Soured

I realized yesterday, late in the day, after that asshat comment, that it was my father's birthday. He would have been 92. And I realized that I am at peace with him. Not happy, but resigned and sad, rather than angry or even resentful. He would not have spread his malice to neighbors nor strangers, he would have made the lame, corny, but encouraging joke. He simply should never have been anyone's father, it pressed him too hard, stripped away his fragile emotional defenses, taxed his meager intellect. He would have been a hard and steady worker, a helpful neighbor, even - by the standards of his day, an adequate husband. As a father, he was a one armed paper hanger with a bad attitude.

My mother is the one, though, to paper over, call everything 'love' and keep the peace. Peace at any price. Mollify the abusers, don't let them see they bother her (meaning me), forget unpleasantness done to others, or by her. Perhaps if I hadn't heard all her complaints, her petty gossip, even of those she most claimed to love, her anger at her husband, and then been recipient of the same behavior from her, and denying me any complaint against my father, I could let her in. Instead, I know not to trust her sweet words, for the bitter ones are right beneath. An unexamined and unacknowledged resentment of everyone around her.

We met with a local renovation company, a free consult, to see if doing work on the shabby back porch is possible, and how much we'd have to budget for. (This is years off, if ever, fyi. Still, gotta dream.) The woman there rolled over my ideas, telling me I didn't want it to be "weird." (Actually, I do.) That I had to consider "resale value." (Um, after I'm dead, I really don't care if a realtor has trouble selling the house because of a mild oddity.) She used words like "master bedroom" and "en suite" and lots of "cute" - oh, and getting "a cheap sink from Ikeah!" (blegh) ignoring my emphasis on practical, functional and that I trust my own taste in color and 'finishes.' We garnered good information, but it was so covered in frills and bows, and I felt so discounted. As my mother discounted my taste and preferences, mocking my solutions to problems with you should know betters.

The weird idea? A laundry/bathroom, with plants, lots of light in the morning. Weird because the entry is through the spare bedroom. (Spare bathroom through the spare bedroom is bad?) She's obviously never toured the variety of apartments in Boston, or of the lower rent variety. Toilet, utility sink, washer/dryer up from the basement, and one day (pleaseplease) an ofuro tub. Glass brick (or acrylic brick) wall. She especially thought that was a terrible idea, the glass brick. When we got home, D pulled up a program to diagram this. We will need a contractor, structural engineer, plumbing, electrical, heating. If we ever manage to save enough for this, we have a sort of plan.

She kept adding a vanity, and a partition around the toilet. Why a partition when the whole space is a bathroom? Just because there is a washer and dryer in there as well? I didn't ask for a vanity at all. I want this kind of simple and practical.



And this, one day.



And a cheaper version of this.



And elevating these.



But probably something better than this.




If not quite this.



Yup, all very white. But with hanging plants and golden morning light, a space that needs no further decoration.

Too cold to dig today, most likely. Nicely nippy, with winds, so I have to clean indoors.

Dug

SNOW! Ok, not much, but we are very glad of anything at all.

Later, I got out and dug. Up to 55 gallons of weeds out.



Which was little too much, but D was sympathetic. He got himself a sandwich for lunch, after checking with me. I told him, "I'm not hungry, I'm having fun, and I don't want to stop." He nodded, and let me to it. The child in me is grateful, the one who was never allowed to keep playing if an adult decided it was time.

Most people going by say a simple 'hi', or exclaim at the amount of work. Young men occasionally ask if I want any help. Some joke I need come do their garden when I'm done. All are meant to be friendly, and however trite the humor, it's good natured and encouraging.

Until the asshole who manages the apartment at the corner. The one who called the cops on the backyard concert before sunset, who told me off for once stepping foot in the open parking lot for the apartment - six months before. Since then, I have avoided seeing him even when he's in front of me. Today he says "You know, that is CITY property."

I respond with a grunted "uh huh."

He walks off muttering a mocking "uh huh" at me.

Let him call the cops, see how far he gets. The city doesn't care about people taking care of the verge, even raised beds are allowed. Checked the city site, there is nothing about not tending the verge. I really tried not to let his malice spoil my joy, but he did manage to sour it a little.

I found a tiny ring with three dull stones.

Cheap

Second Wednesday in a row I wound up at work. They requested I switch my shift because today only had three cases, and I was needed to cover Wednesday instead because Cow-orker reinjured her knee.

Today, woke feeling ill, not sick, but worn, achy, head buzzing, sinuses unhappy, hormonal and cranky. Part of me wanting to get out and dig, but the rest of me vetoing the idea strongly. Took a hot bath with epsom salts, read the Imogen Quy book D brought home from the library, hunkered. I do this, sometimes. Needing recharge. It's a known February state of mind. Not actual physical ailment, but a need to go soft and still.

We went out later to shop for groceries. Little exchange with the checker about the price of a tomato. I said I figured the price of produce was random, and since we were going to buy it anyway, why quibble? He laughed, I shrugged.

It's true, though, I don't worry much about the price of food. We get good stuff, with just the two of us, we focus on what will get eaten. We try not to buy more than we will use, try not to waste. I work with some women who have professional husbands, so two good incomes, they talk about vacations I would never consider affordable, house renovations, they have two cars, attend concerts regularly. And when I bring in a $6 meal from Trader Joe's, they are aghast I spend so much on one meal, when I could get a massive amount of food from Wincostcomart for just a little more. I nod and keep eating.

We reckon food as a price per amount-actually-eaten expense.

My mother bought cheap food. I understand where she was coming from, she didn't get milk very often as a kid, they ate bread with shortening and brown sugar on top as a treat. While not starving as a child, it was a matter of barely enough, and she clearly did not have great nutrition. So she made sure we were "filled up", usually with flour and sugar, desserts. Plain solid food, chicken, hamburger, tinned salmon patties on Friday, with potatoes and canned corn. Fresh vegetables and fruits were a rarity - too expensive. She knew to the penny what groceries cost, and disparaged (only in my hearing) how much Aunt Alma & Uncle Milton spent on food. More than she did to feed five! And don't even get her going on how much restaurants cost.

I still struggle to eat enough fresh fruits and vegetables, not wanting to waste any, I often buy less than I should, and would like to, eat. Frozen produce helps. And it's not like we are buying luxury food, no caviar nor exotic gold covered chocolate, no truffles nor huge thick steaks. Just, better raw materials. Not the cheapest, although often the simplest. I don't know if we do it particularly well, but we do it consciously.

Gold

Golden afternoon,
soothing, softening edges
until tightness sighs.

Lists

Many, many errands this morning, since we both have the holiday off. Everything but government institutions and banks are open, so we got stuff done. Ate at a Chinese restaurant that serves mild, but reliable food. We'd not gone there for a long time, passing near today we both wanted their soup. Found it the same as always, nothing notable, but good. Surprizing thing, we made a list, and got everything done. Shocking.



Moby rather noir.


Only dug once today, but I'm up to 40 gallons now. I measure it this way, as I stop when I fill my 5 gallon bucket (well tamped down) and go rest for a while. A way to pace myself. Got it squared around. I'd like to clear to the curb, but if I only get this far, it's a fair season's work.

Freshly

Further progress, at 35 gallons of weeds out, four marbles found, water meter uncovered, cat got to piss in freshly turned dirt twice, and sit on the water meter cover. Frame for newer raised bed roughly screwed together.

Still dry, still warm, still somewhat envious of my cousin's snow nightmare in northeastern MA. I'd gladly take half, even 75%, if there were any way to do it. As would the skiers here.



When both cats sit in the kitchen and stare at me, I know what is needed. Gooshy foods.



A different cat on a glass ceiling.



And a cartoon.

Marbles

Compare to May of last year.



Many passing by have suggested using a tiller. Well, that would requiring renting one, obtaining safety shoes, and risking digging in the nasty weeds that they may root again. Sadly, I think the digging is the only way for me. Took on the driveway edge. Whatever those weeds are, they are serious and tenacious.

At least I am finding my marbles. Three on the left in just the past week. The rest from earlier diggings here.

Circled

Thank you Lucy. Something wonderful about getting home after a long hard day, to a soft purple gift on the table. A lovely circular scarf, or given my icy ears, a sort of hat. We shall see, if it ever gets cold here again.

We made it to the market this morning, to little effect. Early lunch at Red Iguana, took us a while to realize they were setting up for V day lunch, got in under the wire, before the fuss began. Many years ago, D and a couple of his friends and I went to a favorite Vietnamese restaurant (now gone) on a random midweek. We were sure it would be slow, and couldn't figure out why they were so crowded. Once seated, the waitress handed me a rose.

Huh.

It still took us all several minutes to look around and realize all the women were being given roses, and it was mostly couples... oh. Several more of the guys arrived, and Rachelle was given a rose as well. Yup, mid-February, Valentines, and they were easily, gladly seating a table of seven or eight on a crowded evening.

Five more gallons of weeds out today, making a total of 20, and I'm about half way for this part of the project. Found two marbles, one green, one blue. So far. With Monday off, I should be able to finish the digging, maybe start on the frame, put buckwheat around the periphery, lay down the scarlet flax. Got the fish emulsion on the back garden. I think that will just be pease and tomatoes this year, and whatever parsley and chives, potatoes or strawberries, come up from last year. And the existing raised bed in front shall be new strawberries. Maybe more herbs, mints. Verge raised bed, with sand amendment, will be california poppies. Iris and allium bulbs went in last fall.

Gallons

Over the weekend, I began the dig on the verge. Found a lot more weediness than I expected.



Cleared around the paving stones, which harbored many more roots. It's a whole matted network of thick weeds with tap roots. Tough and persistent.

Today, I got through more.



Took out ten gallons of the stuff (well tamped down), of which this is but the smallest of spriglings. The woodchips seemed not to be a bother but a bonanza for them. I have buckwheat waiting for me, planning on putting it down either Monday, or the last week of February.

Meeting this morning that I was required to attend. At 0700. Not bad, really, everyone just trying to work together better between Pre-Intra-Post op areas, and all really trying to do our best. Lots of laughter and real problem solving. Still, by the time I stopped for groceries and got home, I felt like a nap. Instead, I went out for seeds. They'd moved, and although I had the right address, there was no obvious signage, I just figured I'd made a mistake, found the OLD place, which was of course not open, and after a home-despot stop, (I found California Poppies and Scarlet Flax) it was 10, and time to start lunch. I dug five gallons of weeds out first, then started lunch. Then another five after, with raking and sweeping.

Rough day at work, I accidentally pinched a patient, not aware of it until the nurse who gave me lunch found the injury, under the drapes. Felt terrible, as well I should. Talked with the surgeon, who told me "shit happens" and about his first surgical mistake, and a week of sleepless nights. At my request, he conveyed my apologies to the patient, and the offer that I would gladly do the same in person. He rather pooh-poohed, but came back later to say the pinch was minor, pinking up fine, would at worst bruise, and the family just wanted me to stop crying, did not need a further apology. Well, of course I cried more then.

Once I start crying, it's hard to stop, and I'll be thin membraned the rest of the day. The only way to deal with it is to avoid sympathy, focus on work, and ask for jokes. Cried again when I told D when I got home. Tearing up writing this. I'm supposed to be the one preventing extraneous injury!

Anesthesiologist reminded me that "Every knob, every feature on that anesthesia machine is the response to someone who died." Sometimes it's difficult, impossible, to know we are doing something potentially dangerous, if it only happens under specific circumstances. I've done that bit of positioning hundreds of times, in what I thought was exactly the same way, without any issue. Now, I will add an extra step to make sure everything is where it belongs.

Wanted alcohol very badly last night, but a promise is a promise. The dry spell is not over yet.


Digging in the dirt helped.

Soft

Another day in May. 62°F,17°C. Moby was not to be denied, out for extended periods three times. Polite greetings to Dog Spike, even rolling on his back in front of Dog's nose. Hissed when Spike sniffed too close, but it was just complaint, not serious. LOTS of people and dogs passing by.

In doors, both cats in an extended game of Chase throughout the day. Some batting about who got in which open window.

General Inspection of Garden.



"Coming along, I have high expectations for this year."

Fourth summer, and it's time for the weedy verge. A bit of digging explains how bad it is, deep, tough and thorough network of roots for these spiky, burr forming creatures. Clearing it will take a good while. But if I don't do it right, they will retake the ground very quickly. The soil looks good and dark, just in need of loosening.



The raised bed is ready to assemble. I have to remember how much I've done with my own two hands, each year a little more progress. The Daunting Hedge, the Invading Ivy, the clay baked hard in summer, snails and earwigs, tree removal, all just what it takes. Finding out what likes to grow, planning buckwheat, because it is native here, drought tolerant, and pushes out weeds. I keep trying to get hairy vetch, but it's always out of stock when I look. California poppies, scarlet flax, statice if I can find any, parsley, lettuce, more strawberries and of course chilis and tomatoes.

Dig while the ground is soft.

Murmurations

I prefer it without sound.

Via Futility Closet.

Contrast

Last two days have been full at work, which is good after several weeks of low census. Yesterday looked to be a very long day, but we wound up finishing every case right on time, much to our surprize. We were all saying to each other, "I really thought we'd be here until 7 or 8 tonight!" I'd brought enough lunch for a top-up, which meant I was prepared for a late finish. Ate at 1030, then at 1500, and mostly skipped dinner.

The schedule did not look promising in the morning, the kind with surgeons switching rooms, usually means more a list of cases to be done than anything certain, with numerous re-shiftings in the afternoon. I had three surgeons with four cases that all took completely different positioners, knee, shoulder, knee, shoulder. Which made it fun for the processing folks, having to turn over sets all day. Dr. T's main room was arguably worst, since he had one case requiring two different positions. R figured out a way to do it with considerably less difficulty.


But we worked it all, as set down, with minimal gaps, and enough time for complicated set-ups. The difference between what something looks like on paper and how it actually plays out, is usually much different.


Weird to come home in the evening, in warm windy weather in February. I'm clumsy and easily frustrated this morning.

Procrastinator

Most of the time, I am not a procrastinator*. I generally do what needs to be done, at least once I start. My school work was done early, with only the rare bobble or miscalculation. Certainly by the time I was in nursing school, everything was done asap, lest it all fall on top of me at the end. I never crammed for tests, simply keeping up as I worked along. The housework gets left a bit, but when I do a real clean up, it's a matter of a few hours, never days or weeks of catch-up. If I leave a task, I know what I'm doing, and it's part of the plan.

Certainly my work reinforces this. I gather everything I need for the day, for the case, at the beginning. Any head-start on clean-up is utilized utterly. If I take the second-to-last of an item, I make sure it gets replenished. I chart quickly and early on. This means I can either idle the rest of the case, or be available when everything changes and I need to open a new mass of stuff.

When we moved, I packed with great planning and far ahead.

This is part of why we are always early to any event. Is there a word for the opposite of a procrastinator? We are that. We know, and when we inevitably show up early for a party, we dig in and help set up, or get out of the way and read a book.

But when it comes to mail, physical mail of any sort, this all fails me. Even when there was only snail mail, and I enjoyed writing letters, I would write a bit, then never finish. I'd consider sending the letter, but so much had changed, it had to be completely re-written, so I'd write a bit, and the cycle would repeat. Then I couldn't find the stamp. Or the address. An envelope. If all that got finished, I'd forget to mail it for a long while.

Wasn't so much a problem when I was away in the military, there were no distractions, nothing else to do. Although, even then, many more letters were started than were ever sent. This is why I see email as such a blessing in my life. No definite page length, nothing physical to gather, no need to find a post-box. Right up there with digital photography, for many of the same essential reasons.

Perhaps the combination of creative task and physical job doesn't sit in the same places in my brain. Like why computer printers are always difficult, too many nodes of potential breakage. Thanks to D, I finally managed, after anywhere from two months to three years' delay, to send off three packages. There was no reason whatsoever for it to have felt so difficult, there really wasn't.

Statcounter tells me I got a visitor from Marigot, which I then had to look up. If it's you, welcome!


We attended our neighborhood council this evening, very large turnout. We live in an area with great diversity, and significant poverty. And some folks who are trying to do right by all of us. Yup, this is home.


*

Wrong

We live on 500 East, which is a moderately busy through street, not a main thoroughfare. Gets a fair amount of traffic during the rush hours. Where we live, we are between two one way streets going opposite directions, leading to/from freeway on/off ramps about eight blocks away. So, 600 South, in the evening, towards us, is three to four lanes of heavily used surface street, and tends to run a bit speedy. On the other side, 500 South, heads to the freeway, and is better controlled, less fast, police headquarters are at 200 East, and goes both ways at 500 East and up. At 600 South, it goes both ways at 600 East and up.



There have been a number of crashes at 600 South by drivers either cheating around the single block (maybe half block from their driveway) to run the wrong way, then turn right on 500 East. I was watching as just this happened while I waited to make the turn into our driveway

Or just go the wrong damn way out of reckless stupidity. Well, and run the red light, that they in all fairness couldn't see, because the light doesn't face that way because why would it?

I was sitting by the window this morning, with Moby on my lap, watching a van do a u-turn in the street. Then get over to make a right turn into oncoming traffic on 600 South, indicators flashing, not noticing the three cars in the immediate lane coming toward him(her), nor the No Right Turn sign, nor the big One Way signs. Took a good minute or so for them, edging forward trying to turn right, to realize the problem, then do another U-turn from the far right lane and head off north.

Here, more cat photos to make me feel better about life.

Lieu

Happy Groundhog Day. Six more weeks of winter. Here, apparently, in lieu of winter in January. No snow since Christmas is just ridiculous.

Bowl

I work with sports people. The arthroscopic knee and shoulder surgeons are considered (I'm not making this up) Sports Surgeons. Well, they do deal with a lot of sports injuries, but hardly exclusively. They also attend games as the teams doctors, to assess and wrap limb injuries. Which is all a long way to go to say, I'm surrounded by people who care about college and pro team sports.

Having worked with the very religious (LDS) and very political (republican conservative), I can only say that when the subject of 'The Game!' comes up, I encourage it. What game? you may well ask. Whatever game, says I. I will politely pretend to listen to any discussion of players and their perils, because although they are of no interest to me, none of it offends me. I can nod and smile and agree without a relevant thought in my head. I've been known to say, "Hey, did you see 'The Game!'?" There is always a game.

D's father and brothers would have The Game on when we visited on holidays with (american) Football playing, or golf, or basketball, and D would mind, but I figured, better than his father reading scripture aloud. The tv is out of their living room now, so that hasn't happened in at least ten years or more.

We did join in while the Red Sox won the world series the first year we were in Boston. Baseball is the one pro sport I can enjoy, and in that place, at that time, hard not to be caught up in the excitement. I still don't really know most of the rules of that game, even though I enjoy watching it live. I love watching the world cup, beautiful and comical, no rules needed to appreciate. Caring about who wins or loses escapes my understanding. Which means I miss the social aspects of superbowel. And struggle with crosswords, since I can't remember names, aside from Ott and Orr. (Wait, one of those does hockey.)



I like the athleticism, the movement, but the appeal of competition escapes me. I can enjoy it as I would a dance, for the spectacular moments of what humans are capable of.





No doubt we'll catch some of the Puppy Bowl.

I do hope Seattle wins, since that's the prevailing opinion as of Friday at work. Can live without the whining and wingeing if they lose.


Oh, and D found this, the Key and Peele Superbowl Special.