Peek-a-boo

One of the Issues I only became aware of after we'd put in our offer was the lack of a garage door. Apparently not unusual in this area, and we are lucky to have roof and walls to protect the car. I've always thought I could put up a tarp, which would help keep snow off in the winter, and shield it from the worst of the sun in summer. I'd looked up how much that would cost, and it was not unreasonable. When we finally worked out how we would replace the curtains, I kept wondering what to do with the heavy, newish, but really ugly brown fabric.

This is my dual solution, a cable, and Ikkeah curtains. Funny, out there, the color isn't bad at all. Looks nearly posh, I want to put pink bows on it. Appropriately inappropriate.

Peek-a-boo.

Neighbor loaned us the extension cord long enough for the drill to reach.

Made it to the community garden's plant sale this morning, much more of a crowd than I expected, but all very well organized. Took my neighbor, T, who got some lovely perennials for her porch and patio pots.

I got some odd varieties of tomatoes, mostly because there were so many, and the crowds so thick, I just picked what I could reach that looked interesting, it'll be a surprize.

And some parsley, mint, and probably oregano, I think. The tag got lost, and it was all a bit of a mess for me. Didn't expect to have to park so far, but at least I thought to bring a large, sturdy bag. Eventually, I ran to get the car, while T waited with plants and compost, since they had a loading area. Really lovely people all around.

They all look very healthy, and I still have seeds to plant, beans and chives, beets and more sunflowers.

Buckets

Rain coming down all weekend, buckets of it. Literally, I put the buckets out to catch the water coming down over the back porch, and they were overflowing by morning. Guy came to give us an estimate on gutters, first thing he says is he can't. The roof doesn't have a useful slope, the ribs would be in the way, and he suggested we do a DIY section of about ten feet to keep it off the porch - and otherwise just catch as catch can. Well, that saves us a bundle, which we will instead put into blinds for the front.

Almost there with the big ticket items. The back door, and the plumbing, both can wait a while yet. The chimney, a small area of the roof, the tarp-door for the garage. After that it's mostly odds & ends, and the garden which is a joy.

It's conditioning from my job, get as much done as soon as humanly possible, then sit back to be able to respond to a crisis. Also called (at least by me) the Philosophy of Enlightened Laziness. Get everything done, so I can sit.

Had D's parents over for dinner last night. It amazes him that we can be so comfortable with them now, that their presence is a source of enjoyment, not obligation anymore. Perhaps because all five sons are married (two more than once) and the pressure to instruct the sons is eased, and life has gotten simpler, if not easier, for them. Maybe they have learned that D cannot be pushed (try pushing a cat) but will merely squirm off in another direction. Maybe they see we are on our own path, and although they would chose another for us, they see us happy, still loving, which makes it hard to argue with. We have also learned to never visit them on religious holidays, which meant avoiding them for Easter and LDS Conference weekends, but then making sure to get with them the next available day. That last is the important bit, that they feel loved for themselves, even as we demur on their faith.

And this house, well, it really does want people here.

Chili

What surprizes me-
New word verification
I get it more right.


D made chili. Really good chili.

Gutter estimate left on door, guy came by early instead of when D waited in the afternoon. Going to talk at them tomorrow, bastards. Bugger'em, if they can't make an appointment. We wanted to actually talk with them, their loss. Not going to deal with uncommunicative contractors. Oh, the adventures we are experiencing in home ownership.

I had seven cases today, including an add on of a 5 year old who needed her thumb pinned. Good kid, we bandaged her bunny similarly.


From Whiskey River.
One evening Milarepa returned to his cave after gathering firewood, only to find it filled with demons. They were cooking his food, reading his books, sleeping in his bed. They had taken over. He knew about nonduality of self and other, but he still didn't quite know how to get these demons out of his cave. Even though he had the sense that they were just a projection of his own mind - all the unwanted parts of himself - he didn't know how to get rid of them. So first he taught them the dharma. He sat on this seat that was higher than they were and said things to them about how we are all one. He talked about compassion and shunyata and how poison is medicine. Nothing happened. The demons were still there. Then he lost his patience and got angry and ran at them. They just laughed at him. Finally, he gave up and just sat down on the floor, saying, "I'm not going away and it looks like you're not either, so let's just live here together." At that point, all of them left, except one. Milarepa said, "Oh, this one is particularly vicious." (We all know that one. Sometimes we have lots of them like that. Sometimes we feel that's all we've got.) He didn't know what to do, so he surrendered himself even further. He walked over and put himself right into the mouth of the demon and said, "Just eat me up if you want to." And that demon left too.
- Pema Chödrön

Shock

Read the news today. No, not shocked, but a bit in shock. A similar sort of story when I was a kid, the father in that one killed his children because they were being taken from him, and his excuse - "If I can't have them, no one will." Bad enough, but my father completely sympathized, agreed. Already afraid of him, this shook me to the core. I never felt safe in that house again. This story, took me right there. Maybe he would not have done me actual violence, but he was never hard pressed. I would not have trusted him if too much crossed. Home was a dangerous place, where I had to be more on guard than anywhere else. What kind of human being would say such a thing to a child? Nonetheless a father? Well, my father, evidently.

Once D and I found each other, I have always felt safe at home, for the first time and ever after. I do not take Home for granted, ever. Reading this left me cold and shaking. And wanting there to be a hell, for those who hurt the vulnerable in their care, a millstone about their necks. I don't believe there is, merely the obliteration and recycling. The evil live in a hell every breath, no need for more.

And, much as I feel for the rest of the family, perhaps those boys would have felt as I did, better not to live than to have lived through that childhood. Really, only in the last decade, as love saturated my life, did the early years seem worth surviving. But for a very long time, had I been given a choice, I'd have chosen not to have ever been born. The balance shifted, eventually, for which I am immensely grateful, but damn it took a long time. On a road that once seemed endless, I never expected ease and comfort, ever. Took me a very long time to trust it entirely, even as I trusted D completely. Maybe those two boys were too badly scarred already, maybe not. Either way, there is no mitigation for a father to blow up his children, even if it does save them a life of suffering. Independent variables.

Came across Aunt Evelyn's funeral card today, held it and wept a little. She would love this house. She would approve of the woman I have become. I know this. I carry her with me, she occasionally looks out my mirror at me. She would be proud of me for surviving and thriving, as she did.

This process, opening up our things and letting them stretch out, our history filling the ample space, is also haunting. All the stories want telling, want to be remembered. The bad and the good and the funny all together.

So, I put up our postcards and assorted art and ephemera that has held on, as fragile looking things often do. Delicate flowers on lichen in the arctic blasts, incongruously sturdy. Bits of paper, christmas ornaments, scraps of cloth, stones and shells from beaches, insignia, earrings, all endure in the cracks and live to tell the tale. And I remember, with a few tears, smiles, laughter.

Perhaps there is reincarnation, especially for the abused young. Automatic replay, but with decent parents, safety and responsible kindness. I'd like to believe that. It would seem just. Justice is a human concept though, in defiance of the reality of the universe.

Houses

Our home is here. We would just like to have a house to put it in. One of those linguistic anomalies, a short sale takes a lot longer. Not as long as they used to, as banks are glutted with these.

My mother is at a hotel near the Detroit airport with her niece - widow of her beloved nephew. B is flying with her in the morning to Oklahoma City, then flying back. Her son, my eldest brother, will meet them, and take her on to his home in Texas. The keys to the house I grew up in have been handed over to the new owner. I'd vowed over a decade ago to never set foot in it again. Interesting coincidence, that we are finally looking at getting our own house, just as my original has passed out of her hands. I'm glad it's gone, I hope it has a happier life.

I expect a call from her sometime tomorrow, when she reaches her new home. She is worried about the flight, the last time she was in a plane, it was an eight hour flight in a prop from Detroit to Florida, circa 1958 (?). She was so sick the whole way down, they took a bus back. I was still non-existant. So, I sent her a sick bag, the good ones we give to patients after surgery, and some of the ginger gum that kept me going after my bout of (presumed) food poisoning last month. Honestly, I think she'll be fine, but it's a huge change for her. She never expected to leave that house, it's probably means something that she seems to be abandoning it so quickly and cleanly. I know better than sending a non-functional gift to anyone in the midst of moving, having received a few myself. It's always such a wrench, to be so grateful at the kindness, and so annoyed at the extra burden.

Potential

Walked in the cold air yesterday, dry and biting. Took a second, harder look at Potential House, and are still positive, waiting. Agent seems to think we could hear by christmas, and that we have a good chance. Trying not to get too carried away, but deciding to hope - just for today. We are feeling very cramped. D gashed his head on the corner of a shelf trying to clean up, nothing like a stun from a head bonk and bleeding to make one want just a little more space to move. He put away all but one guitar because he's exasperated at worrying about damaging them in such tight quarters.

Our agent, who is not the one who has listed the house, met us there, and was impressed. Complimented us on having good eyes. Well, after so many apartments, especially looking at rentals in Boston, we are pretty clear on what we can and can't live with. We know ourselves pretty well. A (wo)man's just got to know h(er)is limitations. To paraphrase.

The not-selling-points for us include, single paned windows - lots of irregular sizes that would not be readily converted. Honeycomb blinds are probably the best solution. The fireplace is real, not gas or electric, so we would have to cap it and put in an electric insert. I am not dealing with smoke and ash and cleaning the creosote out of a chimney, risking fire for the sake of romance and a nice smell. When I was 20, sure, not now. Forced air heating in this climate is expensive and very drying, we plan on adding radiant heat to warm individual rooms. And some fans to avoid the cost of central cooling all through the hot summer. The ceiling fans in two rooms are simply dust catchers, since the flickering induces migraines and nausea in me - no matter how effective the concept is. We will need tools, like a snow shovel, step ladder, garden hose, and whathaveyous. We will want first a washer/dryer, since I really don't want to schlep all our clothes to a laundromat - again. The driveway is narrow, and shared with the house next door. There is no on street parking in front of the house. No screens on any of the windows. I'll need to invest in netting, so we can open them without letting the cat out.

None of the above are deal breakers. They are consolation sour grapes if the deal is not accepted. Because I walked around the place with a silly grin at the space, and the wooden floors and closets and light and flow, and the bathroom better finished than I'd remembered. It's a process, with no guarantees. All I can see is how well it would work, so I force myself to notice the problems.

We are doing this ourselves. With advice, but no one to help in any material way, no one who would help is in any position to do more than cheer us on from the sidelines. Scary as that is, there is a wonderful sense of accomplishment and satisfaction to be found. Our decisions, our work, ours to claim utterly, mistakes and all. No one to apologize to for our losses. Sink or swim, to either enter of blissful tranquility of drowning, or the elation of success. More likely the relief of treading water, long term. Honestly, I think I would be a lot more worried if it all seemed perfect. I am deeply suspicious of apparent perfection.

Yes, I have learned to be very detail oriented. It's the job.

Twenty-one

Today, as I wrote the date, I looked at the sort-of familiar number. Finally occurred to me that yesterday was the 21st anniversary of our deployment, and the beginning of our relationship. We'd gone out to meet with our real estate agent, and a mortgage guy at an unrelated open house. Because the house we saw Saturday fit us rather well. We wound up chatting with both of them for a long time, since no one showed up to see the house they were actually showing. So we learned about how the real estate thingmabob works a bit more, and told stories, all casual but to a purpose. And, gods help us, we put in a bid for that short sale* house. Earnest money and everything. Got pre-approved for the loan. Apparently, we are a good risk.

We are both a bit terrified, expecting to be screwed over, cynical. But telling our story helped put it in perspective. Starting with our first date - Gulf War I. Moving out to Boston precipitously, our friends sending our stuff along later because our mover didn't even show up. On the way home, I thought about how much easier it is to be a good nurse to reasonable people. I have to think it's the same in every profession. We do our side of the work, listen carefully, pay attention, try not to be stupid. Make other's jobs easier. Sometimes their response to us is just salesmanship, but often, it is genuine affection.

Our impression is that our agent , L is a pro, and a decent human being, and we are most likely right. We could be wrong, but she has a good reputation, as we have heard going to other open houses from other agents. "Oh, her! Oh, she's the best!" "Oh, my L!" Fortune favors the prepared. I think it also favors the generally kind, by and large, on the balance. Not in any way a guarantee, of course. But nothing in life is.

L was very excited, to the point of exclamation mark abuse in her email to us to tell us we got in the first bid. I'm holding back on excitement, because of my Pooh experience. But I am quietly glad that we have a chance here.

The rest of the day, we simply stayed close to each other, talking a lot, holding hands, keeping each other calm, planning our holiday dinner with D's parents. Whatever happens, we'll make it work. This house, or another later.

And today, we remembered, and realized we'd celebrated appropriately, even if we'd forgotten.




*Mis-named, since they take a long time to work through.

Melt

"Oh, no, D.... I think I've melted the cat!"

Sorry, no photo, it was early on a wet morning, a black cat on a dark blanket. I'd put on the electric bed pad, high, when I got up. Moby flattened out for maximum tum exposure, chin included. Seemed bonelessly contented. A puddle of fur snerfeling softly.

The snow came through, I expect a lot of the more exposed freeways were not safe for driving last night. But by morning, perhaps an inch on the lawns and roofs, no doubt more further up. Not especially cold, now.

We looked at more open houses today. One place built before the turn of last century, squeaking floors, awkward rooms, kludged shelves and storage. A tile strip about 3' wide between living and dining room, extending from a wood burning fireplace (not converted) not flush with the rest of the floor. We wondered what it hid. Thick, obnoxious paint slathered over every wall, in muddy, teeth gnashing colors. Odd shaped windows, odd smell. All I wanted to do was leave. A condo that we could live in, but nothing special. And a lovely arts & crafts era house that we would do very well in, if a tad too big for us, and the price a skosh high. Still, it's a short sale, so we contacted our potential realtor about maybe putting in a bid. We aren't as ready as we'd like to be, but maybe there is no such thing.

Oh, and the posh condo that is WAY out of range, but we had to be nosey. First floor entryway room, which confused D - understandably. Long flight of stairs up to a formal dining area with professional kitchen, including wine fridge. Tall windows, loads of light. Another flight of stairs, three large bedrooms, two full baths with black stone shower stalls, one with a spa tub. Laundry room, too. I figure, we could convert one bathroom into a kitchen, and we'd be fine with just that floor. Too much, a glut, but with a definite appeal for those who can afford a cleaning service.

I really have to start taking the camera with us.

Must clean, get the place sorted. Working all three days, and I rather not do a massive clean Thursday - Thanksgiving - morning.




I really have to start taking the camera.

Stretched

Between us.

Staring at us.


We met with an agent last week. Articulated what we have talked about off and on over the years. What we want, what we don't. Mostly, it's been a process of elimination. We can't live too far from where D works, because he doesn't drive. So, a mile or so radius of location. Which suits me, so I don't have a bad commute either. No basement condos. We lived in some nice basement apartments, acceptable short term, but we're not going to buy one. We are not handy enough to get a fixerupper, so the functional stuff needs to be in good shape - furnace, windows, roof, basement dry, plumbing, electrical. Cosmetic aspects I can probably manage, in time.

I would like a garden, however small. In fact, a big yard would be more of a problem. We need just a little more space than we have. Right now 700 sqift* is just a little too little, with the bathroom through our bedroom. One more room will do us just fine, so about 1000 sqift total. We like enough light, we want a useful layout - decent flow. D would prefer a condo to have maintenance support, I am open but would prefer a home or townhouse, not wanting to deal with condo fees and homeowner associations.

And a place to put the car, garage, carport, or a place to put a heavy duty tent over it. Enough natural light. Newish furnace to be efficient, either AC or a swamp cooler.

Want to avoid squeaky floors, excessively tiny bathrooms, dangerous stairs, carpets - especially in apartment-beige, corner lots, ancient appliances that would have to be replaced quickly. After the one place we looked at yesterday, we added a rule of thumb - compromise on a number of things, but not a combination. One drawback, we can cope. Two gets iffy, three and we walk away. Because other problems will always crop up later on top of that. We want a place to live, it's not primarily an investment. It can't make us crazy within a year.

The cat needs a bit more space to run. We plan to net off an area outside for him.



*Sqift - Square Feet.

Audible

Long, long ago, when I went from evening (swing) shift (3-11P) to days, (7-3P) --- in the summer(!), I had to take measures to get myself asleep early enough to get a full night in before 6A. Training myself to fall asleep before I usually got home from work was not a whole lotta fun, srsly. I closed the blinds, put up window coverings, and put on the talk radio (NPR).

As a child, I often had to go to bed to my loud family playing cards, so people chatting - even loudly, will put me right to sleep. Not that I usually had a lot of trouble once I drifted off. But I especially loved the sensation of hearing voices clearly, then soundless, then hyper-clearly but without meaning, then fading as I lost consciousness. So, the idea of listening to radio had a definite source. Eventually the stories on the radio repeated, and I roused and had to shut it off, but by then it was late enough, and I just fell back into dreams. Now, I am drowsy and wanting to get in my pjs and brush my teeth at 8PM. Fully converted to lark. Not that I ever liked staying up late. Mostly I just loved sleeping a lot.

My dear D has always had insomnia issues, so has his father- it's apparently genetic. Long ago, he decided to try my method, and to a certain extent, it helped him quiet his hamster-wheel thoughts - as well as mine. We started off with tapes of Shelby Foote reading excerpts from The Civil War, and John Le Carré reading his own books. Added in the Winnie the Pooh read by Richard Briers - which D had never been read as a child. Then Pratchett books, mostly read by Steven Briggs. Other books from Audible* have appeared. Now, it is a nightly ritual, and still works beautifully on me. To the point that it is sometimes difficult to sleep on vacation without being "told a story" first.

I used to ask D, long before the day shift issue, when I was having trouble settling my mind to "tell me a boring story." He usually came up with something so boring I wound up laughing hysterically. The recordings, the more often listened to the better, work rather more effectively. D also now takes recorded books and podcasts and radio shows to listen to while at work - which is largely a manual job so that's ok. He's shared a lot of the Mitchell & Webb, Stephen Fry, and various quiz shows with me. As well as the Welcome to Mars series. Actually, I put him on to that, from an article in the Fortean Times. Anyway...

Listening to books repeatedly in a prodromal state of mind sometimes means I know them more deeply. I've heard Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy more often than I can count. I finally figured out an essential plot point, hidden but not hidden at all.† I still laugh at the line about betrayers "Jesus Christ only had twelve, and one of them was a double." Details that I, as a fast reader, would not have paid much attention to. Listening has forced me to slow down, and take the journey with the characters, in all it's richness.

Audiobooks will never replace reading, but it has it's own charms. Like radio, which requires a particular kind of attention.




Just reading Un Lun Dun by China Mieville, and so far, I'm fascinated. I'll let you know... .




*Yes, this is a plug. Audible been very good to us.



†Spoiler Alert! Although, I knew the ending before I started, and that never subtracted from my enjoyment of the book. Bill Hayden already knew Karla - when he took Jim Prideaux to hear him lecture, on their first "date."

Skin

Being home. Never felt at home in my original house, never safe, never at ease. In my first apartment, I was home, but achingly lonely. Having a roommate in college apartments was always unsettling. The bad marriage felt more like a home I didn't know how to define - at first. It became worse than any lack of home, it became an anti-home, dangerous, hostile.

I was teased in Basic for referring to the barracks as "home." But, that was where my stuff was, even though it was mostly not my chosen stuff - all green and issued. But a good wool blanket, a toilet and shower - close enough to being home. I had very low standards. A safe place to sleep, warmth.

Once I met D, I began to know what home could mean. Peace at home. The whole time we were away*, I found acceptance and safety in his arms, needing no other home. Together, we would live in numerous apartments, and although I felt displaced, I never felt homeless.

I remember when we got off the train in Boston, and could not find my cousins who had promised to pick us up. I broke down and wept in exasperated exhaustion for a minute, pulled myself together, and we talked about what else we could do. (Turned out, we'd just picked a bad door, and found Elizabeth and Ed a few minutes later.) Desperate, yes, alone, no. I'd brought home with me, and there we were.

I can see that it would be more difficult to find home in one's own skin alone, but I can also see a way. Where one is one's own home, and others visit, come and go. And the home inside myself has grown as well as the one I share with D. I always prefer him near, but I think my home is myself, and he is part of it, but not all of it. We are a home together, we are each of us capable of being a home unto ourselves. With a cat, of course.


The geology class is excellent. I am finally really understanding the science. I think I finally get the idea of metamorphic rock. Not metamorphorical rock (like Pratchett Trolls.) It's wonderful to be taught by someone knowledgeable and passionate. Learning about a foot wall vs a hanging wall, gneiss and schist.





*Activated to army service for Gulf War I.

Ebony

Ugh.

Needing to clean, the downside of cooking at home. Switched to iron pans many years ago, as I had to discard the last of the non-stick coated ones. Although ingesting the stuff (it's got to go into the food, where else would it be?) is probably not as bad as some of the alarmists might claim, I figure I'm exposed to more odd chemicals and diseases than most people. Limiting one variable, and adding a source of dietary iron, seemed wise. Not to mention that I won't need to replace them in my lifetime, with care. I've gotten used to how to cook with them, and an electric burner.



Ting! Well, ok, more like, Gleam!

I didn't chose the color of the kitchen appliances, but I do like the black. Hard to shine them up, they suck in the light, but oh, so stylish. I'd never buy them black, but I can enjoy them rented. D and I looked at a condo open house yesterday. A livable space, good as a rented apartment. But too poky, too oddly broken up, to want to own it, especially at the price. Not that we are in any position to buy a house of any sort right now. We are looking, idly. Dropping in on open houses as we come across them, getting a feel for what we may eventually look for, if and when. How much space, and what is too much, no more beige-apartment-cheap-carpeting, wide-cat-friendly window sills, stuff like that.

The storm is looming, and we have snuggled down in eager anticipation. We'll go walking later.

Smoothie

Up before D got up this morning. He'd been awake through the night, so I'm always glad to let him sleep when he can. I wanted to take a photo of Moby on the balcony, and could not find the camera. When D got up, he had no idea either. Several hours and the begin of The Cleaning, and I finally remembered fussing with the strap ends, and putting it... well, that took a bit longer, but eventually found it hung on the coat rack. It was me. I apologized to D for thinking it was him. But then, he couldn't find the roll of velcro straps to contain the plethora of cords and cables behind the desk when it came to that. After a trip out to get more and milk and a few other things, it was in one of the places I thought it might be - after a lot more searching. It's been one of those days, but with good results.



Moby staying out of the way while the silly humans disrupt his territory.





Back having a small freak-out, stim on. This is what happens. Still, a clean bathroom floor, shredding done, vacuuming, clean kitchen. And all the dust gone from the table.

What's more, fruit smoothies. D does very nice ones.




Dinner with D's family, parents, brother and sister-in-law. Getting more comfortable over the years, and I've really warmed to my SIL. Not like we'll be bestest buddies, but she's definitely grown on me. D's dad not happy that his son is 41. That we've been together 20 years goes down better. They've backed off on the religion issue, although they still bring up church news as though we'd be interested. Not about to call them on it, simple deflection and non-commital noises seem to have worked without causing upset.

On

The Shade, off, then on.





The old little paper lamp in the bedroom. Got a new rocker switch for it, and it goes on and on.

Lamp

We looked at lamps today, with the usual result. "No way I'm paying that much." So, we didn't. Hadn't really planned to, but I have a certain fondness for lamps, they are shiny.

This lamp I found left in the trash room of the first place we lived in Boston. A common feature, people in apartments would leave items they didn't want in the trash rooms of the buildings, and others often took them. An informal version of "free" classifieds, casual recycling. We got some good stuff that way. Then, there was this lamp. I thought it the most hideous thing, baroque and blue and gold paint, ridiculous. But we needed a lamp, badly. So I snatched it, we replaced the socket, and as soon as I turned it on in at dim room, it turned rather lovely. When functioning, it's a pretty thing, with an air of gentile old money.




This one was very cheap, and the light shade didn't shade at all, making it impossible to look at. About as soft as a bare, clear bulb. Eventually, I got a sheet of very fancy paper, and fixed it.

Velcro

The dryer door didn't like staying open, so, after several irritating bumps, I applied hook 'n pile.

After a week of, shall we say, maybe too much tea, the light toilet lid bouncing back down at inopportune moments became a similar problem. With the same solution.

Yes, the lid is closed in this house. Because I have lost items down the toilet if the lid is open, a comb, an earring. And I hate going fishing there. Most people do.

Brown

"Whose new spread?"


In life, the browns in Moby's undercoat have always been visible, depending on light. Brushing pulls out a much lighter layer of fur. And he, too, is sporting more and more white hairs. On the new blanket, those warmer tones become visible to the camera, a black-brown cat.

There really is something to be said for top end quality. Pratchett writes about it in reference to Sybil Ramkin and her class. That the very rich buy the very best, then never have to replace it. Cheap clothes, needing to be discarded and replaced, wind up much more expensive. I remember not having enough cash in hand to buy a monthly bust pass, even though it would be cheaper. Only when I needed it less, could I afford the discount. Likewise, food is more expensive at corner convenience stores, for those without the means to go to larger grocery stores.

The new chocolate quilt is hefty and warm without being too heavy. It has the feel of quality, the sort to last decades and then. And it brings out the mahogany in Moby's fur.

Clairvoyance

We ran errands this morning. Ok, afternoon. Lunch, then cork coasters to protect the new table, assuming I ever get around to finishing it. (Tablecloth working for the moment.) Groceries after.



And we stopped in the catalogue outlet store that I enjoy browsing. More than browsing, I've gotten a half dozen really good items of clothing, favorites in fact, at amazingly good prices. I'd been eyeing this heavy, chocolate quilt/spread since they first appeared, well over a year ago. Even the (initial discount) price was too much (nearly $300) for something we didn't really need, so I ran my hand over it, and walked away. Today, it was 30% off the lowest number, and I asked for my birthday present, so as not to feel guilty for getting it. Which wound up at about 10% of the original cost.



We do this. We don't try to make the other one guess about giving a surprize present. Took me a little while to learn it, but once I figured out that mind reading would not be on the table, I came to enjoy getting myself what I liked, and thanking D for his present. He says "you're welcome."

Or we go together, and make the trip part of the gift. Or just calling a larger, not strictly necessary outlay that one wants especially, near birthday or christmas, to be for that event. D apologetically explained that he was giving me my present 28 days early.

"When have I ever minded that?"

"Never. Just, you know..."

Not that I expect anything, but some years I get a craving for a touch of luxury or indulgence, preferably without guilt. D indulges me.

All but one of his guitars were presents of this ilk. I could never have chosen a guitar for him, but I get credit for it because we went together, and he let me encourage him. Beats a "oh, how did you know!" hands down, over a lifetime.