Golden 32/100

Moby in his garden. He doesn't go far, or fast

But he clearly loves going outside, dirt under his paws,

Breeze in his fur, aromas around, grass to chew, light.




"So. Whatcha think?" "I like it quiet." "Oh, fine then."



She explores the new room with some trepidation, easily startled.

Moby still not down with anything new these days, typical.



The screen suffices nicely, the throne behind discrete and private.

New rose decided one more bloom before winter. Golden celebration.

Glory 31/100

Hard to think these days. Slipping past hope and despair.

Remembering the world is in turmoil, sick, tired and starving.

Not just this country, but everywhere, everything, all nature heaving.

Our species attacks itself in confused suffering, blind in fury.

I imagine trilobites did the same when the atmosphere changed.


Will we survive? Of course not, everything dies. In time.

Everyone, everything, has a lifetime, we're not special, blessed.

Nature does not care, merely exists. Striving merely survival mechanism.

Or is love what happens in life, what the universe strives

To be, to know? A glorious adoration, transcendent kindness? Life fulfilled?



A video of just justice.

Painterly 30/100

Painted, sort of. Enough to get through winter. Next spring...

Maybe save enough to get a proper job done for.

Struggling with profound fatigue, virus lingering without consent or invitation.

Hard to imagine doing all the necessary work to finish.

Workroom space a mess beyond. An eternity of maybe not.


The progress is fascinating, though. The pile of debris less.

I thought it would be in the job, but no.

Will have to wait for city cleanup day in Spring.

Or hire it hauled away? One piece at a time,

In the weekly bin? Snuck at night into neighbor's bins?

Curtains 29/100

The Porch is now The Laundry. Bright, warm and functional.

Still working on a shielding curtain for around the toilet.

Doesn't bother me, but there may be times, so yeah.

Dylan got the speakers working out there yesterday, very nice.

And a drying line at some point. Still to come.


The glow in the dark skeleton, clock, old calendar decor.

Eleanor goes out there, Moby much less interested, so far.

The platform for washer dryer a great idea,

All credit to Dylan. And our able contractor's easy skill,

Wouldn't have been easy for us. Outside painting still needed.

Cough 28/100

Taken over by crud and congestion, hacking cough, sinus distresses.

Still, got pathway clear for large work friend & brother

To move the washer/dryer up from the basement yesterday.

Miserable job, but done, to my immense gratitude, few scrapes,

No blood loss involved. They were so helpful & gracious.

A gift of roast beef and chocolate babka, & cash*.



The heavy work done, the fiddly work starts for Dylan.

I may not be much help today, snuffling and sneezing.

Living on nyquil, mucinex, steaming my head repeatedly with eucalyptus.

Still, no more basement laundry! We get through this gladly.




*Compensation, from Trader Joe, premade. Brother tried to refuse, so sweetly.

Pressure 27/100

Vet techs checked Moby's blood pressure, Eleanor wandered away nonchalantly.

He took it rather better, only growling at the end.

Down substantially. We sighed relief. We continue to feed, supplement.

His weight down a bit, too, so we'll be checking.

Taking care of cats. Our purpose in life. It'll do.


Work done, inspections passed, my own shoddy paint job outside.

It'll be good enough to seal for winter, protective coat.

Best I could do for now. Next year, proper painting, hopefully.

Washer Dryer will be moved up Saturday. Platform now placed.

Toilet already proving useful in the expected way. Well. Um.

Emulsion 26/100

Watered down, free from yard sale paint, an emulsion brushed

Lightly over flatly painted brick, bringing out the texture underlying.

The illusion of depth, reality of dimension, roughly highlighted truth.

An experiment, creative play, color and luminescence, shadowing allowances, edges.

My abstract mural, laundry, toilet, sink, lines, dots, reflections.




Why does the cat sit on the edge? She huffs,

"It's a cat thing, you wouldn't understand. I'm not explaining."

Alrighty then. She knows all the best corners. For her.

The foam blocks await completion. Once brightening the dark basement.



They will cover this floor. And positively glow. So comfy.

Gleaner 25/100

Finished cleaning the foam blocks last night, laid them out.

Not dry this morning. Figured, windows good for this.

Using old, ill learned, card house building lessons, balancing loosely.

Foam needs time to dry, apparently. Moved them for contractor.

I hope I amuse more than annoy. He seems bemused.




New data out on skin color. We pale folks are

Basic apes gone naked. The colorful people are more sophisticated.

This makes sense to me. Also a study on Ainu

Another corner that fascinates me. Eternal soft spot for the unregarded.

Natural gleaner, picking up the fallen, lost, discarded small treasure.

Colors 24/100

This is a platform built from the salvaged floor joists.

And the extra chipboard. Contractor willing to cut the wood.

Then simply offered to slap it together for us, done.

The washer and dryer will sit a bit higher upon.

Better than what we'd have done, a rough beauty, functional.



And as for the rest, take a look. So close.



Functioning toilet and washtub sink. Cleaning the colorful foam blocks

Up from the basement after 5 years good service, dirty

But brightening up beautifully with bleach, soap, scrubbing, sorting out.

A large, simple puzzle, soon solved in a sunny room.

Insides 23/100

And the "before" images are after I'd removed the windows.

We have not lost any net light. Illumination increasing some.

Tiles down, cheap but effective and to be covered anyway.

Some details matter, some don't, important to know which count.

Invisible attention for god, or botched cathedrals? Eh. Good enough.


Feeling the grim determination of survival. Trudge mode, get through.

My Basic mantra. No way out but through. To completion.

Latissimus Dorsi complaining of yesterday's painting the ceiling. Dylan rubbed.

Cats keeping us both grounded and engaged. Furry therapists, professional.

Paint and tools. Dust and rags. Color and light. Soon.

Stage 22/100

Painting a ceiling is a messy proposition, spattering everywhere, me.

Extension pole, roller. Salvaged, leftover, free and mistinted paint together.

Previous owners left in basement, yard sale freebies, Ace Hardware.

Colors... artistic! White mostly, for the sake of light. Bright.

Reminds me of stage set painting, the illusion of depth.



Cleaned the plaster dust off the bricks, for eventual fauxing.

Will need to clean the windows tomorrow, scrape off paint.

Finish sticking down the tile. It's getting so close now.

Had to wait for dawn today, no lights or outlets yet.

Feels so solid now, so grateful for the craftsmens' work.

Corner 21/100

The last bits always take the longest, details, cleaning up.

Painted plasterboard and patches, bottom half. Stuck down vinyl tiles,

Cheapest ever, so beige. Color to be added later, atop.

Also vacuumed the boards beneath. Avoiding fiddly bits, until later.

Washed kitchen floor. 0700 Meeting at work, new miniC-arms training.


Moby's blood pressure is lower, but not quite enough, not yet.

Dosage adjustment. I was on the floor helping hold him,

Not a happy cat. Much complaint, duly registered, acknowledged Sir.

Made catsoup, adding taurine, K+ & eggshells (powdered), kidney diet.

Made our dinner, lunch for work, too much kitchen time.

Option 20/100

Not all invitations are invitations. Unearned obligations are unfair.

Especially for Thanksgiving with parents, coercive in implications.

Surely they know this is unwelcome, and don't care.

Nagging is a hateful word, but it fits this time.

And I refuse harder, and woke to memories of past.


Required to iron my father's snot rags, and done well.

Shine his shoes, which stank. And fold his underwear, properly.

Why did my brothers not have this duty? Yes, yes.

I know why. The PTSD hit hard this morning.

At 0400. I will not drive so far, no. No.

Savor 19/100

The world ends every night. Every morning born all new.

Every winter an ending season. Every spring grows from death.

Civilizations collapse, are forgotten, lost. The ideas reappear next millennium.

The old must be ground. Returned unto dust, remember this.

Nothing lasts forever, no stasis. Nothing is lost forever, elemental.


The ostlers get new jobs. Silk and wool were rare.

Salt expensive, meat for rich. Reading books comes and goes.

Safety unknown too often everywhere. Transitory ports in chaotic seas.

So, we love most fiercely. Live most tenderly, dear friends.

Breathe deeply, savor our moment. Witness faithfully, tell the truth.

Color 18/100

Clocked out 1306, after busy case. Surgeon complimented my skills

Related to hand, foot coordination. Related to my driving stick

Making my car less susceptible to theft, young can't shift.

Could. Haven't been taught, no exposure. I only learned later.

Only good outcome of bad marriage, but definitely good skill.


Porch progress less visible, mudding drywall not impressive, if important.

Looking forward to our part, self-stick tiles, paint, lights

Build platform, for washer dryer which Polynesian friends moving

Up from basement. Awaiting toilet and laundry tub arrival, soon?

Functionality before decoration. Looking forward to being creative, colorful.

Shepherd 17/100

Lymph nodes swollen with evidence. Struggling back to full strength.

Relieved that healthcare may be saved for now, beyond worry.

Reading this excellent book, warm intelligence, vivid writing, deep humor.

Searching out every interview, Maddow, Fresh Air, Colbert, Joy Reid.

Supporting investigations into the election. Plenty of dirty shenanigans afoot.




I took a knee, despite my indifference to football, Sunday.

I care about police brutality and itchy, racist trigger fingers.

The cats politely ignored me, as is right and normal.

We need an anthem new written, not by a slaver.

This dog doesn't care, either, and the sheep go on.

Raineth 16/100

The rain it raineth every day. Well, all today anyway.

Pigeons camping out on the porch, looking bedraggled and tired.

Back room a staging area for the work. Dreading cleanup.

One day, a workroom, spare bed, useful space. Not yet.

Drywall up, inspections done, nearly there, but not done yet.





I recover slowly, as is my wont, lymph node swollen

Under the right mandible, radiating all over the place now.

Fatigue easing at the rate of an hour hand, a calendar. Imperceptible movement.

Dylan put the stim on me this morning, which helped.

New cream proving very soothing, my poor dry red face.