Sweaters

Boredom overwhelming me. Not a bad thing, just uncomfortable. Need a book to read, haven’t got one. Keeping alcohol to a bare minimum, which is also good but uncomfortable. Weather dry, still hot but cooler overnight, also dull. Smoke thinning, too. Traffic by the U worse, more students confused,which is the annual annoyance. Hours increasing, visiting medical students, new fellows and first year anesthesia residents, same old nurses and techs, all getting right up my nose.

Found a place to get our knives sharpened, as I struggle to teach myself how to do this. Practicing on the small, cheapo, paring knives. At least the good knives are back in working order again.

There is something about the bitter end of August and the sour tang of early September. I crave sweaters.

Had another dream where I was still living with my parents, they’d crawled into my bed to sleep beside me. I called Dylan saying we needed to find a place of our own.

Woke to remember we have our own House.

But the mood lingers, as dream moods so often do.

Everything itches.

Rustle

I love the quiet of this neighborhood on Sunday. During the week all the lawn grooming equipment and construction noises take over. But on holidays and Sundays, a stillness descends. There is some traffic, but intermittent. Voices raised in argument from the street occasionally. But the breeze is audible, birds, the rustle of people.

Rearranging

We’ve been hosting movie night with friends, and it’s a bit awkward. So, we got a 5” larger tv, (because they are cheap these days) compared to the last time we bought one, which was over ten years ago. And rearranged the furniture. Realizing that we haven’t done so since we moved in. We will give it a week and see how it works, but so far it feels nice. The screen is to cut the glare on the...screen.

Most important, makes it easy to get into the bookshelves.

We have been in House longer than anywhere else we’ve lived since childhood. so, we never got around to needing to occasionally rearrange as circumstances changed, because we were in a different apartment. Five years is the previous record. So, we have to factor this in from now on. I don’t want to do the twice yearly furniture change my mother did, partly because of heat vent vs summer fans and ventilation. Still.

I’ve been getting to various organizing projects, the kitchen drawers, the bathroom closet.

Pantry is next.

Scrunch

On my feet all day, and it was a day of missteps and snags. Good people to work with, but systems snarled. We corrected everything, all turned out well, even got home before anticipated. But it took a lot of running, and other rooms had similar experiences.

Came out to the evidence of a recent rainstorm that I MISSEDAMNIT. Then found out the front rainbarrel was not full, but missed the downspout outpouring through misdirected flow. And an antnest swarmed as I jostled it. I’ll work on sorting that out before the next rain event.

Fellow nurse had a bruised and scratched cheek. I asked, “Your daughter?” Yup, three years old and not well regulated, high energy child. She saw the humor, and is doing what she can to deal with the intensity of her child.

Reminded me of the time my mother was angry with me one morning, because apparently I punched her the night before. She’d moved me up from the foot of the bed, and I clocked her. Which solved a mystery for me, because I very intentionally scrunched down at the bottom of the bed because I was cold, and that helped. In the morning, I’d be back up and the top, and cold. I had no idea how that happened until then. I was rather angry myself at that point, and glad she was hurt for this unnecessary and unhelpful ‘correction” of my sleeping position. If she’d asked me why I slept at the foot of the bed, I’d have told her. Still don’t know why it was so damn important that I sleep at the head of the bed.

I don’t honestly remember what happened after, although I’m sure I kept doing it, because I was cold and it helped. I like to think she left me there after that. I also don’t remember if I ever did tell her why I scrunched, because she was so angry with me, and expected an apology for something I didn’t intend, or remember, since I was asleep at the time. I’m sure I apologized, because I knew better than not to. Still, it rankles.

Let sleeping children lie.

Particles

Storms moving through, which keeps the smoke particles grounded. Moby dealing better than usual with the thunder, not hiding anyway. Lots of warnings and alerts, but so far it’s just been rain. Momentary hail. Disappointing to this storm enthusiast. But maybe still to come. Full rain barrels though!

No less than three people have commented, complimented me on the purple hair. I’m torn. Because I do it for myself. But I also know that it would be utterly churlish to tell them to mind their own business, when I’m out in public with bright purple hair. It rather invites looks. So, I stay polite and say, “thank you” to whomever says, “I like your hair! I like the purple!”

Still.

On the other hand, I’m sort of reaching out to people by doing the purple hair in the face of public response. Also practice in handling less than ideal interactions that I would prefer not to have.

Finished reading, If I Understood You, Would I Have This Look on My Face, Alan Alda. The power of empathy and improvisation as the tool to develop it. A clear writing style, he has quite a distinctive voice.


Off to watch the skies. Hoping for rain. As per.

Dilution

Moby being adventurous, enjoying the garden proper.



He needed a little guidance

Picked up a toolset at a yard sale, and a rather pretty broach. Early Saturday morning errands, time to spend together.

Sitting on the porch together last evening, youngish man in a black suit and white shirt, heavyset, black, over friendly approached, came right up on the porch and set down his soda, patter all the way. Very much to look like a Baptist minister.

“Where are my manners?” *

Introduced himself, asked our names. Um. No. I told him he was intruding on a private conversation. He he says, “You were just reading!”

Not the point, obviously. So I did the broken record, “You need to leave now you need to leave now...” He left ranting about a man just trying to make a living, angry and loud as he walked down the street. His cologne lingered, so we went back inside.

Scammer.

We do get them around here. The first year was the worst, I think. Had someone at the door every week pushing some church or selling some product, or just probing for a soft spot.

Cow orker who wanted a black iris got off at the same time yesterday. Showed me how to break up the bulb clumps. So I’ve been digging and spreading them out around the meadow. While at that, I also moved some of the mint to the verge. Let it take over there.


The solution to pollution is dilution. The displacement of weeds is replacement.



*My question exactly.

Outhouses

Another call off. So I’m earning my PTO. Cleaning thoroughly. New nail polish on the stove and microwave controls.

Keeping the House clean doesn’t come naturally, much as I like having clean ordered surroundings, I struggle with getting there. I clean so much at work, which is what I’m paid for, and I do it well and conscientiously. For just us? I procrastinate. When I know people are visiting, I would think it insulting for me to leave it dirty or disordered. Then, cleaning is a mitzva, the right thing, a duty, so I perform out of self respect. First time we had the party for my cow orkers, I went a bit nuts, knowing that OR people would notice what others would not. Our dear friend Dave* cleans for pleasure, and would also notice, but never comment, so I make a special effort for him, because he would get the message of honor for him. For Dylan’s mom? Less so, she’s an indifferent housekeeper, no doubt related to having five sons. This is why I like having surprise visitors, I don’t mind them seeing the mess, and I’m under no obligation to be tidy then. No disrespect conveyed. Take me as I am.

Remembering visiting an elderly relative of my father, a great aunt I think. She lived in a one room shack with bare board floors and newspapers on the walls, wood burning stove. It was cold. I wasn’t very old, and I was a bit shocked, I hope I didn’t let it show. I knew enough not to say anything. I think my father was ashamed. I never met her again that I remember.

We are none of us far from ancestors who used outhouses and lacked electricity.

The Louvre had no toilets.

*You know, Dave. His mother a hoarder, he went the other way.

Mope

Called off tomorrow, evidence of the health care crisis, rather than need for care. Infuriating, but I use the power I have.

A different purple hair dye recommended and doing its thing now. Tired of the grey, as per.

The neighborhood is noisy with construction and lawn care. Manicured lawns are so passé.

Idle, hoping for rain, moping for work.

Doubles

Double cats.

Beans sprouting.



This whole garden thing is turning out well, but also taking a lot longer, and with a lot more failure than I anticipated. Still, it’s not about permanence but process. Much greener than ever before at this time of year. Except for the verge, but I have a plan in the works for next year.

Button

Come back, human.
Give me your hand.
Let me taste it.

Evolutions: Fifteen myths that explain our world.
Oren Harman


I begin to think the current issue is a mass hysteria, a madness of crowds. The vague anxieties manifesting as misogyny, racism and hysteria. It’s happened before, but this could be a massive, world wide event, and just as weird and irrational as always. But magnified by millions, billions even.

That it has happened before, although on a smaller scale, comforts me. It’s impersonal, but not unprecedented.

And I love the idea of an octopus tasting me.

Our cats do.

Moby has become a cat of laps, and will avail himself of either of us. Eleanor considers anyone laying down as an appealing bed. To be kneaded and purred over.

I must take my worries as universal, and on the scale of eternity. It’s all impersonal. Although I begin to doubt it’s indiffferent. I think it cares, but not on a human scale, or to our personal benefit. Or maybe it is, but we can’t see it from this viewpoint.

Thinking about making a list of life hacks, but with outdated items for very modern problems. A buggy-whip for your Starbucks coffee, a shoe button hook to clean your keyboard sort of thing.

Germ

Bees on sunflowers.

Some of the beans are germinating.

Funny

Classical guitar concert was delightful. Gohar Vardanyan and her guitar. Dylan called her right hand “eerie.” He got a lot more out of it, as a guitarist. I enjoy dance and singing more, because I understand that better. I closed my eyes to imagine dancers. (He once somewhat enjoyed a concert/lecture by an expert on Indian dance that had me rapt.)

One of the songs was Allegro Humoristico. We wondered if the pun about the upper arm bone translated to Spanish. Looked it up this morning, and it seems so. El humero, humerus. Humorous, humeristico. Humor or humour, cognate of the Latin for moisture. See:humid. The humors of medical theory, humor the best medicine, not much of a shift into the mystery of what makes us laugh. And then the Latin for shoulder, taken from Greek omer, slid down to the arm (another cognate) bone. And a millenniums old pun was born. Did they also think it funny to ding your funny bone? The ulnar nerve at the distal end of the humerus? May have depended on local pronunciation.

In Pyramids, Pratchett made what he thought was a pun Americans would love. But I read the country of Hersheba as HER shu buh. And we tend to hit the R in Hersey Barrr. I never got the joke until it was explained to me.

I still can’t do links on the ipad, but look her up. She really is amazing.

I may rewrite this on Dylan’s desktop for clairity and links.

Nitrogen

We sit on the porch. The air hot and smoky, but he must be outside.

Work is slow, and I worry. While enjoying getting home to sit, water the garden, take care of little things needing doing.

We have a classical guitar concert tonight.

Have planted beans as nitrogen fixation.

Sauna

Not as hot today, cat is basking. He stayed here a while, then took to shade to cool off. Like dipping into ice water after sauna. But cats don’t do wet, as a rule. The smoke is worse this week, as California burns, as well as the western part of Utah. My own sinuses less than thrilled. The world going to hell in a handbasket, as usual. So, I watch cats and live through.

Making soup, fennel, leek, barley type. Food for the next two days at work. Fixing food a chore. When I’m hungry, not easy to make food. When I’m not hungry, hard to imagine what I might like to eat when I am hungry. Hitting the sweet spot where I’m slightly peckish, has never been easy. Food is minimally appealing if I’m not hungry. I tend to crash when I haven’t eaten. Oh, for the days when a cook would serve meals, at least if you were middle class or above. In Ancient Rome, there were all sorts of street food vendors. You’d think there would be something inbred about humans that would stimulate cooking, and there seems to be for some people. I’m just not one of them. Unless I can smell it, and it’s for me, I could care less about food. Just the look of a dish leaves me indifferent at best. Oh, I like a good meal, and eat with gusto, but only when I’m hungry, and there it is in front of me. I also tend to distrust pretty food. Seems too much handled in my mind. The more decorative, the less appealing. A mess of charred brown stuff with a sprig of delicious parsley (yes I eat the garnish) and my gut growling, I’m in.

This is not typical among those I work with.

Probably another personal weirdness.

Pearl

God only knows and there is no god.



But there are tomatoes.

Corbel

Full facade porch is so clean. Made sure to sweep, shop vac and hose it down, to keep paint dust off Moby paws. He’s not good with us wiping his paws and coat off every time he comes in. Threw away, or recycled a lot of the accumulated stuff.

The corbels, or decorative brackets, are new vocabulary, as is soffit. Never cared much about architecture, but I’m learning from McMansionhell.com All the bits have names. Like anatomy our house is front gabled with a full facade porch.

Planted beans and lentils this morning. Hope I didn’t soak them too long. Well, I did, but hoping they’ll germinate anyway.. Tiny crop rotation. I have more. Also want to root mint for the verge, let it displace the foxtail grass. Black mustard helped, but it’s a largeish area. With something, maybe earwigs, eating the hell out of it. Making compost tea is disgusting. Took a lot of effort to get the stench off me.


Very emotional this morning, without a foci. Five weeks from calling it post menopausal, which is great, but a marker in my life. I want to clean, discard.

I threw away raggedy anne years ago, held on to her too long. She sponged up the hurt, which was her job, because she could not feel pain. I felt something owing for so long. But in the end, what I owed her was letting it go. I beat up my stuffed animals and dolls to survive. They weren’t symbols of childhood joy, but of rage and abuse. I have new ones, untainted, not as emotionally charged. But present, soft. The cats are real, they feel love and kindness, and need to be cared for.

Going to make a good dinner, sleep, get this mood expunged. I will age with fucking grace, see if I don’t.