.
Full days at work setting in, having to get used to it again. Have to go in this morning for a Mock Code. Knew it was coming, and I would be required, so fine. Woke up extra early for no good reason anyway. Wired and tired.
An unexpected offer of a lump sum for a pension from a previous job arrived. We're going for it, since it means we fix the back porch and turn it into a utility room/second bathroom, move the washer up from the basement. Whatever it costs in taxes and penalties will be easily saved in whatever a hospital stay would cost for a fall/broken hip. We both worry about those stairs, and neither of us getting younger. So, we'll be doing maths and talking to contractors and seeing what happens.
As plotted here, skip to second half.
The rain continues this afternoon, bringing down leaves from our short seasoned tree. Jackets out and shorts away!
59°F
15°C
Humidity 67%
Wind Speed E 6 MPH
Barometer 29.97 in
Dewpoint 48°F (9°C)
Visibility 10.00 mi
Last update 14 Sep 5:05 am MDT
Finally, rain. 0.15 inch through the night, which is the best since early June. Cooler. The rye seeds will be happy. I got the most of the rest of the verge sunflowers pulled and the rye seeded. Sunflowers closer to the house will remain as bird feeders for a while yet. Autumn is very welcome.
Full days at work setting in, having to get used to it again. Have to go in this morning for a Mock Code. Knew it was coming, and I would be required, so fine. Woke up extra early for no good reason anyway. Wired and tired.
An unexpected offer of a lump sum for a pension from a previous job arrived. We're going for it, since it means we fix the back porch and turn it into a utility room/second bathroom, move the washer up from the basement. Whatever it costs in taxes and penalties will be easily saved in whatever a hospital stay would cost for a fall/broken hip. We both worry about those stairs, and neither of us getting younger. So, we'll be doing maths and talking to contractors and seeing what happens.
As plotted here, skip to second half.
The rain continues this afternoon, bringing down leaves from our short seasoned tree. Jackets out and shorts away!
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Vigor
Sometimes, Eleanor wants me to rub her head really hard.
She stays close until I've scrubbed away whatever was there.
Moby used to like a good cat-rub, but he got older, and it wasn't useful. I sympathize. I want shiatsu or gentle pressure, the deep tissue massage doesn't work on me anymore either. Eleanor likes a vigorous massage now and then.
Happy II
Gentle Eye sent an article about Happy.
Two quotes stood out for me.
Very worn from last week, Thursday and Friday were dense. Then we had people over Friday evening for a game. Dylan met them a while back at a meetup, two came by a couple of weeks ago, and all encouraged me to join in. Friday I got to play in my first RPG. And stayed up too late.
In high school when D&D appeared, I had no idea how boy-heavy the phenomenon was, nor did I find any group. Dylan closes his eyes and nods when I mention this. When he played with his friends, I sat by, with a book, occasionally making comments, but generally contented with that. After a long shift in the OR, I wasn't really pushing, and no one was pulling me in. And the story didn't interest me, nor did the GM's rules. I liked the guy a lot generally and still do, but some guys play games like they are critical physics projects, no rule may be bent. I've learned not to play games with that sort. Games should be fun, and rules can bend to make them fun. Rubbery rules.
The GM for this game is more interested in the story, and says he loves new gamers. I got him laughing a couple of times, so yay.
Yesterday, cleared about 1/4th of the verge of dry and mostly dead sunflower remains, watered it and put down rye. The kind of work to feed the soul, and soil. More today.
Two quotes stood out for me.
And if you can practise not stopping yourself from being happy, there is a good chance that you will be happy.
If you want to be very unhappy, spend your life insisting that you are right and everyone else is wrong.
Very worn from last week, Thursday and Friday were dense. Then we had people over Friday evening for a game. Dylan met them a while back at a meetup, two came by a couple of weeks ago, and all encouraged me to join in. Friday I got to play in my first RPG. And stayed up too late.
In high school when D&D appeared, I had no idea how boy-heavy the phenomenon was, nor did I find any group. Dylan closes his eyes and nods when I mention this. When he played with his friends, I sat by, with a book, occasionally making comments, but generally contented with that. After a long shift in the OR, I wasn't really pushing, and no one was pulling me in. And the story didn't interest me, nor did the GM's rules. I liked the guy a lot generally and still do, but some guys play games like they are critical physics projects, no rule may be bent. I've learned not to play games with that sort. Games should be fun, and rules can bend to make them fun. Rubbery rules.
The GM for this game is more interested in the story, and says he loves new gamers. I got him laughing a couple of times, so yay.
Yesterday, cleared about 1/4th of the verge of dry and mostly dead sunflower remains, watered it and put down rye. The kind of work to feed the soul, and soil. More today.
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Spiky
Whew.
Those were a couple of days. Just work, but dense. Especially after a day packing, then cleaning my own home in the afternoon.
Dylan found a few guys at a meetup who want to do an RPG, they came by a few weeks ago, and sucked me into playing. Nothing I've done before, but have always been interested. I read a book when he played with his former gamer group, twenty or so years ago, occasionally adding a smartass comment. That was welcomed, but I was never really invited in, nor was I particularly interested in the specific game. Liked all the guys, they became my friends, and were immensely supportive when Dylan shattered his elbow, lo these many years.
At any rate, the two guys who came last time very actively encouraged me to join in, delighted when I accepted. So, I developed a character. And I thought those acting classes were wasted. Last night, the other player showed up, and I saw the side of this sort of gaming that I'd only heard about - the stereotypical one. Other-than-rational behavior gamers, father and son.
Finding my eclectic education, and breadth of general knowledge, as well as global general interest, serves the game well. The GM enjoying my oblique approach. Stayed up too late given my week, but nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't help.
Those were a couple of days. Just work, but dense. Especially after a day packing, then cleaning my own home in the afternoon.
Dylan found a few guys at a meetup who want to do an RPG, they came by a few weeks ago, and sucked me into playing. Nothing I've done before, but have always been interested. I read a book when he played with his former gamer group, twenty or so years ago, occasionally adding a smartass comment. That was welcomed, but I was never really invited in, nor was I particularly interested in the specific game. Liked all the guys, they became my friends, and were immensely supportive when Dylan shattered his elbow, lo these many years.
At any rate, the two guys who came last time very actively encouraged me to join in, delighted when I accepted. So, I developed a character. And I thought those acting classes were wasted. Last night, the other player showed up, and I saw the side of this sort of gaming that I'd only heard about - the stereotypical one. Other-than-rational behavior gamers, father and son.
Finding my eclectic education, and breadth of general knowledge, as well as global general interest, serves the game well. The GM enjoying my oblique approach. Stayed up too late given my week, but nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't help.
Wednesday, September 07, 2016
Condo
Got up at the usual time, to head out to West Valley for the last time. To help 'rent-in-laws pack. I'd offered my overdeveloped organizational/moving skills when they first told us they were selling the house after 40 years to move into a condo. They called in the chip for this morning, which I was glad to cover. We were out there just after 7AM, which is not that early for any of us. Easiest drive cross-town yet. Still awful.
I packed, about 20 boxes, maybe more. They are not the most organized people, and are so far into the move that any ability to decide has been demolished. Familiar with the feeling. I demurred about anything they offered that we take, until they asked us to take it to the Get Rid Of pile. Then we accepted a small drawer unit, a small crock pot unit (probably will give to someone at work) and this mug.
Not far in, I sort of wanted to unpack everything and start all over again, so I could organize it all from square one. Instead, I scrounged what bedding and towels I could, used more bubble wrap than I've ever done before, and tried to manage some safety for their delicate stuff. Glad we brought a load of boxes with us. Had to get back for my dentist appointment (just a cleaning) at 1100, they had an appointment as well, related to the move.
I pack really, really, really well. Comes of having moved 23 times, not counting changing barracks. A box is just a tetris game for me. Too bad it doesn't just teleport to the destination as soon as it's full. Oh, wow, wouldn't that be amazing. All packed... poof. All packed... poof!
Cat in the sun.
Tomatoes, they aren't split, so I'm hoping they taste alright.
Yard sale finds, turning the resin sheep into a lamp. Added some color to the dragon, since it was all silverish.
Eleanor on the sidewalk.
Long ago, in another life, I packed to move from Detroit out to SLC, going by train. Some delicate stuff, not mine. When heavy breakables shattered against each other from three days on the train, I was berated for the breakage. A couple of teapots and some blown glass shotglasses. They were worth more than me, to him. That I liked them as well made no difference. I was tasked to pack, then berated for failing to anticipate circumstances I'd never experienced nor imagined. A lesson I've held in my heart. All moves require sacrifices. No THING is more important than anyone's feelings. If you care that much, do it yourself and accept the consequences. Hand it to anyone else, and you throw the dice as surely.
That I got once got angry with Dylan over a moving mishap is a source of permanent shame to me.
Moving sucks.
I packed, about 20 boxes, maybe more. They are not the most organized people, and are so far into the move that any ability to decide has been demolished. Familiar with the feeling. I demurred about anything they offered that we take, until they asked us to take it to the Get Rid Of pile. Then we accepted a small drawer unit, a small crock pot unit (probably will give to someone at work) and this mug.
Not far in, I sort of wanted to unpack everything and start all over again, so I could organize it all from square one. Instead, I scrounged what bedding and towels I could, used more bubble wrap than I've ever done before, and tried to manage some safety for their delicate stuff. Glad we brought a load of boxes with us. Had to get back for my dentist appointment (just a cleaning) at 1100, they had an appointment as well, related to the move.
I pack really, really, really well. Comes of having moved 23 times, not counting changing barracks. A box is just a tetris game for me. Too bad it doesn't just teleport to the destination as soon as it's full. Oh, wow, wouldn't that be amazing. All packed... poof. All packed... poof!
Cat in the sun.
Tomatoes, they aren't split, so I'm hoping they taste alright.
Yard sale finds, turning the resin sheep into a lamp. Added some color to the dragon, since it was all silverish.
Eleanor on the sidewalk.
Long ago, in another life, I packed to move from Detroit out to SLC, going by train. Some delicate stuff, not mine. When heavy breakables shattered against each other from three days on the train, I was berated for the breakage. A couple of teapots and some blown glass shotglasses. They were worth more than me, to him. That I liked them as well made no difference. I was tasked to pack, then berated for failing to anticipate circumstances I'd never experienced nor imagined. A lesson I've held in my heart. All moves require sacrifices. No THING is more important than anyone's feelings. If you care that much, do it yourself and accept the consequences. Hand it to anyone else, and you throw the dice as surely.
That I got once got angry with Dylan over a moving mishap is a source of permanent shame to me.
Moving sucks.
Tuesday, September 06, 2016
Saint
Poor Teresa. I do feel sorry for her. She worked so hard. Makes me want there to be an actual heaven, one that would give her pleasure and relief, and that making her a saint would mean she could enjoy that.
"A pedicure! For me? And some chicken madras, glass of wine and oooo.... air conditioning! I'm in Heaven!"
Whole lotta iffs there.
Because she apparently had doubts. More than doubts, about the very existence of god or her calling, or that she was doing any good. Bugged me personally that she didn't include birth control, and of course never abortion, for the women she served. Arranging the deck chairs on the proverbial Titanic, I thought. Ignoring the core of poverty to advance a point of order from a male dominated institution.
Still, she tried, which is more than most can say.
Is doing the wrong thing with the right intentions a good thing?
Don't look at me, I'm not offering any answers here. But I do wonder, when we make a bad thing less painful, are we actually helping? Or would it be better to lance the boil, make it worse, so that it actually heals? Ok, I think that is the answer. We have to actually fix the problems, which means knowing what the problem actually is, rather than just covering it up and feeling good about ourselves.
If there is a heaven or hell, let us all be judged not by a perfect god, but by the people who's lives we touched, for good or ill. Whether they knew it or not. On the balance, I suspect most of us would wind up in the middle, or slightly to the good. A few would wind up in outright hell, since it's always just a few bad fruits who do so much damage. The rest in a kind of lower limbo. And the people who would get all the acclaim? Probably not who any of us would imagine. No one famous. A few good parents whose kids spread their love along for generations. A good boss, who took care of the employees and customers. A patient fast food worker who was simply kind all the time. A translator that spread a truth.
That was another St. Teresa. Little things, small kindnesses. Pennies adding up over the years.
This assigning is part of why I don't think such places exist. We are all broken down to our component parts, our legacy living on in memory and whatever we've left behind. Smelted imperfectly, diluted and dissolved, a trace or so of who we were tracing shadows. This idea horrified me as a young woman, now I find it entirely comforting. And the canonization folderol - farcical. Hierarchy waxes and wanes in our various cultures, yet so many imagine it in Heaven, as a virtue. Death seems the most egalitarian of all human events, comes for us all, and means the same thing. We are done, and at that moment, utterly alone. Then completely at one with everything, our own separateness over.
I would not begrudge her a Heaven, if it exists. Let 'em all in, I say. Life is hard, and why not? Saints and sinners alike. Only the saints will be able to enjoy it, and they can get away from the evil, since this is their heaven. The evil will bring their evil along, and be miserably powerless, unable to hurt anyone.
Personally, I'll take oblivion. Heaven sounds too complicated.
"A pedicure! For me? And some chicken madras, glass of wine and oooo.... air conditioning! I'm in Heaven!"
Whole lotta iffs there.
Because she apparently had doubts. More than doubts, about the very existence of god or her calling, or that she was doing any good. Bugged me personally that she didn't include birth control, and of course never abortion, for the women she served. Arranging the deck chairs on the proverbial Titanic, I thought. Ignoring the core of poverty to advance a point of order from a male dominated institution.
Still, she tried, which is more than most can say.
Is doing the wrong thing with the right intentions a good thing?
Don't look at me, I'm not offering any answers here. But I do wonder, when we make a bad thing less painful, are we actually helping? Or would it be better to lance the boil, make it worse, so that it actually heals? Ok, I think that is the answer. We have to actually fix the problems, which means knowing what the problem actually is, rather than just covering it up and feeling good about ourselves.
If there is a heaven or hell, let us all be judged not by a perfect god, but by the people who's lives we touched, for good or ill. Whether they knew it or not. On the balance, I suspect most of us would wind up in the middle, or slightly to the good. A few would wind up in outright hell, since it's always just a few bad fruits who do so much damage. The rest in a kind of lower limbo. And the people who would get all the acclaim? Probably not who any of us would imagine. No one famous. A few good parents whose kids spread their love along for generations. A good boss, who took care of the employees and customers. A patient fast food worker who was simply kind all the time. A translator that spread a truth.
That was another St. Teresa. Little things, small kindnesses. Pennies adding up over the years.
This assigning is part of why I don't think such places exist. We are all broken down to our component parts, our legacy living on in memory and whatever we've left behind. Smelted imperfectly, diluted and dissolved, a trace or so of who we were tracing shadows. This idea horrified me as a young woman, now I find it entirely comforting. And the canonization folderol - farcical. Hierarchy waxes and wanes in our various cultures, yet so many imagine it in Heaven, as a virtue. Death seems the most egalitarian of all human events, comes for us all, and means the same thing. We are done, and at that moment, utterly alone. Then completely at one with everything, our own separateness over.
I would not begrudge her a Heaven, if it exists. Let 'em all in, I say. Life is hard, and why not? Saints and sinners alike. Only the saints will be able to enjoy it, and they can get away from the evil, since this is their heaven. The evil will bring their evil along, and be miserably powerless, unable to hurt anyone.
Personally, I'll take oblivion. Heaven sounds too complicated.
Saturday, September 03, 2016
Happy
People complaining about an overemphasis on happy as a virtue this week. And I am bothered. Childhood was not happy for me. My parents were not happy people, not happy with their lives, their choices, their limited opportunities. There was fun at (mostly maternal relatives) family gatherings, laughter and card games and loud joking around. My parents struggled for stability, and achieved it physically and (mostly) financially. Steady job, bills paid, house and food and through thrift and planning, a stable future.
Not much else, but from where they came from, this was enormous. Perhaps there was disappointment that this didn't also deliver happiness. Not knowing where the next meal was coming from, nor what it would be, erodes the very idea of being happy. To know... doesn't actually guarantee it though. They would never find wealth, but they never again starved. Sent all their children through Catholic school (for which I will always be grateful), and went on vacations (frugally) and life insurance premiums meant security for my 90+ mother. Not bad, for a factory worker. Not quite happy, with so much anger and loss.
My father told me, in so many words, how miserable he was, how much he hated himself and his life as the worker for people who hated him. My mother often admitted she had many days when she'd like to end it all. She joked "Divorce - never. Murder - often." Or that there were days she'd gladly have given any of her children to any passing stranger. Funny how I didn't feel secure as a kid.
Happy was not on the table with the margarine and white bread, full glass of whole milk and fried chicken. While my mother remembered eating shortening on bread with brown sugar - as a treat. And meal.
I never believed life would give me any happiness, either. Stability was the best I could hope for. Married the first guy who seemed to want me. My own wants so deeply buried.
Then Dylan and I found each other, and happy seeped in. Contentment, safety, security, laughter too. Dylan wanted all the people he cared about to be happy. He really did. Does. Yes, joy is wonderful, but happy is the ground, the gesso to joy. A bottom that assures me I'm in the right place, doing the right thing, with the right people (for me.) Happy is the earth beneath me, with rich soil and support when I'm struggling. Not living by an external script, but from my own heart and soul. Happy supports joy.
Real happy isn't what advertising and pop culture sell, it's about the real basis for living my own life. Happiness that allows for sadness and grief, loss and pain, but beneath it all, yeah... I'm happy with what I've done, who I am, and who shares my life, and who I share my life with. Joy is the elation, the spark. Happiness is the banked embers, reliable and warm.
Had a patient who'd had a stroke, partial aphasia. An educated man, he would find a way around the words he couldn't say through the elliptical path to words he could. Good was beyond him, lost amongst the stars. So Happy would suffice. Happy=Good for him. As for me. If it's good enough, it's happy.
Since working through the PTSD, happy continues to pour in. I'm flooded with happy, even when tired and sad, irritated and flailing. There is a basement to my misery, and I can smile through the troubles - because of the happy. It's a contentment, a sureness of being loved, a physical security, a reasonable hope for the future. Maybe I'll die before the climate change and political disasters and social wars hit. Maybe not, but I'll still love and care and do what I can.
Whatever happens, I love the world. I care. I'm rather happy.
Hell, it rained a bit today. Not enough to fill gutters, but rain. Huzzah. Happy!
Not much else, but from where they came from, this was enormous. Perhaps there was disappointment that this didn't also deliver happiness. Not knowing where the next meal was coming from, nor what it would be, erodes the very idea of being happy. To know... doesn't actually guarantee it though. They would never find wealth, but they never again starved. Sent all their children through Catholic school (for which I will always be grateful), and went on vacations (frugally) and life insurance premiums meant security for my 90+ mother. Not bad, for a factory worker. Not quite happy, with so much anger and loss.
My father told me, in so many words, how miserable he was, how much he hated himself and his life as the worker for people who hated him. My mother often admitted she had many days when she'd like to end it all. She joked "Divorce - never. Murder - often." Or that there were days she'd gladly have given any of her children to any passing stranger. Funny how I didn't feel secure as a kid.
Happy was not on the table with the margarine and white bread, full glass of whole milk and fried chicken. While my mother remembered eating shortening on bread with brown sugar - as a treat. And meal.
I never believed life would give me any happiness, either. Stability was the best I could hope for. Married the first guy who seemed to want me. My own wants so deeply buried.
Then Dylan and I found each other, and happy seeped in. Contentment, safety, security, laughter too. Dylan wanted all the people he cared about to be happy. He really did. Does. Yes, joy is wonderful, but happy is the ground, the gesso to joy. A bottom that assures me I'm in the right place, doing the right thing, with the right people (for me.) Happy is the earth beneath me, with rich soil and support when I'm struggling. Not living by an external script, but from my own heart and soul. Happy supports joy.
Real happy isn't what advertising and pop culture sell, it's about the real basis for living my own life. Happiness that allows for sadness and grief, loss and pain, but beneath it all, yeah... I'm happy with what I've done, who I am, and who shares my life, and who I share my life with. Joy is the elation, the spark. Happiness is the banked embers, reliable and warm.
Had a patient who'd had a stroke, partial aphasia. An educated man, he would find a way around the words he couldn't say through the elliptical path to words he could. Good was beyond him, lost amongst the stars. So Happy would suffice. Happy=Good for him. As for me. If it's good enough, it's happy.
Since working through the PTSD, happy continues to pour in. I'm flooded with happy, even when tired and sad, irritated and flailing. There is a basement to my misery, and I can smile through the troubles - because of the happy. It's a contentment, a sureness of being loved, a physical security, a reasonable hope for the future. Maybe I'll die before the climate change and political disasters and social wars hit. Maybe not, but I'll still love and care and do what I can.
Whatever happens, I love the world. I care. I'm rather happy.
Hell, it rained a bit today. Not enough to fill gutters, but rain. Huzzah. Happy!
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