Years

The rug in the hall is recent. Moby would have pissed on it. As much as I miss him, and always will, I do not miss his affinity for pissing on any rug. It's still funny, but not fun. Zeppo bathes there, and it's often scrunched up, having been used as a launching pad. As Eleanor once bunched up the rug as well. I have a lot of rugs used for Moby's purpose, that I washed often, and are now excess. We can leave them down in the bathroom, in the hallway, and it's nice, but also a little sad. I'm deeply practical, and the sentimentality still abrades a little.

How can I miss the stench of old cat-piss? I don't. Not really. But, oh, Moby. Such a good friend.

Zeppo. Taking a bath on the sofa now. Lovely black cat with a humorous streak. Eleanor behind me, gently purring.

Five of six days to myself, and I long for retirement. This is good, I want this. I have to adjust my resume on the job search site, to reach for the job I want. To write from home, or take short trips to a school or site occasionally. There is time, I can wait for the right one for... well, years.

Frights

Still snowing, we got about 9"(20cm) storm total, but since it was so wet, and temperatures warmed, it mostly melted and slumped. It's much colder now, so this last gasp might leave more behind.

Cats zooming around, chasing hard, lots of comical sounds any foley artist would envy. Both on us most of the night. Zeppo stood on me, kneading with all four paws, and pushing his back up into my hand as I petted him. This is new, he often holds his back neutral or even slinks down to reduce touch to what he can tolerate.

Later, as Eleanor sat on my chest, and nosed into my palm, Zeppo stood beside my ear and nuzzled the back of my hand. Nothing like being loved by two cats. They are also getting each other nose to nose more, Eleanor apparently pleased enough with the improvement of his deportment. Perhaps she assures him that Nothing Bad will happen to him here.

I needed to trim his front claws, and Wednesday it took both of us to corner him. Finally he just froze, gazing at me in fear. I picked him up firmly, kissed his head, talked to him, and quickly nipped off the needle ends, and set him down gently. As usual, he seems alright with being held, but terrified of being picked up. He avoided us the rest of the day. I felt rather guilty. But it seems to have broken through a little bit of the Fear. He's been bolder than ever once he got past the fright.

One more proof that Nothing Bad happened, so maybe Nothing Bad will happen again. Makes me sad to imagine what did happen to this amazing little character to quash his enormous urge to connect and amuse.

Last night as we read in bed, Eleanor already mushed up against Dylan's knee, there was a loud explosion from out back. Eleanor disappeared, we jumped. There were no subsequent sirens, so we figured it must've been a firework. Within twenty minutes, Eleanor was back. She has developed resilience, startles - then when nothing follows, calms down. This is very good.

We bought nothing but groceries yesterday. Today we will get to the Winter Market, and support local business.

Photos may be added later.

Lull

We are watching Seven Samurai again. The day so quiet, and we watched the snow. During a lull, we went out to shovel. Ok, Dylan was going to shovel and I to spread salt. And our neighbor had already gotten our walk and most of the driveway. Dylan did what little was left, and I spread salt, and thanks. Grateful for good neighbors.

Grateful for two wonderful cats, who love us according to their ability. Dave stopped by on his way home from work, Eleanor cozied up to him effusively. Zeppo watched from not too far away.

It's been a lovely day.

Flop

Eleanor snuggled down and deeply contented.

It snows again.



Zeppo stealthily checking out the closet/pantry.



Ready for friends, but honestly, no one may show. It's fine, everything is scalable and storable. We'll get together when it's easier. Today special only in that we mostly all have it off work.



Nope, everyone sending regrets. Snowstorm taking over. We will cuddle and nibble. We kinda knew.

Left

The day has warmed, enough to melt much of the snow. Shoveling means no ice along our stretch.

I have taken a hot bath, and oiled my hair. I had some olive oil that had started to go rancid. So, I massaged it into my hair and face. Hair has gotten dry, an unusual event. Or at least a new one. I laid in the hot water, staring at the curved shower rail, and thought. "I don't really feel older than I was at 27." But a recent search for photo proves the years have passed. Thirty of them.

Oh, the pain is more pervasive and persistent, I understand so much more, but I don't feel older. Perhaps that's the real secret, there is no such thing as old. Worn out and painful, but not really old.

We've started to discuss a will, since we have a house that has increased in value a frightening amount. First everything to each other. After that... not figured out yet. We are finding it hard to care, after we're both gone. If there is a world left.

Estimations

Snow. High near 40. West wind 6 to 10 mph becoming east in the morning. Chance of precipitation is 100%. Total daytime snow accumulation of less than a half inch possible.

-National Weather Service.




Looks like at least 2-3" already, and still coming down.

He's getting his workout, and I've been relegated to the inside. Not being useful is hard for me. But I have to admit, Derecho is sore and clicky and not fully healed yet. Shoveling is a favorite job, but one that hurts these days.

Paediatrician

When I was a kid, my father belonged to a union, and we had full health insurance. Which meant I got well and truly overdosed on antibiotics for every passing sore throat or cold. My horrible tonsillectomy. Dr. Gagliardi. I wasn't afraid of needles, I had every vaccine, and every red spot examined. With a very deep navel, which I tried to clean myself, and my father panicked about, I was treated for my own efforts to keep clean. I did not tell my mother, I didn't have the words yet, and no one would have listened to such a small child anyway. My father made a huge deal about my acne, never considering that I was doing the same tidying, and no teen will ever admit to squeezing zits. My mother would aggressively deal with any dermatological swelling with a bobby-pin, so it was not my own idea.

I acutely remember going in for something after I'd had my first period, and Dr. Gagilardi treating me as a syphilitic whore, hands off, a vague horror. I was 11? maybe 12? Thankfully my mother also picked up on the vibe, and our insurance changed, so I got a different clinic to overwhelm my biome with antibiotics.

My father pestered me to "GO TO THE DOCTOR!" "IT'S COVERED!" And I appreciate that I had health care as a kid. My mother almost died of blood poisoning as a kid, bicycle accident, metal in her hand, red line up her arm, her father found $5 on the street, she got antibiotics, she lived, by chance alone.

Having enough money is a source of great comfort. But it also comes with a strong sense of Doing It Wrong, wasting money, enough money to really screw up. Thinking I have plenty, only it really isn't enough, and I'll wind up on the streets.

I have about 4K left of the inheritance. The bulk of it paid off the roof/solar debt, and into retirement savings. Light, suits, kettle, table next. This is the non-savings remainder. The cushion. The peace of mind. Not enough to make a difference for more savings. Not enough to do a big project, like the laundry room was. I'm torn between finding A Thing to spend it on, and keeping it as a Frittering Away amount. Mostly, I think I should let it sit until something comes up. We were at our Kitchen Gear Store, and I found a Very Good Teapot, planned to put it on this account, but Dylan stepped up and paid for it, a gift.




I have decided to think of it as my generosity account. Sent my retired co-worker a generous gift card to a really good yarn store I know she likes. And a generous gift to the son and spouse of the aide who died. One hundred hours of work, month and a half, gross. Approximately. Give or take. Big, but not enormous.

Salty

Several trucks doing some sort of work, utilizes likely. They are loud.

Snow in the offing all week. When I finished work yesterday, I was glad I'd put the scraper/broom back in the car. Icy underneath, fluffy on top. And so were the sidewalks this morning, so Dylan just swept and put out salt. I wrapped up to help, but there wasn't enough for two people to do. If the sun comes out this afternoon, most of this will vanish. There was evidence of cat traffic, and bird prints on one of the chairs.



The porch doesn't always get a lot of snow or rain, the wind has to be very strong and out of the Northwest. I was in an OR all day, so was only peripherally aware of the snow at all. Dylan says it was very cold and windy, and of course I believe him. Why would he lie about at thing like that?



Derecho is stiff and clicky this morning.

Years

2002


2008


2019

Feeling the years pile on. Six days off. Snow coming down.

Private

I was going to find him, see if I could catch him and trim his claws. Not going to bother him here, glad he's found a place near a window.

Eleanor has the sunbeam, of course. I suspect if he bothered her up in her Private Dining Room, she objected vigorously.



Quieter back there, away from the construction vehicles making a racket out front.

Got a nibble on my resume, probably not a good fit, not a writing job, but we shall see.

Zeppo speaks from Zhoen on Vimeo.

Sarcasm

The surgeon, Dr.TNT, who I was working with Friday, the last straw that pushed me to move on the job search, lost his thin veil of self-control right after I left. I had relief from the new* 7-7 RN, Dave* took over at 5, I cleaned up and helped him get started, then scampered home. He would finish the case that should only run about 20 min, then pull case carts for the next day.

I heard on Monday, in couched terms from the charge nurse, that Dr. TNT had been highly inappropriate toward staff. Not for the first time, he tried to get me fired my first year there, and nearly succeeded. We warily 'got along' after, and I've worked with him through many stretches. Just not much for the past few years.

Yesterday, I heard the rest of the story. Dr. TNT left the resident to teach the med student. It was 6, and we are scheduled until 5:30. We don't object to staying because the surgery is taking more time, but dithering is verboten. And it's expensive to keep staff late, since we start getting time and a half. It's Friday. The charge nurse and the scrub objected to this sort of teaching at this time, annoyed, but in a "WTF dude?" way.

Dr. TNT explodes.

"CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!! YOU ALL NEED TO JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!!!!"

Whoa. I mean, I knew he'd been winding himself up all day, and I'm not at all surprized that he would do that. Still, totally unprofessional and mean. So, they called my dear, deadpan dry, sarcastic and silent surgeon, Dr.G, who deals with these sorts of things.

Dr. TNT was the one to tell the story of being a resident with Dr.G, trying to chat to him and asking chipper questions, and Dr.G shuts him down with "I"m comfortable with uncomfortable silences." This is the story that convinced me I would do just fine working with Dr.G, and I always have.

Our nurse manager bit her lip not to laugh when Dr.G came back to tell her "surgeons have feelings too, you know."

I kept imagining Dr.G saying this all day long yesterday, and giggling to myself.


Long ago, when I was starting to scrub liver transplants, I worked with Dr.Gush and Dr. Silent. Dr. Gush would either pick, pick, pick about every little thing, never letting it go. Or, and this was worse, he would praise and praise until I wanted to puke. This day it was the latter. "Oh, it's so good getting you scrubbing these cases, you're really good at this, we really appreciate....blah, blah, (bleeehcch.)" I look at Dr. Silent next to me, and I notice his eyes crinkle up, so I know something is coming. He's always respectful of staff, never saw him angry. He was thorough, thoughtful & kind always.

He says slyly to me, in a monotone, "...trained monkey could do your job."

Popped Dr. Gush's bubble, and I bit my lips to not laugh out loud. It was not at all a slap at me, it came with the implication that a trained monkey could do HIS job as well. It was perfect, the comic timing was flawless.


This morning as Dylan left, so did our neighbor, who did an odd u-turn. So I stepped out, and the north end of our street is closed off, sounds of trucks backing up, big "Road Closed" signs at the south corner.



Dylan says, "That's a bad sign"

I say, "It's a perfectly good sign, someone made that you know."

Made him laugh.

Eleanor kneading and purring on my chest this morning, getting her head massaged. Zeppo watching. When she was done, jumped off. Zeppo started to follow her. Then he stopped, turned to me, and fast-kneaded my abdomen, walked on me, let me pet him briefly, then jumped off. Eleanor has a slow, soft quiet purr and a languorous knead. Zeppo is all presto and noise, loud purr and quick paws.

I'm getting overtime pay this week.


A local story following a flooded library renovation.


*Dave† had been a scrub with us while going through nursing school, so knew Dr. TNT from before, as well as in his RN position at the Main. So, I wasn't dumping a new RN into this mess.


†You know, Dave. One of two at the moment at work.

Tribute

2006.


A piano tribute to Moby. A very good friend, who tended Moby when we were out of town a few times, and knew Moby in good years. I listened and wept, but then I often do.


Today Dylan and I have been together for 29 years. Half my life. The good half. We still really like each other, a lot.


Watching Ascent of Woman via a link to this amazing article. Which came via Nimble Pundit. A community of knowledge and enlightenment.


And it rains, oh glorious rain.


Warm packing my godsbedamned stye-eye. Rice in a sock.

Cast

I have cast my resume upon the internet waters, and we shall see.


The sense of burnout is strong and stinks of old cigarettes. I just need to get through this week, and I will have all but one day of a week off work. Maybe that will help, a respite with gratitude. Thanksgiving is the only holiday I celebrate.

A scrub I loved working with was fired last week, attendance issues. She was great when she was there, but her personal life was a trainwreck. I will miss her no less for that.

And an aide in pre-op, that I often chatted with, enjoyed her coworker-friendship for the past eleven years, died suddenly. She was only 30, with a little boy in kindergarten. She adored her husband and her son, thought them both so cool and awesome. Showed me photos, told me stories, she was funny and bright and enthusiastic. And she's gone.

Quite the year for loss and grief, and this past week even more. I feel raw and empty. The old hurts jostled and screaming. If I didn't have people depending on me, I would be lost utterly.

Not handling anything well right now. Not moving around today, getting nothing done. Eleanor demanding attention, so I massage the cat.



Everybody dance now.

Cut

Over twenty hours with a surgeon who... well, friendly on the surface, but goes after people on the sly. My first year at this place, he tried to get me fired, and I had no idea he wasn't happy with my work. Until I found out - not so much. There is more to the story but I'll leave it there. I've worked with him a lot, but intermittently, over the past ten years, and not much in the past few by mere chance and the wisdom of charge nurses making assignments. I needed to know how to put together the new bed, so this week I got stuck. It hurts. It's tiring. His pop-hip-hop-bright music gives me a headache. At least other people at work have seen through his friendly façade, and it's not just me looking like I'm crazy. And a nurse who has been weirdly critical of me at times assured me that I am a "very good circulator." Almost worth it just for that revelation.

Dylan asked me how I was, and I replied, "Don't ask. Sent cat photos."



He nailed it.



Today, the RNs had to go in for a training on new smartphones. Yup, on a Saturday, there was much grumbling. They will be room and role assigned for the day, not personal phones, only personal login. Not to be taken home. We were reminded many times that all texts would be logged, and to "Keep them HR-friendly!" We did manage to have fun with this. Thankfully they edited the full class for how the OR will use it, and it was pretty painless. Getting around the main hospital to find the classroom was the worst part of it for all of us. This could be useful.

The Trainer sent us a group text as demonstration.

"There is cake in the lounge."

I wrote back, "The cake is a lie."

I don't know if anyone else got the joke.


And I got new shoes, both for work and everyday. Went to the running shoe place, since the old sports good store with shoes moved and no longer carries shoes anyway. But she found me some really, really good ones, and this may help my current knee pain. I'm making squeaking noises when I walk, or the shoes are. And it's already feeling better. TONS of cushioning.

Going to work on my resume tomorrow. If I can even cut down to 30 hours, I can make it.


Work is happening around the corner.

IN 2012, the red house on the right in back.



In May of this year.



Today.



Yeah, I don't know if they are dismantling it, or stripping it to the brick facade to rebuild or what. This is considered an historic district, so probably the latter.


Addendum: Worked on my resume today, for the first time in over eleven years. Daunting, but it feels gooooooood.

Quality

My cousin once removed, or is it second cousin(?) got back in touch, which is nice. I'd lost her email when the laptop died a while back, and she's been dealing with her own family issues, physical not mental/emotional.

My niece has not, followed through, despite her words of 'love' and "thinking of you all the time" - big surprize. No surprize. I'm slightly disappointed that my writing didn't spark her interest, but not that much. Or maybe she took the invitation to read here as a brush off and never clicked the link, more's the pity. I really am willing to meet just about any reaching out with equivalent effort, from old friend or old genetic family, especially one in grief and loneliness. I just won't do all the work. Or even the majority. Not anymore. It never works anyway.

I tried one extra time for niece, she responded once, then silence. I have my answer.


So often, I have been the one to work harder at family relationships and friendships, contacting and organizing and inviting, and then got left out, taken for granted and ignored. Once I stopped trying so hard, nothing much changed really. I have had to learn to let others come to me, and trust that anyone I really want around will meet me at least half way. Chasing produces no friends.

Went out to lunch, on inheritance money, with a dear friend. We don't get together that often, but every time is warm and intense and healing and wonderful. She drove, I got sake, she got bento, I got rolls, at the fusion/sushi/asian place she introduced me to, that Dylan and I have gone to several times. When I asked for sake, the waiter asked three questions I could answer, and what she brought was lovely.

"Cold or warm?"

Cold.

"Dry or sweet?"

Sweet.

"Filtered or unfiltered?"

Un-filtered.

Gosh it was lovely.

Dylan and I went there the first week after the fracture. I managed with one hand, and needed the pampering and nourishment. It's moderately priced, especially considering the quality of the food. The thin slices of ginger. The earl grey green tea.

Good ingredients well prepared are more nourishing than cheap stuff thrown together, and less is needed to feel full. Good friends in small amounts beats hoards of freeloaders everyday. Quality not quantity.

I used inheritance as a small and gentle act of revenge, my mother would have hated spending money on fancy food, or sake, she could feed* her whole family for a week on what I spent for one meal. (Although she would have known to leave a proper† tip, saw her go back and put cash under a plate when my father would have stiffed the waitress.)


I only work one day the week of Thanksgiving, my favorite adult holiday. That will help.




*Hamburgers and potatoes, canned corn and cookies.
†10%, but something anyway.

Writer

Dylan brought home one of those paper gift bags from Staff Development Day (swag). I put it on the floor, with a ball in it.

I heard the cats exploring this. Zeppo denies he went near it.

"I wasn't doin' nuffin. Some other cat. Don't know whatchar talkin' about."




Ahem.






I have begun to search for a nurse writer job, so that I can cut back on my OR hours. It's getting hard, not just the physical demands. I am a true introvert, being with people costs me, and being alone restores me. This job is drawing more than it gives these days.

And when I started the blog, it was with the intent of honing my writing, in the hopes that I could supplement my retirement income.

Nurses are wanted to write exam questions, explain procedures in writing, that sort of thing. If I can find a position doing this, I can back off the work that drains me. And still retire to part-time work. We shall see. Have to write a new resume, haven't had a new one in eleven years plus.

I'm so tired.

But cats need petting.



Sometimes, Zeppo is good with a good, solid, ruffling. Eleanor, too.

Bops

Zeppo seems to be a very friendly soul, who was taught that people are dangerous. This is very sad, however true, and we continue to let him become his best cat self. Last night, he scooted around guests several times, working up his courage, and we figure once he's been here a year, he'll be secure enough to get all the affection he wants.

At least he's very comfortable with Eleanor, however much she bops him, he trusts her and likes her. They are teaching bops, friendly bops, bops from his new aunt.

I gave her catnip as they enjoyed this new version of Under, he doesn't seem interested in 'nip.

It's the good rug. We got a cheaper area rug, 30% off too, that is now in the living room. Eleanor prefers the real dhurri wool, she does have standards. I dreamed of using some of the inheritance windfall on a real rug for the dining room, but this will work perfectly well, and if the cheaper, but still nice rug, gets food on it or spills, I won't mind. And when the new table arrives, in January or so, it will look wonderful.



See? Not wool, but nice. And a fraction of the price of a 'real' carpet. My inner scrimper is satisfied.

Zeppo just came up and did the spray wiggle at me, without spraying of course. Yes, Zeppo, I am yours, no matter.

Listening

"I didn't do nuffin, it wasn't me, it was some other cat, don't know whatchar talkin' about. You can't see me."


Last night, we heard Eleanor scuffling. Zeppo alert, but stayed back. She brought the mouse into the living room and seemed to throw it as a demonstration to Zeppo. He watched carefully. We let her toss it about, it's been a long time since her last mouse. Eventually she walked off, and I picked it up and threw it away. Praised her prowess. No rodent stands a chance in this house.


Last night a cat curled beside me, and I'm not entirely certain it was Eleanor. Their fur is different, but not as different as Moby and Eleanor's fur. Zeppo's tail is much longer, thinner and sleeker, but the tail in question was tucked out of reach. I can more easily tell them apart at night by Eleanor's quiet purr, or Zeppo's always audible voicings. He's always talking about something. Eleanor keeps her own counsel. They chase and wrestle, and we giggle with joy at the sounds of cats in the night.

The new kettle is much quieter, I'm not accustomed to its sounds yet, I've missed a few boilings. Thankfully, it shuts itself off. The fridge makes the oddest noises all the time, much harder to get used to those. Or the dishwasher going at night, better water rate, but occasionally startling.

We have new nurses, and we've discussed the phenomenon of OR Ears. The first year in the OR, you can't hear anything. Between surgeons mumbling toward the patient, the white noise of equipment, and masks hiding mouths, it all seems impossible. Except that the old staff seems to be hearing everything, opening suture or spiking fluid bags without being asked, apparently. After a while, one learns the voices, and what they are likely to ask for, what the different sounds from the surgical site mean, which alarms are our responsibility and which are for anesthesia. With each new OR, new OR Ears need to be grown, but it takes less time than the original pair. Perhaps they are simply retuned.

The House has her sounds, of course. The creaks in floors, the breathing of a complex structure in a changing environment, one side heated by sun, the other side cooling down, moisture variations, different materials expanding and contracting differently. I hear them in the background now, comforting. In my parent's house, I always heard those noises as threatening. My mother's assurance that it was the house "settling" was the opposite of reassuring, how was a house older than my parents still "settling"? I feared it would settle into a deep hole, burying me with it.

Every apartment had it's own unidentifiable noises, usually heard late at night, when the dark quiet lets them through. Furnace sounds, pipes, neighbors. Takes a while to know which ones to ignore, which are different and need attention.

In Basic, the barracks noises were constant, troops chanting cadences outside at all hours, the airstrip nearby, our snores and sneezes and coughs, Drill Sargeant footsteps - each one distinct, toilets flushing, voices as fireguard changed. We got to know them all for what they meant to us. Cadences shouted outside our window became lullabys.

As the sounds of semi-trucks air-horns and the horns and bells of ships on the river, even sirens, were comforting familiarity in childhood. When I moved to the north woods, I couldn't sleep for all the damn quiet.

Charm

Got these at a rummage sale at the Japanese church years ago. Finally got a rod and a doorway to put them.

Zeppo flirts with us, deciding if he really likes us. So far, we're charming him, and he us.

Patted

Zeppo wanted to be petted on Monday. Came up to us on the sofa, patted my arm, and luxuriated under my hand. Purring like a diesel, stayed calm a long time before the tail started thumping and he had to clamp on to my hand. I stopped and drew away, no harm done. He just gets too excited, but we're learning to read each other, and trust each other. This morning we tried to feed both cats, and he nosed into Eleanor's food, she ran off, so I picked up both dishes. (Zeppo had already eaten earlier, so) A little while later, he reaches a paw up to my arm, patting me, as if to say "ok, I'm done bugging her..."

I brought the bowl into Eleanor in the music room, then put a dish down for Zeppo. Both cats ate.

I love that he comes to us for stuff. That he seeks us out, finds comfort in us.

He sits close to Dylan.

Rebound

Warmer days with sun
Solar panels soaking up,
Rebounding. Debt paid.


Zeppo did not come out to be seen for our friends last night. He tried, he really tried, but held back. He may always hide, and that's fine, but I figure, give him a year. Eleanor hopped up on N's lap to be petted, then settled behind me. She's just more expansive than ever. And Zeppo does what Eleanor does, eventually. Eleanor on my chest all night, until I had to move. Zeppo beside us, both had to be scritched this morning before I got up. That seems to please them both, that both are petted at the same time.

Got a stye, used the remote appointment, got sent advice and an Rx(video phone's real use.) Antibiotics and warm packs, not so bad all in all. Ear-itated eye is the worst... Usually self-limiting sort of thing, but with the rosacea best treated aggressively. So, I have rice in a clean sock, heated in the microwave, and ointment many times a day. I hope this is all working better by the time I don't drive anymore, so much better than a waiting room full of annoying patients, infectious children and dull magazines. Texted in history, video examination, Rx sent to pharmacy, most of the time entirely sufficient. For the other times, drs can devote more time to the people with complex problems and communication issues. Send a nurse by to check on us when we get seriously aged...

Home is my safe place, the best place to be.

Souls

Dylan keeps the music room warmer, the cats approve. They enjoy each other's company, and seek us out together. We have a family. I repeat, we have a family.

I got a new tea kettle, a much improved version of the design. The old one had some issues, the knob had broken long ago, the new knob a botch, and getting ready to break again.




And because of Dylan, I feel worth enough to spend the inheritance on my own priorities and wants. Remarkably freeing, that. I've always wanted stuff, but then resisted spending the money because I didn't feel worth it. Or did, then a financial emergency arose and I felt profoundly guilty that I'd wasted the money on myself. The major share paid off the roof/solar panel debt. A large portion went to the IRA investment. Then the front porch railing, on their list - probably before the New Year. A dining room table, the kitchen lamp, Dylan's suit, and my kilt, suit-coat and a shirt. Going wild here, I know.

Solid stuff, meant to last. And a kettle.

She doesn’t know all the reasons I love the life I have, because she has taught me hide the things I value from her criticism.

via CaptainAwkward.com

Losses

My garden felt lost
No two hands guided it's spring.
Garden's cat dying.

Between the overwet early spring, followed by an arid and persistent heat of summer, and my own broken wrist hindering effective digging and weeding, the garden survived, in a wild way. So little time spent out there, as we used to as Moby basked and explored through the summer, I wasn't watching closely. A half hearted and painful summer, and the dead autumn ends the effort. Right now, the ground holds grief. A winter to settle and heal. Spring will come again.

I did so little, enough to hold back the entropy a bit, and it feels so inadequate and idle. A broken season. I drop my hands in resignation. What else could I have done?

Feeling a bit worn and fragile.


Maybe I'll be able to take Zeppo out next spring, if I feel confident by then.

Two cats on the bed this morning, Eleanor on top of me, Zeppo at my elbow. I started to pet Eleanor, two hands, nose to tail, which she loves, and Zeppo started purring loudly, sharing her pleasure. When he shifted to where I could pet him as well, I rubbed both cat's heads.



via bored panda

My joints have been stiff and achy, both cats seem to want to help.

All Souls Day.