Trusses

My mother sewed trusses, long long ago. On industrial sewing machines. Her mother was the floorwalker, and she had to call her own mother by her first name at work, to her chagrin. Sometimes, the industrial sewing machine needle would go through her finger, and it didn't hurt immediately, but would throb madly afterward. So she told me. She had to quit when she got married

Aunt Evelyn was called out of her classes to take care of her baby sister, Mary. Their oldest brother drowned, and as a very young child, my mother would melt down in school. And Aunt Evelyn would tend to her sister.

I sent my brother some of the pile of photos our mother sent me long ago, after I'd withdrawn from our father, but before I'd got out of reach of our mother. It was all photos with me in them. It felt like being cut out then, and I'm more sure of it now. I sent my eldest brother all the ones with other people in them that I thought he would want.

He responded.

the photos came in the mail today What a treasure trove !!! I am scanning them now to include in the power point presentation for the memorial. It will be burned on a DVD so I can send it to you. Mom and Dad's ashes are being stored at the funeral home. Sunday 13 Oct we are having a small gathering at the funeral home about 2 PM expecting no more then a dozen people. The exact date for internment will be the 14th or 15th at Ft Sill OK . What is the best time to call/contact? Would you like the scanned pictures and or the originals back? What media (DVD, sd chip, thumb drive, Drop Box) would you prefer? Let me know so I can get it to you. Bye for now

Seriously? This man graduated high school and has an MBA. Whatever. Anyway.

I told him no, the photos were his and that was all. I don't want them. Ok, I didn't say that last bit. He added later the amount of the inheritance. It's MUCH larger than I expected. Not retirement-now! large, but fix the porch railing and pay off the roof loan substantial. I want to take a portion and blow it on stuff I want for myself that she would hate. My idea of a splurge is frighteningly modest, I assure you. A new rain barrel. A new lamp from a vintage place. I love to think about spending money, but when it comes to actually putting down cash... I am really good at saying "Eh, don't need it, won't use it, nevermind."

Maybe I should get a corset.

Conifer

It's been a rough week for me. Flu shot on Monday left me a bit overwhelmed as my body goes into overdrive making antibodies. And a full on, wake-me-up-at-odarkthirty, keep the sick bag by the bed, take drugs and call in sick to work, migraine on Thursday. The two may be related. I hope so, I don't want random migraines back in my life, prefer to think this one was triggered by the inflammatory reaction. Also got my trigger finger injected yesterday. Since my official appointment on Monday was under Worker's Comp, and mixing it with a non-work injury confuses the issue. But the radius is well healed, and although my good right hand will never be quite as good, I'm very pleased with the healing.

Reading The Little Drummer Girl again, impressed by the wit as well as the imagery. Looked up the Munich massacre, which I remember from when I was nine, without a real understanding.

Sometimes those experiences from childhood that we take in without question, since all the world is a mystery in equal measure, never get brought out and examined later. Like pine cones. If you'd asked me if they all look alike, I probably would have said no. I've observed the variations, without wondering why. I would not have thought about how different they are, pine and fir are different, the sizes vary, the colors. I didn't know about, nor taste, pine nuts until I was in my 20s.


Learning every day.


Link to post about TMBG.

Taste

Dylan found a wonderful performer yesterday. I am entranced. With no energy to go out yesterday, I hunkered while he ventured to see an old friend's band. En route, he found this. Violin, and technology, and gorgeously rhythmic. Katya Mufara.


I've always had a soft spot for violins and fiddles and cellos.

Enjoyed the hell out of dancing at the reception. Dylan seems to think I was the best dancer there, he's allowed. I had to make sure I hadn't embarrassed him, and he was aghast at the idea. No, apparently.

Thinking about the music chosen, about half of which I liked, a smaller portion I loved, the rest mostly Michael Jackson (whose voice I've disliked since early childhood). But this is the thing with music, it's always very personal. Taste only goes so far. And what is meaningful is largely a matter of context.

I've stayed up with current music mostly because I have to play music at work that keeps a wide range of tastes and ages more or less not unhappy. I do the shuffle on pandora, adjusting to surgeon preferences and abhorrences. Always willing to skip a song hated by anyone in the room. Which also means I can exclude songs I detest. And I hate a lot of trite and too oft repeated music that catches in my brain, replaying at 2AM endlessly. Gods I get bad earworms. My loathing for journey* and j. taylor and cold play, and others, is deep and dark and eternal.


So, I contemplated the song list for Dylan and me, were we to have that kind of reception today. And now I want it for our anniversary†. Not just stuff that we like, but the songs that tell our story, and most of which we can dance to.

Dylan doesn't dance. He's apologetic, because I totally do. But, well, it's ok. A minor compromise in exchange for an immense joy and decency to the basement. I am happy to dance around him. And he will try, oh, he does try. That's more than enough for me. He will sway with me, and hold me gently, in public, to music. And I can dance at work.


The song list will appear here, I'm sure. Eventually. It'll be a lot of TMBG.




*South Detroit does not exist. That's Windsor, Ontario. Fuck Journey.
†Whichever one is next. It'll be our 29th overall. Celebrated privately.

Bayeaux

Ok, this is fun.

OK

"HOW do you know I'm here!?"

My favorite place in nature is among my chives and fennel and Mexico midget tomatoes and a stray pumpkin vine, down among the clover and raspberries and sunflower stalks. Oh, flask my flask.

I dug it but it
grew itself, to it's own song
the soil incarnate.

Improvisation

When I was in grade school, a salesman visited the class offering flageolets. Cheap plastic and aluminum, essentially a tin whistle. He played it extremely well, and I figured I could play it too. My father always wanted us to be able to play an instrument†, and it seemed to my childhood mind to be cheap. Maybe it was about $5? Not excessive, and since my mother agreed, it had to be reasonable.

I did enjoy it, although didn't get much past MaryHadALittleLamb, and some random noodling. But when school had a talent show, I wanted to demonstrate my competence and worth. Practiced my one song, White Coral Bells, until I was sure I had it. And then had to stand on stage during the rehearsal, looking out on the empty lunchroom, and could not do it. I quit hard, and never regretted it. Big old NOPE. The realization that I wasn't doing it well hit me with the certain sting of Truth.

Why I thought I could act seems utterly beyond me. I think the school play was before this, where I was a tulip with a single line "I never knew Nutsy was bashful!"* And I danced on stage without too much nervousness, ballet in bunches. But just me and an instrument, not so much. Ultimately that initial terror was right. I do not enjoy being the focus, even in potentia. Dancing with is fine. Dancing for... no.

Like singing, with is wonderful, for is not. Shape note singing suits, except for the religiosity.

Dylan and our friend Chris did the WhiteGuySway, petting the giant imaginary dog moves.

Ballet at Patton Park Rec Center, Lots of dance in a theater program, taught dance at Arthur Murray's (except that the actual job was selling class packages and I failed at that), belly dance for several years. I move to music, but I don't get choreography. I want to do an improv class, just to see if it's the reciting lines of acting that I can't do.




†He never seemed to notice that I was pretty good at singing and dancing.
*Don't go there.

Worthwhile

Went to our friends' wedding reception last evening. Large family on his side, largely male and be-kilted. The wedding ceremony the day before, just for family. A really nice party, the brothers were the band, and played a few songs. The rest of the music dj'd, dancing and all. I got to dance to my heart's content, if not my feet and knees this morning. No alcohol, largely LDS family, it was not missed. Good people.

FOB did a bit of weird attention-grabbing, which hit a number of my buttons, so I hung out in the women's toilet for a while. Keeping my mouth shut, and personal read on the behaviour strictly to myself. Families are peculiar creatures.


After a day running after surgeons. I'm very tired and achy, totally worth it.


My surgeons in question were doing a double procedure, which is always a difficulty squared not doubled. They'd been held up by the surgeon in front of them, and needed to get out of there to pick up their respective children. So, they helped open, each prepped their own sites, and were patient and helpful throughout. Still a fast, busy event. Felt much worse for a patient with a broken clavicle and arm and ribs (the last of which were not surgically fixed). Despite the delay, they finished on time.



Zeppo has found one of Moby's favorite places on a chair under the table, and his buckwheat pillow - which I washed immediately after Moby was gone. Zeppo is filling the space in his own way, growing into the hole in our lives.


Hard to get good photos of black cats, but worth the trouble.





Eleanor seems to be eating better and chasing more, which I assume means she's gotten over the dentistry and is feeling better.

Politica

Eleanor had come up for a scritch, and then started to bathe beside me on the sofa. Zeppo hopped up, sniffed her quickly, then started to settle down with his back to her. She moved, and he put his ears back in anticipation. She sniffed him and he settled down. Then she pounced on him, and ran off. He looked as me as if to say "wtf?"



Cat politics.

Ophthalmologist name is close to this, and the song has been going through my head all day.
Not Oscar, but Dave*>

*You know, Dave. Dave's not here, man.

Dilated

All dilated and feeling a bit off. Eyes are healthy, prescription a little less - which is a thing. Going for plain distance lenses, the progressives never worked well enough for the price. In fact, I'm sure my neck and shoulder pain are due to trying to use them on the computer screens at work, and crooking my neck funny. Mostly, I don't need glasses except to drive, when I'm walking to see across the street, and at work to watch the opposite side of the room. My glasses are off most of the time, at home and work. I have safety glasses, no Rx, when I scrub in, that work fine. Much cheaper this way as well.

The ophthalmologist was quick and bright, thanked me profusely for being on time, I liked him a lot.


Eleanor a bit slower today, but she's up in the laundry window. flask, our drying line...




Poor front legs shaved for the IVs. Not that she seems to mind.


Zeppo was gentle with her last evening. Checked on her, and left her alone when he decided to chase. Got up on the bed with me, had a vicious fight with his tail, not his fault, the tail attacked him. Clearly. Found a slipper in the middle of the living room, which was apparently involved in a later altercation. He's got a ton of energy, in a small dense package. Flopped between our heads at some point last night, to purr madly and get chin scritches.

Dentist

No breakfast for Eleanor, instead she got scooped up and stuffed in a bag, put in a car, and left with the vet. Her teeth are cleaned, no extractions, just recovering now. We go to pick her up in an hour.

Zeppo mostly up on the tree. Seemed to be searching for Eleanor at times. Now hanging out by the north window. We have assured him that Eleanor was fine, and would be coming home, and we take care of our cats. He still looks worried. He's eaten a LOT. Hoping he isn't up singing ALL night.

Another random requested vacation day, on top of two call-offs in the past few weeks. I shrug and accept the time. Perhaps I need it, anyway I'll make use of it. Eye exam tomorrow, planning on just distance glasses, since the progressives don't really meet my needs. My close vision is fine. The middle distance is off, but I generally take the glasses off and get closer. Maybe I'll get some magnifying glasses if I'm feeling the need.


Update to follow.



She wobbled around, and then leapt (fairly gracefully considering) up to the top of the washer. We petted her and she purred, then half fell half jumped down - we couldn't stop her. Let me hold her in my arms for several minutes, not something typical of her. Lapped up some chicken broth, not recommended by the vet but she clearly needed something, and she's keeping it down. I mean, I would do the same for any human post-op patient of mine. Zeppo staying close and being gentle.

I think she had to do her rounds and reassure herself she was home and it was all still here.

Her one previously broken tooth was stable, so they cleaned it, and want to check on it next month. As long as it's fine, nothing more to do. Her labs were off, indicating early kidney disease, but might be artifact. On that follow up appointment they will get a urine sample and plan from there. Which all feels a bit emotional, since, well.


I know I should make a dentist appointment for myself, but I just can't. Also the wrist follow up, with x-ray, on Monday. I prefer to deal with doctors from the other side of the table.

Unbeloved

I keep thinking that my maternal Granny prayed so much for the soul of her eldest son, who may well have been a suicide by drowning. For an Irish Catholic, that was a mortal sin, and she surely wanted her son in Purgatory, not Hell. I think if there is a Hell, then it was her and her husband who will be there, not the desperate boy.

Oh, how our fantasies torment us.

My mother had elaborate fantasies about how much her brother loved her, how my elder brothers loved me, how her husband loved her, that flatly contradicted their actions and reality. She never remembered anything that didn't agree with her stories of an ideal and loving family. And I can't forget the harm. To lay your life in the relationships between people who are not you is to invite failure.

I will always take a hard truth over a soft lie. My mother was the opposite. I was not beloved, the reality of me could not exist in her mind. Knowing this is freedom for me. Nothing she did or said or felt had anything to do with me. Not my problem. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

She cried just as much as I do. Or, I cry as much as she did. She never seemed to learn from her pain. I try to, every day. I will hurt no child I brought into the world, then ask them to be grateful to me.

Mrs. Rizzardi, Aunt Alma, Aunt Evelyn, all haunt me, and always will. My house is kind and welcoming. The cats seem to feel it. I walked around it in darkness from the first week, without qualm. The soul of this house knows we love her. There is peace here. It is enough for me.





I love that Zeppo is using Moby's scratching triangle, and the mat on the side of the tree that neither cat ever used. He loves it. Good.

Feeling a lot of the anger about my mother today. So much anger.

Bachelor

Dylan is attending a bachelor party that involves... bowling and sushi. No apparent strippers. Or excessive drinking, maybe a saki or two. He did get his only strike, to be fair. I am skipping the bachelorette party because it is all about throwing axes. My hand surgeon would kill me, and I can't drink if I have to drive myself



We really do have amazing friends.

Not that I'm fond of either type of party. Or any type of party. My own first wedding shower was the kind of nightmare that still brings me out in a rash. My maid of honor was there, more's the pity. My female relatives made sure all the prizes were won in all the brain-dead 'games', and the dullness was excruciating. And embarrassing. My SIL's wedding shower involved a substantial amount of lingere, including from my aunt and my mother. When my mother asked me what I wanted, I mentioned this, and was told "Oh! No! You know better than that!" Huh. I got pot holders and embroidered pillow cases and towels. Gosh. Fuck. And stupid games were played, no no one's delight or joy. Quite the surprize to find out long after that family shouldn't hold showers. Not that I had any group of friends to do this, nor wanted them too. The cousins took over and I had no choice.

I still have nightmares. Still can't go to showers, bridal or baby.


Weddings are bad enough.

When Dylan and I married, there was no such falderol. I wouldn't have put up with it. Wasn't in touch with family. Nursing school fellows were not aware, not until after, and I wouldn't have wanted them to.


When I flew out to visit my parents the day after the wedding (the ticket bought before the proposal), Dylan called a friend and researched going to a strip club, to be unaccountably stereotypical. It all fell through as he decided the cost was not equal to his idle curiosity

I did go with him to a burlesque show in Boston, which he found interesting, and I critiqued their dancing, but both of us decided it was mostly "meh." I don't object to his reaction to female eroticism, so he is forthright in his interest. But it's largely academic at this point.

Eremurus

The day is all mine. Nothing I must do, although I will certainly get to some chores. So far using it to sleep in and be a cat bed, and generally dither.


Very tempted last night to write back to my brother and check on him, but I stopped myself.

“reasons are for reasonable people, don’t fall into the trap of explaining yourself to people who just use your reasons as openings to argue with you,”

via CaptainAwkward.com

Yeah, this describes my kin precisely. Let it drift away, none of it is to be trusted. Compost it.




This is the back of bulbs I put in. Tulipa 'Red Emperor' (Fosteriana Tulip)



The Eremurus is sent for

Impulse

They are behind me, she has a tail, I have hair, he has limited impulse control.

Clanjamphrie

Our beloved catfriends, on the bed. They both insist on a good cuddle with me, if I am in bed in the morning, when the alarm hasn't chimed, and I'm not off to work. Good thing I have two working hands these days.

Zeppo kept waking Dylan the other night, walking around his head, and he's a difficult cat to shift when he doesn't want to be shifted.

With the sun streaming in, they content themselves with the rumple and each other. Wherever a cat is, is the best place they can imagine to be at that moment. Zeppo is very fast, but oddly not-very-surefooted, given the length of his tail. We always assumed Moby's hesitance with jumping and walking on uncertain surfaces was due to the short tail. Eleanor is a jump first, figure it out after sort of cat. I don't think Zeppo has even tried to get up on the washer/dryer, which she does as a matter of course. So different, such individuality and charm.

We've started doing a morning huddle at work, and everyone just calls it The Cuddle. Very short, just to let people know of current issues. Not a clanjamphrie at all, peaceful really, aside from the autoclaves brouhaha.

Reading up on the Missing Stair theory.

...a person within a social group who many people know is untrustworthy or otherwise has to be "managed", but who they work around by trying to quietly warn others rather than deal with openly.

Definitely a recurring theme in my life.

The pumpkin vine, with nascent pumpkin.

Tulips

Today the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down. We walked to lunch, while it poured. Dylan hadn't quite dressed for it, I had, but I had not brought my workID/buspass. So he waited for the bus, and I walked. At one intersection, the only way across was through 6" deep stream, soaking my shoes, socks and jeans-to-the knees as the water wicked up. I squelched home. Hung up my raincoat, got into dry pants, about the time the bus arrived. An acceptable trade off, I think.

Shoes are still drying, duster is fine, but I may need to re-wax it. Really not that cold. Although there is snow high up.

Looking for giant desert candle bulbs, some available online, but a bit pricey. The local garden center didn't have them, although the clerk was fascinated, and wanted to order some. Picked up some economical scarlet tulip bulbs, planted them around the front garden, one near Moby. Shifted some bearded irises last week.

Another call-off at work. I tend to take these as they come, luck and fate and kismet. The bad with the good, and refrain from judgement in either case. Manager put up signs all over on Monday. "This is a no gossip, no complaint zone." Adding that we should only discuss with the person involved, and that was a way to be happy, can't recall the exact wording. It was a potent message, and I held it in my heart, radical acceptance. To avoid judgement even inside my own brain. Do the job in front of me.


Another person from work, yesterday, tells me a personal story, and explains that she feels she can trust me because I don't gossip and chit-chat. Well, largely because I find the chatter to be of no interest, but yeah, I try. This is touching, to be trusted. I know I can be trusted, but I'm hardly the only one.

Susan stopped me as I was going home, to offer condolences. I try to explain, and I still don't really understand, not that I feel I need to. She's a kind an gentle soul, and I hold her in very high regard. Of course as I talk with her, my surgeon of the day walks by. "Your hat made your hair purple."

Ha. Ok, it actually is kinda funny.

I don't mind.

I find my sense of peace is down deep, whatever surface ruffling.


Eremurus robustus.


Bloom Season Late Spring
Colour Pink
Light Full Sun
Shipping Season Fall
Depth 6 in, 15 cm
Spacing 12 in, 30 cm
Size TOP size
Height 80 in, 200 cm
Hardiness Zone 5–8
Attributes Bee Friendly, Cut Flower, Deer Resistant, Drought Tolerant

Irritations

She likes him, but he irritates the everlivingfuck outta her. He adores her, and just can't stop attacking her tail or nosing into her food. They keep each other company, and enjoy the chase together. He watches her, and studies hard. She can't help but accept the adoration, rolling her eyes.

I want the whole "inheritance" business done with. Whether it's $1 and a 'fuckyou' note*, or a 1K windfall. I don't care what it is, I just want it over. Released, paperwork done, DD214 in hand, never have to go back. I've vowed to never contact my brother, except in reply. Always polite, kind, and minimally communicative. Comfort in, dump out, and don't ask any questions (since I wouldn't trust any of the answers anyway.)

Cool, finally. With rain. Actually wearing a sweater! More rain tomorrow. And there is one tiny pumpkin forming out back.









*kinda my preference, to be honest.

Syncope

We were swapping fainting stories this week at work. I mentioned to Dylan, and apparently I've not recounted the many events to him, or here.

It's so common, at least among those new to the OR, that I have a prepared speech. If you start feeling hot, woozy, nauseated, tingly, back up to the wall and sit on the floor. Don't wait, tell me how you're feeling, follow directions.

Because I know of people who've gotten concussions from a full fainting fall, hit their head on the floor, and wound up in the ER. One of them on my first day with my NG unit, before Basic, and a guy in the back of formation dropped like a plank, cut his head on someone's boot, and knocked himself silly as well.

We were told he "locked his knees" which never made much sense to me, but then a lot of explanations in the military are not the real reason - it's just what is said. Just standing for extended lengths of time is a risk factor, it is a good idea to tense and release leg muscles, wiggle knees and ankles a bit.

We call it the scrub dance, and it does help to keep feet from cramping, joints stiffening, and blood pooling. Do we learn to do it, and stop fainting, or is the psychogenic aspect the key? Dealing with the cold, getting used to standing, eating properly, and the routine of the normal after a while make it very unlikely for those over a year in the OR. Seeing blood and guts - or other internal structures, is very stressful at first. It's not a normal environment.

I was in Army OJT the first time I experienced it. Holding retractors for a surgeon opening a recent surgical finger wound in clinic, to reveal the tendon had been cut clean through. He looked at me and asked me how I was. I said... 'fine'. I was being tough and not complaining. He said, "No, you're not. Let go, sit on the floor."

I said, "I'm fine."

He said, "That's an order."

I managed to sit on the floor as my blood drained away from my brain, did not entirely pass out. I felt so hot and embarrassed and nauseated. It would never be as bad as that again.

Fainting was not something I did. Once, when I got my wisdom teeth (impacted X4, lots of drugs) I actually did lose consciousness. I blame the drugs. Nausea and lightheadedness sure, but other than that, never completely out. I would have a few other OR nausea events, always minor and related to viral infections. Not when I fell on my face, nor when I broke my wrist, did I completely pass out. I could feel the shock, keeping my head down, I was fine. Knocked out once as a small child, which I don't think counts.

My anesthesiologist was talking about this, the reason to keep the head down, to allow the lowered blood pressure to get flow back up to the brain, because if you leave a fainting person sitting up, they can go into seizures, brain damage, even death in extreme cases. We were always taught to lower the head, raise the legs, but until Dr.S, I never was told exactly why.

I have gotten countless med students and nursing students to the floor, took off any excess clothing, mask, hat, got them taken out to the staff lounge for juice and a lie down. They are always embarrassed, to the extent that I'm convinced embarrassment is an artifact of syncope.

One new nurse wasn't feeling well, I got her sitting on a stool, then she dropped head first to the floor. Big knotted bruise on her head. Another, scrubbed in during a long case with the lights low, I noticed her swaying, called her name, she didn't answer. I put my hand on her back, as she slumped into my arms. I slid her down me, and laid her on the floor.

Surgeon asks, "Is she alright?"

"Yeah, just passed out. I'll get you another scrub as soon as I can."

Surgeon "No hurry. Do you need me to scrub out and help you?"

She was coming around, "No, I got her down gently. She'll be fine."

When I was in hand therapy, I saw a young man getting his first splint off, and he looked pasty, his expression fuzzy. But the therapist was in front of him, and I was the patient, so I didn't say anything. Should have, because he went down like a load of bricks, apparently to the therapist's surprise. Lots of practice makes one pretty good at spotting 'em, early.

Pre-op nurses see it more in patients, that needle for the IV gets a LOT of young men woozy. I walk in to say hi, and they have the gurney tipped head down, feet up, with a cold cloth on the forehead. Yup, happened again.

Sin co pee, for the readers who can't pronounce.

Swords

Dealing with cow-orker condolences has been a little trying. Usually mentioning that I found out about my father's death by googling my own name and finding his obit does the trick. The look of disbelief and horrified realization across their faces is so expressive. Oh, that kind of family. Not that they totally get it. One said that children NEED affection, and it's hard to explain that I had affection, on their terms, and it was often mandatory. I wasn't materially neglected, given our near poverty. Certainly not middle class. But everything cost too much, and too much gratitude was demanded for far too little.

They wanted me to love them, they didn't want to do anything much to actually love me, or know who I was. And I spent a lot of time and effort loving them, to no avail.

I think last week I was sobbing into the gaping emptiness.

I deeply suspect there will be no inheritance at all. I don't mind, but it is telling.



Been laying out the tarot cards, keep coming up with the Ten of Swords. A betrayal, an end of illusions. Killing off the old bastards. Rasputin and the tsars lie there, pinned corpses.

Again, this is for ways to open up thoughts, it's shit at prediction. A sort of random visual poetry, to turn thoughts in all directions and work through to solutions.

Glaiket

Cats guarding the windows, in turns, in the face of construction vehicle noise from up the street. Lots of beeping and grinding.












Got through yesterday, and as we were finishing up, I was asked to be called off today. I said sure. A headache was building up anyway. By the time I got home, through the smoky, dusty air, it was forming into a sort of migraine. I drugged up, all legal stuff mind, cola for caffeine, naproxen and benedryl, crackers. By 1830 I had to lie down and couldn't keep my eyes open, but the incipient migranouse was seeping away.

Not that I slept exactly, so when the storm blew through about 2030, we sat on the porch and savored the wind and lightning, then the rain. A respectable amount of precipitation in this dry waning summer. I slept after.

Drifted awake, Zeppo came up to head butt me and cuddle. He does get excited, and wants to nibble and kick, not mean, just enthusiastic. Glaikit wee pousie. He's figuring out we don't like it, "Oh, yeah, I forgot..." Then I can scritch his chin, and his giant purr machine revs up again. I don't realize until I get up that it's only 0430.

I'll get a nap later.

Muckle

Muckle smoke out there.


Noticed it on my way home, off to the west side of the valley last night. The Green Ravine fire, apparently. Definitely smoky. The field reporter has a very particular local accent, if you can get past the ad.

Got the sale soil sown around the important perennials, filled a pot and planted indoor catgrass. Sitting and sweating at the moment.

My neighbor came over to give me a hug, we talked about the issues of families, and the vagaries of love and children.

My hand somehow caught the lid of my brown teapot, it flew off and smashed on the floor, it is now in pieces at the bottom of the pot of soil for catgrass. I swore a bit, then picked up the bits. Teapot lids are a persistent design problem. Along with spouts and handles. It's a tricky bit of geometry and pottery together, if it is to be used.

"All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

All well used teapots are alike, each unused teapot is dribbly, leaky, chipped or broken in it's own way.

Anna Karenina Principle..

What is surprizing is not how many broken families there are, but how many are happy.

Wild

A bitter sweetness
Autumnal glow, smoke and fire
Quenching past futures.

Rats

My 4 yr old next-door neighbor wanted to come give me a hug when she heard that my mother died. She did, then told me I had Elsa hair. I told her I thought her hair was beautiful, which it is. Congolese/Persian hair, exuberant and gorgeous. A bright and lovely human she is. I hadn't planned on telling her mom, my lovely neighbor who vies with us to see who can bring in each other's trash bins faster. Circumstances made it more graceful to mention.

My head and my heart were always coping quite well. My body remembered being part of her, and reacted accordingly, or so I have figured out. The two year old that Aunt Alma* cared for, for two weeks when my mother was in hospital for a hysterectomy, sobbed.

Head: Don't look at me, I'm not even thinking about this.
Heart: Hey, all I'm feeling is anger and relief.
Body: (Incohate keening, projectile tears.)

Unpack that* if you like, I've done it a few times, and it still feels a bit off. Aunt Alma held off getting Gigi, her poodle, until after, so she wouldn't be taking care of a new puppy's first weeks, and a toddler she didn't really know well. I've heard, not from her, that she had been some kind of nurse. My mother rationalized that was why she was so unsympathetic around anyone who was sick. I found her always kind and generous, and practical.

My mother was sympathetic, but not very useful. Not quite as aggressively useless as my father. Why the everfuckinghell did these people have children?


As we sat playing the game in the dining room yesterday, Eleanor stared out the front window. Intently. In proper Mouse Stalking Posture. I looked out, and sure enough, there was a rat. We're looking into getting a rat-zapper, for the basement, since we don't let the cats down there. Any that get in the house proper will be savaged. We don't know if Zeppo knows how to kill, but Eleanor surely does, and he learns fast. I nearly feel sorry for the creature. Almost.

We picked up sale soil at the garden center yesterday. Two women, employees, separately, raved about my purple hair. To me, it's faded quite a bit, but I only see it in the mirror. Perhaps out in daylight, and from the back, it's more impressive.

Cleaned a couple of pots to plant grass inside for cats. Cleared away the harvested wheat, sowed it and saved a jarful for cat-grass, as well as the oats. Maybe not put rat-food out in a convenient feeding dish, a bin and basket on the front porch.


*My father couldn't work and take care of his child. My older brothers I think went with different relatives, at least on weekends, while still going to school and taking care of themselves during the week? He refused to let her sister, my Aunt Evelyn take care of me? Whatever went on there, Aunt Alma took good care of me, and our long attachment and friendship, laid down a solid foundation then.

Toasty

Fair
99°F
37°C
Humidity 9%
Wind Speed NW 10 MPH
Barometer 30.03 in
Dewpoint 31°F (-1°C)
Visibility 10.00 mi
Heat Index 94°F (34°C)
Last update 01 Sep 3:35 pm MDT


Toasty day, low slanting sun, air in the smoke.


The friends stopped by for brunch, I made waffles, J made scrambled eggs, C brought jam and melba toast. Played Murder of Crows.

Eleanor swirled around our legs. Zeppo stayed back, but I'm sure he was curious. One day, he will make friends with our friends, he will pick the day.






Regrets and shame.