Suspicious

 So, one of the weird issues I've come to happy terms with is my hair.  Which is not straight. I'm at the loosest level of curl/wave. A situation that seems to have caused my mother great anguish and no curiosity  whatsoever. It explains why my hair took a perm to its little keratinous heart. 

As the vitamin D supplements support hair growth, it's become rather obvious that the younger, shorter hair has a pronounced curve, the older and longer hairs weigh down and keep the wave only nearer the end. This results in what my mother called messy and flyaway, but could more charitably be call tousled. 

And therein lies the real problem. She was not kind, not interested in seeing me for who I was and finding something to like.  When I deviated from her ideal little girl, she worked hard to change that. For all that my father was outright abusive, her treatment of me was ground into my soul. 

It's not about the hair, it's about how she saw me, or failed to see me. And her utter lack of interest in me as a distinct personality. 

The old cptsd has been triggered over the past couple of months, and I'm struggling to get it soothed. So all the old crap bursts to the surface.  Children are not so much resilient as impressionable.  They accept their reality as Just How Things Are, and spend the rest of their lives reconciling that with consensus reality. Or not, as the case may be.

Finally saw a Primary Care doctor yesterday. Mostly relieved, my skin issues are irritating, but not indicative of anything else. My crackpot theory is that I am dealing with the aftereffects of covid, long covid. Body pains, skin issues. I have no proof, and I won't swear to it, but I'm deeply suspicious. My BP is higher than ever, and I'm heavier, but nothing critical. Which could be post menopausal, or the two combined. Pretty much on track for living into my 90s.  Dammit.

They have changed my schedule, with my reluctant consent, so that I cover clinic on Thursday as well, with no admin day. It's horrible, but I have to agree it's necessary.  Every day I work, I have clinic, outside of the odd Monday.  With the new guy starting Jan 2, it will take about 3 months before he's working independently. This is going to be a process. 

Simple

 

There was a prompt to post an awkward photo from childhood, so I went through what I had.  And what most struck me was... I wasn't ugly.  Compared to what I was told as a kid, all the fussing about my hair and dark circles under my eyes, and freckles, big nose, and thin lips and on and on, I can't see it. I was cute.  Even my adolescent photos... I was lovely.  Not movie start pretty, but not at all the plain and unpleasant face I assumed I had. I was beautiful, in my own way. 

And I feel such a wave of despair that I was not allowed to see that. That I was put in pastels - which were not flattering. My hair was badly cut and cared for, but it was a nice color with a slight curl. And I do look rather boyish if you hide the pigtails.  Maybe that is it, too. Well, and don't really have an open mouth smile. 

Messy hair, old t-shirt, and still, there I am. Not ugly.  

Having met several NB people in recent years, I have begun to think that if I were a young person today, I would identify as fem/NB. It's not a big revelation, more of finding a new way to express the idea. I knew I wasn't girly, but also that I wasn't a boy. Anatomically female, attracted mostly to men.  Lots of moving parts to sex/gender/orientation.  The idea that it is a simple question, "Are you a man or a woman?!" is, of course, a False Dichotomy. 

It took so long for me to grow into my own skin, and that was absolutely tied to how I was treated as a small human.  Maybe that is part of why I am so patient with my skittish cats, giving them what I needed is vital.  Not to mention admiring their beauty. 

Graupel

 Hi. 

Yes, it's been a while. 

The worry has been really annoying and distracting. 

But this morning, this little space that has been mine for so long, whispered to me. C'mon, chat with me a while, it'll be nice. 

The 'red wave' is just some light spotting.  We haven't exactly cured the disease, or won the war, but we are still alive, and we have NOT lost. 

My colleague has gone on a 3 week vacation, but will be back on Tuesday. I've been covering her clinics. She's hard working, does a lot to make life easier for her surgeons and patients. It's been a lot to keep most of the balls in the air, and I've been going in for a few hours to cover her Thursday clinic. Cutting a couple of hours off my day on to stretch it to my day off. It's my duty, I feel. This is why they pay me the big bucks. And our orthopedic Nurse Practitioner appreciates it, as do our residents who run the clinic. 

But, it's taking a toll on me. And it's been a busy few weeks. My own surgery scheduling has been a bit neglected. I've missed stuff, as I knew I would. Four weeks ago, I got my flu jab and covid booster, which left me feeling sore and ill and with my lower back in a vise for a few days, which rather put me on the wrong foot.

I'm having a bit of an introvert crisis.  Last evening, I became semi-mute*. Dylan took care of me, which helped.  Since I use Chat to communicate at work, a sort of secure texting, I got the the point that my already borderline typing completely failed me as well. Although I was still doing well with emoji and GIF communication. (I have strong GIF game.)

Even my dreams last night were all crowded with people, while I had to perform tasks. Washing a man's thick hair as he sat in a chair in our bathtub, he was naked, and getting the hair wet enough to suds up was very difficult, and it was utterly not-sexy-at-all. Three other people had a meeting around the toilet. Not a stretch to see that this was about many layers of intrusion. Nothing angry, though. No one bullying. Just, too much peoples. 

It's been raining with a bit of snow mixed in, the last few days.  The snow, or possibly graupel, is white on the grass. I still have to empty the rain barrels and clear some of the garden. I've not even wanted to go out in the garden this past month. 

But I have Veteran's Day off tomorrow, and I can settle my mind this morning. At least I'm not in physical pain on top of it, as the OR used to do to me. And, there is a great satisfaction in solving the puzzles, making it all work (imperfectly), and keeping going. 

Everyone throwing puzzles at me. (This could be in my dreams tomorrow night...) But, that is the job, taking care of all the edges, smoothing rough spots, running interference in a complex system, subverting the bureaucracy to serve the patients. 

*Intentional speech is stuck or garbled.  If I'm not especially trying to say something, words can escape clearly - but then I wonder if I actually said it or just thought it. I can mime, or to an extent - write, but trying to say a word gets it jammed. 

Gravitas

Yesterday was Hand clinic, and I do a lot to help it run smoothly.  Then I got a call from the general orthopedic resident about a total joint patient on the floor - his dressing was saturated and the floor nurses were "freaking out." He was at his brother's event and couldn't get back easily. He's also gone out of his way many times both for staff and patients. So I gathered the dressing supplies, sterile gloves, and my most calm authority, and ran down there. 

The young nurse there was looking a bit panicked, but we took a look, and I know how to put a proper OR dressing on, spread calm assurance, and we took photos for the resident. Pt then asked to piss first, so we stood outside the door, waiting. The the older nurse supervising her rushes up to me. "I've never seen this before!"  Yeah, they actually were freaking out. I said, "Oh I have, not often, but I bet this is a little oozing skin bleeder."  Either missed at the end of surgery - or it was hiding because the tourniquet was still up. Or it was fine then, and opened up with movement later. Bodies are weird. 

Young nurse helped me set up, and stayed to open sterile supplies.  Floor sterile and OR sterile are very different levels of asepsis, I know the second type in my bones - and keeping this proper sterile is essential. 

Sure enough, one tiny spot that was just welling up. My new colleague took another photo and sent it to the resident. I cleaned it up, checked the whole incision line, I put steri-strips securely across the oozing bugger, redressed the whole line, over that, added extra padding to compress the one spot more, under an ACE bandage, cleaned up, thanked young nurse. Also spent the whole process chatting with the patient about what I saw, and what I was doing. 

And later, wrote it all up in a note. 

I'm really liking the nurse I've become.  I like that my white hair gives me visual gravitas. I like that my job includes so many random tasks. I like that my knowledge base is not wasted. 

 Just finished reading an amazing series of essays on Sparta. 

Reflection

"The heart is a leisurely muscle. It differs from all other muscles. How many push-ups can you make before the muscles in your arms and stomach get so tired that you have to stop? But your heart muscle goes on working for as long as you live. It does not get tired, because there is a phase of rest built into every single heartbeat. Our physical heart works leisurely. And when we speak of the heart in a wider sense, the idea that life-giving leisure lies at the very center is implied. Seen in this light, leisure is not a privilege but a virtue. Leisure is not the privilege of a few who can afford to take time, but the virtue of all who are willing to give time to what takes time - to give as much time as a task rightly takes."

 - Brother David Steindl-Rast 

Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer

This week I hit a new learning point, after the past two weeks of finding my errors and correcting them, I am now at the point of realization of the scope of my job. A whole new swathe of details that need attention, but I'm not quite at the point of being able to see them from afar and take care of them before they bunch up around me.  But, I am getting there. 

Seeing it is an important step, without which it wasn't happening. 

Learning both how to manage my tasks, prioritize and organize. And still take all the time needed to be thorough.  I'm more comfortable with calling patients and fellow providers and just asking. 

Oh, and both my colleague/instructor got our evaluations, and got top marks all around, we think. She's done the job before, and came back to the job several months before I did. I'm new at it, just passed my 6 month mark. We aren't sure how we were rated, looks like a chart review - focused on our notes.  Either way, glad I'm doing what is expected of me, and improving. 

I've also benefitted from all the writing I've done in this space, so much easier to be precise and accurate and clear, because of comments on my writing for the past ~2 decades practice.  

So, thank you to all those who read and respond and honed my words for so long. Most of the main readers from 15 years ago are gone, but at least one or two still visit. I'm grateful to all of you. 

Mostly, though, I am learning a sort of deep and abiding kindness. A patient attentiveness. 

Yes, I can do this for five years. 

And then, I can step back and ... well, not DO, but be. I will find what joys I can in not Being Useful - the guiding star of my life so far. I will soften and warm and allow, find and let go. 

From the point that I started dying my hair, not being ready to turn grey in my 30s, I promised myself I would, at 60, let it be whatever color it wanted. I would accept.  And a week before, I cut off all the remaining stained hair, and I am, indeed, all grey. It wasn't specifically in my mind that I was fulfilling the promise to myself, not until after I'd already done it. 

We are refinancing our House today, finishing up the process. Get the loan out of the hands of one of the more evil banks (not our choice, it was sold to them by our original mortgage institution) and into a less evil Credit Union. Lower payment, shorter pay off, better interest rate too. 

Next week I'm taking off, let my mind settle and reflect. 

Longer

 Good morning. 

Well, you see, the last vestiges of the henna I put on last year, and hated, were seriously bugging me. 

I cut it to shoulder length a couple of weeks ago.  And Sunday I cut off more.  I may go get the back trimmed up at the barber shop, if they will do it for a reasonable price.

 Morgan Donner inspires me. 

I have been thinking about just buzzing it all off, but letting it grow out after is an enormous pain in the butt, and I'm not really up for a year of shaggy hair. 

It's actually chin length.  Most of the stained hair is no longer. 

I think my vitamin D levels are back in normal range, I have new hair growth, and I'm getting my energy back. Or maybe I'm just recovering from years of burn-out. 

It also occurred to me this week that my Social Security will be higher when I retire, because I'll be both full time and better paid at that point, than if I'd stayed in the OR working 30 hours a week for a lower wage. Going through that last April was one of the hardest things I've done in a long time, but I'm glad I was able to work through it and emerge out the other side. Well disguised blessing. 

My team went to lunch yesterday, my colleague insisted on paying for my lunch - I had a very nice half sandwich (which was plenty and tasty), and I covered the tip for the table. Which went over well for the two NPs who had worked as waitstaff. It just happened that I was the only one with cash on me. 

Yesterday was nuts, so many different, often complex problems. Thankfully everyone was around, and there was a lot of group participation.  There was also a lot of patient EMOTION!! Seriously, one guy sent several (secure, MyHealthEVet) messages with many, many exclamation points. Every patient had a serious grip on the wrong end of the stick, and very upset about it. Spent a long time on the phone calming people down. Couldn't get a lot of what I planned to do even started until about 2:30, and was dealing with one last problem at 5:15. Well, they pay me until 5:30, so fair enough. 

I've been doing wordle, and love it. Love doing exactly ONE a day. It reminds me of playing Mastermind with my friend Anna in 6-8th grades. Our teacher had the game, and we were allowed a portion of each day to play various games. Anna and I spent a lot of time with Mastermind. Wordle is the same idea, but with words. 

Zeppo had a mat on his back haunch. Not sure how that happened. I secured him, to his displeasure but he didn't skedaddle, and cut it off. There didn't seem to be a scab indicating an injury, just matted fur. He's not got long fur, but it is fairly coarse. Maybe he slept funny?  Got his claws trimmed at the same time. He doesn't seem to mind that. And once I have him, he kinda freezes - it's not relaxed, he certainly does not purr, but he doesn't struggle either. Mostly, he hates the idea of being picked up. There is certainly a story there, and we can but speculate. 

Hare

Good New Year to all.  

We've been enjoying Reservation Dogs this week. I love shows and stories that force me to abandon my cultural assumptions. Bury Me Standing and Atanarjuat The Fast Runner are two more. And this video about the issues of Black Hair. 

 I've got my own issues around 

Hair

I Got Tears in my Ears from lying on my back in my bed while I cry over you, might be this year's theme song.  Rabbits and ears and tears. 

Tiny

The new job involves a lot of little details. I'm slowly sticking them together into little clumps of knowledge and processing them. It's very easy to get confused and put them in the wrong way round or in the wrong order or in the wrong place, but I'm working through the problems. And I'm persistent, and remarkably patient with it all. 

 I learned this when I broke my arm, when speed was not an option, I would have to take three trips when once I would have used all my arms and taken one. That it would take twice, maybe three times as long to do simple tasks like making a cup of tea or using the toilet or brushing my hair. Those tasks filled my days for several weeks. Everything took longer, everything took a lot more effort. And there was no rushing it, or I'd be left with a far worse mess, and time would start running backward. That way lies madness...

I'm honestly a bit amazed at my patience with it all.  I'm at peace. The old anxiety is off sleeping it off. 

Got to scrub on two little hand cases yesterday, patient numbed but awake. Lots of good data showing that carpal tunnel releases and trigger finger releases are at least as safe, if not safer, done in a clinic/office setting than the way we used to do them in full ORs. I know if I ever need this done that would be my choice, keep it simple, no sedation.  

The LPN who runs the clinic talked to the patient, and she did the charting and support. She kept apologizing about being required to watch me and "check off" my skills, when I clearly knew that part of the job much better than she did.  Well, I'm used to being watched doing this, we all watch each other in the OR, it's easy to let skills and attention slip, develop bad habits. Yeah, I've scrubbed liver transplants and back surgeries, but that can be an asset and a trap at the same time when doing a finger cyst incision in a clinic. Easy to dismiss small cases as less important, just because they are less involved. Easy to say "I've been doing this for 25 years...." and then screw up a simple task. 

The little things are just as important as the big things. The big things are just the little things all in a big pile. 

My job these days is to sort through the pile, tease out all the little things and deal with each one.  The people I've met, the ones I'll be working with, are good folks. Serious and careful and competent. The patients have complex lives, and their hard stories and issues, demand my attention. People who joined the military often did so out of desperation, few other choices. And the experiences added more troubles on, marked us and left us forever changed. Even if it was only a few years when we were much younger.  

We've been watching The Repair Shop, and it's good for my soul. To deal with each detail carefully, and with love. Yes, it's a big job, made up of one little thing at a time. Watching someone piece back together a broken chair or ceramic vase or carefully clean a painting or a wooden chest or rusted bicycle, mend a tattered teddy bear or disassemble an old stuck clockwork, may not sound like a good show, but somehow it is.  Unlike some "antique" shows, there is no greed, only love and gratitude.  Craftspeople who love a challenge, and tell their own stories. 

I have nothing in my childhood I'd want to be 'brought back to', I don't want my own connections and history. I remember it all far too well, and could do with a lot less. So watching the people who bring in items soaked in stories they want to keep, is lovely and hopeful.  They bring in their pain and grief and loss, and ask for help to transform it into something beautiful again. 

 If you read only one thing about the current mess in Afghanistan,  let it be this. 

Again

 I will try again. It's never a matter of how many mistakes we make, it's that we always correct them once more. 

Tomorrow I start my sixth decade, and although I know it does not make me very old, it is certainly the first step. I'm a baby-granny, as it were. Ok, I kinda hate that word, but I'll let it sit there anyway. 

Writing is important to me, but there are times when it needs to settle and germinate underground. Even I don't know what it's doing down there right now. Fighting fear with numbness is familiar to me, and that is what I have been doing. Hope does not come naturally, I learned early on not to trust it. 

And I've gone down the reddit rabbit hole, which both soothes and drains me in near equal measure. I am also on read-only-tweeter, which is easier to switch off. Still, I need to keep an eye on it all, even if I cannot change it, I want to know what might fall on me. On us. That is pretty much all I've been reading. I've tried a few novels, but aside from Pratchett in small doses, I can't seem to get stuck in. 

Watching Richard Osman's House of Games lately.  One of the prizes is a duvet set, which we've been peripherally aware of as a thing before, but never looked into. I did some research, checked the balance on my inheritance, and found a good 50%off sale locally.  We shall try this, since bedding has always been a frustrating issue for us. An experiment. We shall see. So far, I like them (twin duvets,  one each.)

Used henna on my hair, which - last batch - only tinted my hair a bit.  This batch went clown-orange, and I'm trying to add enough blue dye to at least tone it down until it eventually fades. Bother. Bugger. 

Cats are well, they love when we read in bed early, they come in and flop on us to get massages and belly rubs.  They like the blanket on the table, which keeps them from too much interference with our games of Codenames.  Even when we are not there. I think the heating vent and humidifier placement make it even more attractive to them. 

Listened to a radio program about ex-mormons who take psychedelics.  Remembered when I was a kid, all the church talk of saints and visions, and I prayed NOT to be one of them. I figured it would terrify me, and I prayed to be spared.  I think this was a wise choice, all in all. 

Gnomon

Finding the most beautiful light. Streams in through the laundry glass bricks in the shower stall, right through the hallway, at this time of year. Our house a sundial, the Zeppo the gnomon.

The OR staff are going to be "redeployed" to wherever the need is. This all changed yesterday. Everything is changing hour to hour, and no one can keep up. Our RNs are mostly going to be doing Care Navigation, the calls taken by clerical/certificate staff escalated to RNs. We then assess and reassure and, as appropriate, schedule tests, and visits (virtual or in person). I have promised myself not to hurry through the calls, to deliberately go slowly and work thoroughly. Take my time documenting. That will help, I think. Starts Monday.


Our IT folks are setting us up so we can work from empty ORs, my regular schedule-ish. There are no elective surgeries, only urgent ones, which accounts for less than 1/20th of what we normally run. I expect further use of our facility as the need increases. We have in-patient beds, clinic space, ventilators, we could certainly do swabbing to then send the tests in. I'm sure someone is already looking at this.

This is just great for my burn-out. Just great.

Lots of dreams, got some sort of face work from a very professional stylist, and a haircut in my dream last night. Really nice sort of double bob, brown underneath and slightly shorter black on top, he was very fast with the hair, too.


Reading about the increase in domestic violence, had to stop and hold Dylan tightly.

Shaved his head in the bright morning sunlight in the now clean laundry. We are so fortunate. And that's part of why I'm struggling to ramp up and do my duty. We've come so far to this place of comfort and security. I feel food-aggressive and territorial, snapping my jaws at any attempt to pull me out of my retreat. I will, of course. Feeling kicked while down, though. Eleanor supervised.

Mesa

For longer than I care to count, the kitchen table has been my desk more than a food supporting item. Started as a place to dress and have breakfast without waking Dylan, at ungodly hours of the dark mornings. I would listen to the radio, NPR, read comics as they slowly loaded via modem. I would cook and eat a couple of fried eggs, drink some tea, wake up enough to drive, and off I'd go.

Nowadays, Dylan is almost always long awake before me.

So my desk, where my computer sat with me, was also the kitchen counter/table. Having a separate room would mean a lot more burned food and forgotten tea, so yes, in this case, this woman's place IS in the kitchen. I've considered this, and I don't think there is any way around it. It probably helps me keep the room clean, if not the table.It tends to catch everything, so keeping it mostly clear is impossible. Hair ties, nail clippers, earrings, hand lotion - the sort of stuff I need to be ready for work. Tie up the hair, trim the ragged nails, decorate in my small way, heal the dry hands. Pens, cat toys, potholders, books.


Eleanor started standing by my right hand, as I sit here reading or writing, and I must reach down and pet her. She leaves, returns for more, over and over, until she's contented. Zeppo watched her for a long time, until he got his courage up.

"That looks nice, maybe I can do it too."

At first out of reach, then only enough so that I could touch his tail, then let his long tail trail through my fingers, then the occasional head bop to my hand. Sometimes he would sit and query me, and I would invite him.

"C'mon, you can come up here." He would look, and consider, then invite a tail brush, then off he'd go.

"No, nope, not yet..."

He'd jump up to the table when I was not around, then scamper away.

This morning we talked about it again, and, after extensive calculation, he hopped up to the table. Did not want me to touch him there, but he stayed a good half minute. A triumph, a step toward courage, followed by a head-fist-bump after he was back on the ground. His head, my knuckles.


The proper place for a cat.

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.

Impulse

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

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

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.

Ode

DEATH waited while the old woman didn't take a deep breath.

"Now what?" she asked. "Where is my husband, or at least my family, most of them are dead long ago?"

AH, thought DEATH, for a moment, ONE OF THOSE.

WERE YOU EXPECTING TO BE MET? DEATH asked.

"Well, I don't know. I've never died before." She shuffled a bit, the clarity of death biting away her self deprecating reflex. "I suppose I hoped there would be someone, after all I waited for everyone else all those years."

They were standing in the silvery desert now, and DEATH handed the old woman a small seed. THIS WAS WAITING FOR YOU.

She took it dubiously, "What is this old thing?"

ALL THAT WAS LEFT WHEN YOUR HUSBAND DIED. HE NEVER GREW HIS SOUL, SO THAT WAS ALL HE WAS.

A sudden insight, and she asked, "A mustard seed?"

DEATH looked up as a woman crossed the desert toward them, a determined stride, she seemed young and strong and gently irritated.

"Mary, what are you doing there? C'mon, we're late."

The old woman had shrunk to the size of a small girl, with copper hair in a smooth, too short bob. She ran to the young woman, burying her face in her skirts.

"Sorry about her, she's my baby sister. I'll take care of her." And stretched out her spare hand to shake.

DEATH was slightly taken aback, even among the dead this was highly unusual. She grasped his bony hand, thanked him again, "Sorry" and the pair were gone.

PROBABLY CANADIAN, THAT SORRY ALWAYS GIVES IT AWAY.

DEATH never quite knew where they went after, not part of his job, only heard the stories from those who'd never been. Humans, and their imaginations, always intrigued him. Then he saw the seed, left in the sand, unregarded. It would never grow there.

He turned, and Binky waited. Always more to do.







With apologies to Pterry.

Moth

I've been delaying writing because I didn't have any photos. The cats have moved too fast for me, or I've been pinned down without a camera. This morning, Eleanor came up and kneaded my abdomen, then got a good head scritch. Dylan tried to keep Zeppo from bothering her, which worked for a few minutes. He jumps up, gets too excited, queries our lumpishness and urges us to come chase, then the exasperation as he just hares off to chase ALL BY HIMSELF FINE.


Yesterday, he was bugging her, and she rolled over and swatted at him in the laziest imaginable manner. Half hearted bop. He takes it without rancor, and tries again later. He is gaining confidence, slowly, incrementally. He is finding his boldness.

Only one mystery movie friend came last night, which is fine, he's good company. And Zeppo ran through a few times, his curiosity continues to slowly erode his skittishness. Then flopped down on a nearby rug and sang. Chris amused by the range of sounds coming from a cat. Eleanor sat behind his head on the sofa, quietly sniffing his hair. We look forward to a time when Zeppo becomes comfortable, and the obvious desire for affection becomes common normal behaviour for him, no matter who is here.


He adores the laser light. He even does what Moby used to, sees it in our hands, then looks down in front of him before we even turn it on, looking for the red bug. BEST GAME EVAH! Intense chasing ensues. Eleanor still seems to think, "it's a red light, why are you so excited, it's not like it's a MOUZE"

In tightening up the cat tree screws, we found a small infestation of moths. Much cleaning followed. Ugh. But it seemed contained. Old toys were discarded, the washable ones cleaned. The old wooly mice were much decayed.

We are getting both cats into the vet for well-cat checks this week. And to check Eleanor's tooth. Not the mobile house call vet who came to take care of car-averse Moby. His office is a considerable drive. Got a recommend for a neighborhood clinic, walked over there yesterday, and made appointments. A recommend and a nice vibe, and a very secure office cat.

It's not been an exceptionally hot summer, very few days over 100˚F. Despite a wet spring, it's been pretty dry though. We're under a red flag today, thusly...

...RED FLAG WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 11 AM THIS MORNING TO
10 PM MDT THIS EVENING FOR WIND AND LOW RELATIVE HUMIDITY FOR
FIRE WEATHER ZONES 478...479...480 AND 481...

* AFFECTED AREA...Fire Weather Zone 478 Salt Lake Desert...Fire
Weather Zone 479 Wasatch Mountains...Fire Weather Zone 480
Uinta Mountains and Fire Weather Zone 481 Western Ashley
National Forest.

* WINDS...West 15 to 25 mph with gusts up to 40 mph.

* RELATIVE HUMIDITY...As low as 11 percent.

* IMPACTS...Any fires that develop will have the potential for
rapid growth. Outdoor burning is not recommended.

So, I watered as a preventative measure.

Perhaps more later.

$1 worth of sparklies from the rarely seen Sunday Yard Sale. I'm having way too much fun with this.

Magnificat

We took Moby home
Promising our best
Love's responsibilities.

He is at ease now, and we grieve his loss.

We moved here, and found out we could have a cat. One on the Rescue League's website was a black male short-hair named Midnight. We went to see him, and despite not being happy to be picked up, he did not put out his claws. He was not overjoyed to see us, but didn't seem to mind either. We both thought him wonderful. D brought him home a few days later, a very unhappy cat in a box on the Train. He hid a lot. But gradually he came out, and gradually came to find us interesting and kind. We would name him Moby because it just seemed like the right name. Neither of us has a scratch yet. He listens for the ding of the elevator when we are expected.

D is ridiculously sweet about him. Gentle with him. Plays with him. Moby makes him laugh when even I cannot. Moby sleeps on D when he is ill, though he is not a sitting-on-you kind of cat. More like leans-on-you-if-you-are-still. He is a much bigger cat than we realized after we measured him (to his deep annoyance). He is about 12 pounds, about 20" long nose to base of tail. He loves to drag stuff, like a rope he plays with, to the rug, that is now his. He enlivens our home, and warms us. Distracts us when we are moody. Sits most often equidistant from us. Circles us when we come home. He has claimed us, and we have a larger family because of him. One we can take good care of.

Zing

Thunderstorm yesterday afternoon, raining this morning. Friends over to watch Yojimbo and eat last night. Slept well, woke with shin splints - walked too much. Took no pain meds yesterday at all. Not to say it's painless, but not enough, not persistent enough, to take drugs. I'll save them for PT days. Lots of weird little pulls and zings, mostly transient.

Lots of songs running through my head. I seem to be focusing on art as much as practicalities. Dying my hair (yes I did) taking care of nails, weeding, the silly photos, writing, all seem of equal importance, based on how much time & effort I'm putting into it all. Lefty is improving on getting caps open, buttons, combing. Right is stretching further every day. Thumb twiddling has commenced.



Bruised up by the elbow, ulnar side. Not really painful. Not the orange prep, my surgeon doesn't use that, as I should bloody well know, having prepped hundreds of his cases. The little bruises are from the nerve blocks.


Lie still, little bottle, and shake my shaky hand
Black coffee's not enough for me, I need a better friend
One pill at the bottom is singing my favorite song
I know I must investigate
I hope that I can sing along

There's no time for metaphors cried the little pill to me
He said, "Life is a placebo masquerading as a simile"
Well, I knew that pill was lying
Too gregarious, too nice
But as he walked I had to sing this twice

Lie still, little bottle
Don't twist, it ain't twistin' time
With every move you make you just disintegrate my ever-troubled mind

Lie still, little bottle, and shake my shaky hand
Black coffee's not enough for me, I need a better friend
One pill at the bottom is singing my favorite song
I know I must investigate
I hope that I can sing along

-They Might Be Giants

Piano

It's been a unholy week, with grace notes. The full moon through our front tree this morning, Eleanor like a furry, purring tumor on my chest through the night, the greening garden running off grinning - taunting "you can't catch me!" Beats kneeling in a grim church praying to an absent god. I will sit out in the sun later today.

Moving my fingers on the damaged side, proof of progress. Taking minimal pain meds, half doses at longer intervals, not letting the pain overtake me. This has let me sleep sufficiently. When I was a kid, cough syrup came with codeine, OTC. I remember a flu, and that stuff, and the most lovely cozy sleep. This is very much the same, not drugged up, a soft respite. I know to be cautious.

My training as a scrub is proving worthwhile, getting creative with one, non dexterous hand. I don't know how to do what I need to do, I do know how to approach the problems. I am my own patient in that way.

Dylan is my other hand. And having an on site IT guy is vital.

We can't find Eleanor's hairball treats that we got Sunday. The pitcher we ordered came in at tarjay, picking it up is harder. Getting to the plant sale in May could be difficult if I'm not driving yet. I can't shave Dylan's head. I don't want to cut my long hair, but keeping it tied back is a bit of a bugger. He has no future as a hair stylist.I keep thinking of places I'd like to pick something up, realizing getting there will be a problem. Nail clipping for felines and humans will be fun.

When I hit the floor, apparently I screamed, but after that I only swore with the words shit and bugger, which I'm oddly proud of. Shit is our business, so I always considered it a fair swear at work. And bugger isn't acknowledged as a swear here, but since I know it is, it still helps. Swearing helps pain tolerance.