Grasses

Every day this May may well have rain. So far, certainly. Not usual.


Standing out with Eleanor, noting a variety of grasses. Two sorts planted intentionally, the rest on their own initiative.




The Turkish Veronica still flowering, spreading well.



Buckwheat, young strawberry, lettuce, leeks.




Watched a woman walk by with a rose petal dangling from her mouth. Another guy standing in front of our house for a good ten minutes, reading a paper. Yeah, not a bad bet to assume iris was plucked by someone with mental health issues.



Really, who does this?

Cage

Creative fantasy was never my strong point, weirdly, since I loved reading it. And the therappy for ptsd is all about that, imagining a different situation to halt the whirly thoughts. Giving myself permission to fictionalize reality, especially once I've exhausted the problem solving.

After waking before 0400, unable to quiet the endless explanations and potential strategies, I finally saw, imagined, manager taken away* in handcuffs.

What did she do? Cops tell me, "Ongoing investigation, we can't talk about it. Don't worry, we got this." One of them winks at me, comfortingly.

That strange little scene has kept me from skidding into the wall all day. Still in a rather dark and subdued mood, D thinks my unaccustomed four straight days at work is part of that. Difficulty forming words, listlessly avoiding work, abandoning what tasks I manage to begin.

But then the book came, and I'm reading Ngaio March's Clutch of Constables - although it took several tries before I could stick through a sentence.

The black irises were snapped off sometime last night. All the buds as well. Very sad, I'm rationalizing that they were taken by a kid, or a local looney. Removing malice makes it easier for me to deal with. If it was a damn thief, even then, they have to live with their own sorry selves, and I'll plant more in the fall, and next year put up a cage. Got a cage in the works for the catnip. If I could get some established, it would withstand feline druggies, but right now it's chewed to bits. I certainly don't mind dealing for the local cats, but if they kill the plant, it's just gone, dude.

Monday holiday a comfort. The rest of next week will likely be very full. Soon, the new residents will appear, and our times will stretch out soon after.




*I'd imagined her murdered before that, which didn't help somehow. Blame that scenario on reading too many murder mysteries lately.

Sermon

Response to a sermon, four letters. Took me a while to figure out the answer was not YAWN. Which made the most sense to me.

Sent for The Juniper Tree and Other Tales from Grimm, illustrated by Maurice Sendak, arrived today. Reading a couple, but such tales are not meant to make a meal of. They are concentrated little pills, poems in horror, not to be taken lightly.

Anxiety very high this afternoon, for various reasons. The urge to hide is strong, and I want it all to just go away. All I can do to stay active and functional. That I still can, however much effort, means I'll be ok. Just doesn't feel like it right now.

Moby sat on me several times, even when Eleanor came up to sniff noses, he stayed cool and stayed on me. She did not bop him on the head, which is also an improvement.

Farmgal generously stopped by, going far out of her way on another errand, to bring eggs last evening. She says my garden is very peaceful and zen. From her, this is especially treasured praise.

Late evening sun pouring gold through the windows.

Working four days in a row, which at ten hours per can be exhausting. But with a slack schedule, so the first two days were short, the next two may be as well. Planning ahead with lunches helps.

Ate eggs for dinner, then made a small batch of crepes with strawberry preserves for dessert. Just realized I'd forgotten the salt, but neither of us missed it.


YIELDS
7 crepes
UNITS
US
1 cup flour
1 1⁄2cups milk
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
1⁄4teaspoon salt
DIRECTIONS

Combine flour, milk, eggs, and oil.
Add salt.
Heat a lightly greased 6 inch skillet; remove from heat.
Spoon in 2 Tbsp batter; lift and tilt skillet to spread evenly.
Return to heat; brown on one side only.
To remove, invert pan over paper toweling.

Glory

Alright

Rain, rain, rain. Gorgeous, welcome rain. Garden is just delighted. Drought tolerant as it is, still glad of rain. Iris starting to unfurl. Everything tall and happy. I love this garden, all the different layers and textures. A delight to behold.

Felt like some chocolate babka last evening, which I take as an excellent sign. Not quite at full flow yet, but substantially better. Going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.

Whipping

Waved D off this morning, and noticed the poppy had shed the spiky outer coat and bloomed overnight.



Not much changed for the iris, worth the update though.

Still woozy and repelling chocolate, so taking it gently.

Determined to do the trivia event tomorrow.

Wind whipping up, hoping for rain.

Queasy

I love the leeks, my favorite of the greenery growing. The yellow onions are flowering now as well, and a good 4' tall. The iris wrapped in black purple is starting to unfurl.

The eye exercises are working, at least short term. Once I do a set, it is appreciably easier to focus for a while, so I have high hopes. Noticed how difficult it is for me to follow a panning shot on screen, and I wonder if this is because of my eye's weakness. The right eye scans, the left shudders along, and my stomach churns. Maybe this is the reason for my lifelong tendency to motion sickness. There's a subject for study.

Still queasy, although I can eat if I'm moderate. The thought of chocolate is sickening, which is a huge symptom for me. Yes, I sound like I'm in early pregnancy, which is not the case*, but certainly due to some of the same chemicals.






*Don't even think of asking me if I'm sure. Sarcasm will follow.

Digested

Fascinating thread over at IO9 about books once loved, rendered unreadable a second time, mostly due to reader maturity.

I don't post comments over there, the process is too cumbersome, mostly because it's a remarkably well moderated board. I'd comment too rarely to bother, but respect them because it works so well. So, here. This is all in response to that, so you may want to read there first.

LOTR is the strongest resonance. I can't imagine reading any of them ever again. Bloated and bulky, as a student I swallowed it all whole, proud of devouring such a massive tome. Even then, I'm sure I skipped a lot of the extended battles and meals. A basecoat for all further fantasy, and probably a bit of my interest in linguistics. A courageous act of reading.

Hitchhikers Guide I have not read again in many years, although I'm sure I could hear the radio program gladly. It would be like Citizen Kane and The Light Fantastic, retroactively derivative. Changed the landscape, so now instead of seeming groundbreaking it feels dated. Well, Adams would have moved along with the times if he'd lived, and may have been a little gleeful that the books his fans most wanted him to write again became passe. Just the sort of ironic twist he might well enjoy.

And, yes, the whole Xanth series. I have to preface this heavily. I read them between terms in nursing school, along with Robert Aspirin's Myth series. I don't know if I was really paying attention as I read them, rather like watching trashy tv when too tired to think. I have to be specifically reminded of elements, to wit: the misogyny and pedophilia, to which I respond, "Ummm... yeah, I guess that was weird." Much like when a dream is creepy and illogical, but only seems so when repeated in full light and awakeness. I certainly never re-read any of them.

As for Aspirin... dunno. Maybe I should give him a go on a particularly tiring week sometime.

I read Ender's Game as an adult and detested it. Never got through Catcher in the Rye, and I'm suspicious of any adult who still likes Salinger. Not condemnation, mind, just wary. I doubt I could get through Mists of Avalon ever again, either.

Why do we love stuff as kids and young adults that are so repellant later? Obviously it has to be some sort of processing of ideas and not seeing the larger implications. The stories feed us, but what kind of junk did we eat? Did it mean something different to us, then? Is it akin to how I could relish cotton candy, for the play of it, the texture? Wouldn't touch the stuff today, the smell is bad enough. Did we just read into it what we needed to hear? Did the poison pass through, the sexual politics going over our heads? Lacking receptors for it, the garbage simply became compost?


I saw Harold and Maud at the DIA theater when I was perhaps 20. Fell utterly and hopelessly in love with it. For me, it was all about learning to be brave, take risks, step out into my life. When I saw it again many years later, it was still good, but the messages that seemed to glow with golden light at me the first time were effaced. I still found it charming, the music wonderful, Bud Cort and Ruth Gordon still endearing, but that was all. Like a spell to be said once, the magic now long faded away.

Leafy

The tree in leaf, the verge greening up nicely, light all golden.

Still not eating much, persistent nausea, largely hormonal I think. Worried about work, waking in the wee hours with hamsterwheeling thoughts. Too sluggish with sleep to effectively use the therappy. I have to plan ahead tonight, where to put my mind, what good safe place to put myself in. I'll go read my posts from that time, remember what I need to dislodge the whirling anxiety.

Part of the problem is that the manager is not amenable to logic, she's really not that bright. Back to dealing with my father's angry stupidity.

Have to deal with my id card not working, and signing up for health care stuff and writing up my plan for the write-up and need to call hr about having someone there for the followup. This is all part of why my stomach hurts. Not feeling up to any of it, but it must all be done, and very soon.

Got an email about this. I so want to go. All I have to do is be out of work on time on Friday. The library and the museum across the plaza from them in the old library building are having this.



May 2013. May 2014.

Mallow

¿Dónde está los gatos?



Moby sat on the bag on the table for most of one day.

He's been very much a lap cat, especially with D. Until he gets D off the chair, and takes it himself. He can be a very persistent cat.

We had the second copper recycle party here on Friday. Not as well attended, insufficient food, but entertaining. I had a bit more beer than was good for me, but critically - on insufficient food. Not drunk, not at all, but my stomach objected with extreme prejudice. What's more, I'm still feeling ill and dizzy today. Age, or last swipe from the virus that laid us both so low? Not the best way to end a vacation, but there it is.

Got out gently to the well rained upon garden. Rained a solid day yesterday, not that I much noticed with my head down and Eleanor sticking to me.

Poppy, and the delicate green of California Poppies, not quite blooming.



Intentional mint, and mallow with ladybug. Mallow supposed to be a weed, but it fills in gaps and doesn't bother me, so I leave it.



This stuff, though...



I'd pulled out one like this over a week ago, left it to die on the sidewalk. Noticed it after a rainstorm, the leaves wilted, but the flower sat up and blooming. I now think of it as the Undead Weed! (DahDahDDUMM!)

Ok, a western salsify.


Not exactly a fabulous vacation, but a needed week for recuperation. And the house is clean, which is nice.

Quad

Looking at my socks.
And they could use some bleaching.
Soil in the fibers.

Awareness of cross,
Slightly overlapping view,
Disputable sights.

Planned conversation
Spinning, weaving, repeating
Tired explanations.

Weeding smallest sprouts,
Vigilance, attentiveness,
Persistence all 'round.

Quack

Attended our neighborhood counsel meeting last evening, walked over. VERY well attended, in part because the state legislative session ended between the last meeting and this one, I suspect. We were a bit late, because we'd rather lost track of time, being on vacation. It's not dramatic, but it's very local, good to have a voice.

This week was necessary, getting a lot done, including a lot of "nothing." Very important to do nothing, especially on vacation. Reset to one's own time and balance. The cats seem to enjoy having us around, even when they are sleeping by us. We've been clearing the congestion in several senses. After nearly an inch of rain over the past 24 hours, the garden is joyful.




Mentioned my oldest brother's enchantment with other-than-rational systems. This morning one of those resonances that so often appear. Quackery lives. Hokum is cheaper, more accessible, and doesn't involve having to listen to someone so much smarter that worked so much harder than you.



My brother sold amway, or tried to, I don't think he ever made much income through it. He believed in the power of pyramids. He believed he'd trained himself to be psychic when driving, so he knew what other drivers would do. He thought he could read people amazingly well. Nearly twelve years older than me, he never let go of the idea that he should guide me and tell me what to think. He relished argument, even... especially when he knew it bothered me. (He is a right-wing-nut-job. Of course he is.) He saw it as teaching me to fight. For many years, he urged me to have children, it would do me good! He was Air Force, spent much of it as a recruiter. Married at 21 to a 18 year old bride, two daughters whose lives are chaotic, as far as I can tell.

I'll probably never see him again, and that's fine. I had a lifetime's worth of him long ago. There is no animosity, only distaste. But, he was all honest obnoxiousness, and odd, for which I give him credit. Credulous and pushy, he always cared, strove to perfection, no matter that he was going east on a one way westbound street. He adored flim-flam, even as he thought it was cutting edge science. I see a lot of myself in him, the intensity, the urge to make it all better and overwhelm objections.

I have a soft spot for crack-pot theories and strange phenomenon, as well. I don't believe it, probably because I just am not a believer, but I'm attracted to it. I have a different flavor of eccentricity, but I'm wobbling around strange foci, too.

We were both damaged, he got an earlier version of his father, as a boy, plus the more intense pre-vat2 catholicism. Doesn't believe he was harmed by any of it, as he limps sideways clutching a Carlos Castaneda book. Well, who am I do say?


Finding the image of Pooh above, the reality of his son's life tinges it with regret. It's important not just to do unto others what you would have them do unto you, but to give other's what they would want, as you would wish to be given what you want. Yet, Pooh, as independent from Milne, as his own bear, does the right thing. I wonder if Milne could see this, or if Pooh simply escaped without him noticing.

Walleye

Storm blew in about eight last evening, soaking the ground again. Lovely week to have off, so we can watch the skies. Drove up the canyon for breakfast, then further up to watch the black clouds boiling up and pouring over into ravines and canyons.

Not quite what we'd planned, but it fed our souls, and meant we didn't have to drive so far, and be far from home while still unwell.


(This is a mirror image.)

This morning, up for my eye exam. I struggled and gave contradictory reports to the optician. "Is this better or is this better?"


"Um, I don't know. That one?"

"It's the other one that you rated best earlier!"

She tried several different tactics, even a different machine, and had the Doc see me before dilating my pupils, thinking it was perhaps an eye muscle problem. He came in, asked a couple of questions - "Is it painful?"

"Not really. Achy at the end of a day trying to focus."

"Were you cross-eyed as a child?"

"No, nothing like that."

He left, she came back in and did drops and the glaucoma test, still baffled, assuring me that he was not as worried as she was, so that's generally good.

The wait for my eyes to calm, then he looks in, shines lights, has me focus on a chart while I looked at his ear. Then the "ah, yes, as I figured" nod.

My left eye has the opposite of cross-eye. Tends to look out, and I struggle to get it moving in enough to focus in. Sort of wall-eyed. He used professional words, Exophoria with Convergence Insufficiency. Probably had it as a kid, and it went unnoticed. And there are exercises, Pencil Push-ups, proven to strengthen the muscles.

You know when someone hits the truth of a problem, and it just feels right? Yeah, like the ptsd diagnosis, a big old ah-HA! That's it, that's the ticket! My prescription has not changed, I don't need new glasses, it's a muscular problem.

Best, "Most eye exercises are bogus, but this one has actual studies and seems to work most of the time. There was an old book from about about eye exercises, and it's bunk."

I mentioned that I knew about it from my brother, who also believed in the power of pyramids and sold Amway. He thought that was pretty funny. He mentioned adding prismatic correction, or surgery, but since my hand went up at exercises, he figured we'd start there, with a chuckle.

"I am all over this." I assured him.

Don't have to get new glasses. No disease process, a weakness that can be improved. I'm there. Should see improvement in a few months.

The stuff I learn, wow.

Eyes still a bit blurry and sensitive, but it's raining again, which is helpful.

Sins

Straight Dope addressed the question of the seven deadly sins.

And hey, post structure!

So, starting with pride. The Pride that Goeth before a Fall. The pride of awards and time in grade that blinds one to error and humanity. The pride that says, "I know what I'm doing, don't question me!" The pride that says, "Don't talk to ME like THAT!" The pride that says, "I'm in charge, I can do whatever I want." The pride that doesn't question, dulls the wits with overconfidence, assumption of special status and infallibility. The pride that silences a co-pilot right before the jet flies into a mountain. The pride that keeps a surgeon from doing proper Time-Outs. The pride that a prominent politician assumes protects him when his pants are down and he's had a snootful.

Not the honest pride in one's earned accomplishment, which is really a kind of joy.

Envy that turns us green, the envy that ruins relationships out of an unearned distrust by the beloved. The envy that causes us to feel we deserve what someone else has, to the point of plotting to take it away. It's jealously and fear of losing what is not ours to lose. Envy that makes us feel entitled to cheat and steal. Envy that poisons us, blind to our own riches. Envy that sees everyone else's garden as greener, even if plastic and painted.

Not the envy that says, "Ah, so wonderful for you, I wish it for myself as well."

Anger is the worst, because it fills us with righteousness, even when we are most wrong, so we feel Vindicated and Elated. Sears the hearts of shouted-at children, erodes all trust in leaders, fosters resentment in the victims. Anger is a heroin for the loud and self appointed moralists who are often most guilty of the evils they accuse others of. Anger as a choice is addictive and destructive.

Only in measured doses, against malice and injustice, can it ever be useful. A potent medication for rare occasions.

Sloth as of those who get themselves so worked up about a job, they use more energy avoiding it than if they simply did the work. A self defeating vice, that soils every relationship it takes a dump on. Half assed and slap dashed, a job undone out of inattention. Often, this is a matter of training, no one expecting, rewarding it.

Sloth too often the label on people with real issues of depression, illness, or a simple mismatch with the work at hand. A fault of the teacher, unable to engage and expect and inspire.

Avarice as greed. Entitlement, to whatever is at hand, lacking empathy. Again, empathy another skill to be taught early, and so often neglected. Avarice is seeing no problem with getting more money than one can spend in a lifetime, while other's struggle to feed and house themselves, and still wanting more tax breaks.

Avarice too often applied to everyone else, when the most guilty feel no shame.

Gluttony as lack of self control. As alcoholism, as unaddressed self indulgence, as defensiveness in the face of criticism, of hoarding. Often born out of early lack, reinforced by anxiety.

Gluttony another of those vices thrown at others, often for obesity. Which is epidemic and the reasons for it unclear, to say the least.

Lust as the justification of sexual assault and oppression. Lust as defense against poor self control and appropriate boundaries toward other's bodies. Lust as advertising and lust as shallow lack of accountability.

Not the plain lust as a force of love and shared sexual pleasure.

Go, and sin no more.

Puttering

Kept the window closed last night to keep the cat-traffic down enough to sleep. Wonderful, wonderful sleep.

Puttering around this morning, came across a cracked story, and this paragraph jumped out at me.

I spent the rest of each day with nurses. Nurses administered my medicines, helped me to the bathroom, brought in my food, changed my IV bags, X-rayed me with a portable machine that was super cool-looking, and basically waited on me hand and foot. To make it even more impressive, after I got out of the ICU and went to the oncology (cancer treatment) building, all of those duties were served by one nurse alone, who was nine months pregnant. She worked a 10-hour day, every day, until she finally started going into labor, which happened the day before I was discharged. Her reasoning for working such long hours while so far along in her pregnancy was, "If I'm here already, I won't have to go anywhere when it's time." So, yeah, I'm super glad I had that lady taking care of me.

And this is what all the tv hospital dramas get all wrong. Doctors are there all the time only in fiction.

Once a day, a doctor would come into my room, surrounded by a small flock of doclings, and ask me how I was feeling. They would tell me that I was doing well and then leave.

Yup. The nurses are the ones reporting any problems, watching over patients and making adjustments (that they have to page the surgeon/doctor to get orders for.) I know, because I'm the one who relays the messages in the OR between them.

And the thing about pregnant nurses? Oh, I don't think I've ever heard a heavily pregnant nurse NOT make a comment like that.

Eleanor has her chin on my shin, and all is bliss.

Wonderlands

I don't need a t-shirt, but I'd love a poster of this. (Via neatorama.)

So, um, put it on the sideboard.

Mud

The mud room is no longer living up to it's name this afternoon, after a lot of clearing and scrubbing. Swept half the porch and cleared away the bucket of salt and various accumulations from winter. Weeded again this morning, we apparently got a good overnight rain. Found and destroyed a few snails.

The catnip and marigolds are planted, with spikes now around the 'nip, and deadline* around the 'golds. I don't mind if the local cats have a leaf or two, but they are greedy junkies who will destroy the whole plant. As for snails, found a bunch, well two but I'm extrapolating, among the lemon balm, so I squirted in more deadline to kill the little creatures.



The mad gardener. The virus leaving it's marks on my face, cold sore on my lip. But such is the state of me, best to shrug and grin. We'd sort of planned going out to Dinosaur on Sunday, staying overnight. But when I still wasn't feeling well Friday morning, we cancelled the reservations. When D had a day of relapse yesterday, we were so glad we called it. He's doing better today, but had a rough night. This one was a bother, and won't bugger off.

Left the window open last night, Eleanor spent the night in the window. Or jumping on me from the sill, or from me to the sill, but happily on watch throughout.


Putting out recycle, heard my name. Neighbor O called to me to meet another neighbor. Lovely Hatian/Bostonian new to town, long friendly conversation over the fence, which cheered me considerably. Nice to be one oddball among many in this neighborhood. Got to give Spike a good scritching this morning, as he and Mike were finishing one of their walks. I took both cats out, separately, today. And now it is raining and thundering.

Yeah, this is a good vacation.




*Chelated iron sulfate gel. Not entirely safe, but relatively so, and the only thing that works. Even my organic farmer friend admits she uses it at home. I used to think snails were cute. Not no more. Little bastards.

Why I no longer enjoy movies.

Chives

Got up feeling more or less back to Well. At least, no long coughing fits last night, nor much this morning. I should clean the kitchen, and I may do so a little later. Instead, I turned the compost pile, and incorporated the coffee grounds that have been sitting in the garage all winter and the grass clippings left for me by neighbor Mike (of Spike, the dog, and Mike.)



Sifted out a substantial amount of lovely loose compost. This was all to put in the tomatoes.



The pease and chives continue to thrive. I mulched generously with crushed eggshells, added the climbing cages, and encouraged them to rise up joyously.



The parsley is going nuts this year. The hen&chickens are looking rather excellent as well.




Got some more catnip for the porch, as well as a few marigolds. And a small thyme plant to jumpstart the verge growth. The seeds are so far very shy, while the old weeds are trying to make themselves at home, despite me kicking them out repeatedly. Buckwheat is arriving nicely, but not as thickly as I'd hoped. It is very early, yet, despite how it feels. Not even really time to plant, a week early. Not that I worry about frost this week.

I did get the dishes running. Cleaned half the counter. Serious house cleaning to start tomorrow.

TV

I grew up with constant tv. My mother watched soaps and game shows. Both watched the news and an evening travel show, then the prime time. Columbo and The Waltons, Night Gallery and The Ed Sullivan Show, Carol Burnette. I watched the Saturday cartoons, all the Wonderful World of Disney, and Jacques Cousteau, the Wild Kingdom of Omaha, In Search Of. Charlie Brown specials, and other holiday cartoons. I watched tv while I did my homework. Talked with my friend on the phone while watching Sonny & Cher, then the Donny & Marie show.

In a way, it was all distraction, nothing to take too seriously. That Girl and Mary Tyler Moore, Dick Van Dyke, Lucille Ball, the cultural background. Barney Miller, Welcome Back Kotter, Good Times, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeanie, all the half hour sitcoms. Enjoyable at the time, useful for reference, but not important. Not long term. If reminded, I probably watched about anything on before what the BBC calls the watershed. Nothing racy, until I was allowed to stay up on Saturday for SNL. My parents were very strict about what I could and could not watch. At Aunt Betty & Uncle Norman's, I was left to 'entertain myself' as they played cards. I watched The Avengers there. Once, I saw part of Rosemary's Baby - broadcast version, until my mother noticed and reamed me out for watching it, that I "should know better than that!" Well, I didn't, didn't even know what it was supposed to be, and didn't see anything unsavory, seemed rather dull, actually.

A fair amount of BBC reruns on the CBC, Windsor being a smaller market without much local content. The Beachcombers and the odd Dr. Who.

D has provided us with The Rockford Files, and has gotten way into Columbo. Seeing them with adult eyes is a very different experience. Twilight Zone felt terrifying to me as a kid, merely interesting later on. The list goes on, but becomes tiresome.

Movies were another story entirely. Only taken to G rated films, in the 70s, meant Sun Films goofball 'documentaries' about UFOs and such. Of course, whatever Disney movies came out, Apple Dumpling Gang holds the distinction of being the first movie I ever fell asleep in, and the first one I remember realizing was just bad.

MST3K introduced me to a world of bad movies, mocking all the way. For which I am ever grateful.

I'm glad tv is fading as a broadcast medium. I like being able to pick and choose, decide what time I want to sit and watch, stop and start to our convenience.Not missing half of a series for uncounted years, or forever. I saw most of A Jewel in the Crown, but missed several key points, for decades. Access to stories from around the world, with subtitles. I like never again having to browse a video store, and guessing, to pay for a movie that will likely suck.

And, since we don't have tv as such, I never just turn on the tube to 'see what's on' anymore. I read, check blogs or pick up a book. This really is better, for me anyway.

Watched Stripped, a doc about comic strips. In the end, newspapers may die, but comic strips already have a new home online. Those who see the future will do fine. Those who hold to the old forms, and miss the substance, miss the point. It's not about paper, it never was.

In the end, it is all about the stories we tell. Maybe that is why so many of those tv shows are faded and a bit embarrassing, none of the stories resonated, none truly spoke to me, not as a child. The one that did, All in the Family, elicited only nightmares, and I never watched it, beyond the odd moment between channels quickly changed. That one hit just inside the front door. Archie Bunker was a mild and more intelligent version of my father. The wrong kind of echoes.


The old shows, the older re-runs, are the context of my unsafe childhood. I revisit them only warily. And all in black & white.

My parents only got a color tv after I was in college.

I consider this a small but vital blessing. Seeing the old stuff in color changes the tone.

Scales

Went to bed late, for us. Wary of triggering coughing, reluctant to succumb to the fits. Eventually gave in, and it wasn't as bad. Managed to sleep, took no drugs, woke up somewhat improved. Then spent the next hour coughing up the remainder of some of the stickiest phlegm either of us can ever remember from this strain of whatever it was. Took to the yard sale circuit, got a sari and kitchen scale.



The latter was still in it's packaging, which to me screams "unwanted wedding gift." We don't have a specific use in mind, but we like measuring things as a matter of interest.

All in all, though, rich in numbers but not so much in quality. Well, it's early, no matter how mild the weather. Our Saturday entertainment. D's head started throbbing, so we tidied up and came home.

Moby enjoys the mild spring, sits in the drive, or naps under the bush. Does not see why we can't just leave him there. "Just go inside yourself, leave me alone!" He hisses and complains, but we insist, and can pick him up. So he drags himself back in, with bad grace, rolling his eyes at us the whole time. Well, he's an old guy, and we indulge his crankiness.

I took the car to get some beer at the state store, then stopped at the grocery a block away for some catchicken.† Came home, put stuff away, started the kettle, realized I didn't have the beer. Not in the fridge, couldn't remember where I'd put it at all. Went out to the garage, no car. Huh. Oh

Jay is here. Left a peanut to eat-in. Just hanging out not three feet from me. So I sit still and watch. Talk to him. He watches and fluffs. A companionable silence. He knows me for an old friend. I tell him "no more peanuts today, since you only hide them if I put out more, I find them stashed around the garden, forgotten." He seems ok with this, and seems to simply enjoy the company, listening to my tapping, wondering what it means, perhaps. He preens and lets me admire him. Finally flitting off to other business.

A robin* pair chased him off, earlier. Not for the peanuts, I think. Perhaps they are making a nest. Still, great dogfight. Whoosh. Zip. Careen!


Found this How Old Do I Look site, not sure I agree with the assessment, but I can hardly complain. Personally, I think I look my age. But, at least I don't look older than that, which is good.




On the other hand, a photo from about eight years ago,



Not sure this is terribly reliable. I'm 53, for the sake of reference.

†The canned chicken, for the cats. They get good kibble, and once every day or so, they share a small can of this, instead of wet catfood. Seems to go over well, and is about the same price, or less. And has no fillers at all.

*American Robin, not closely related.

Vacation

When I came home, my vacation began. A week away, to live by our own rhythms.

The appeal to my write-up has been denied. I figured I had to make the attempt. Perhaps starting a report trail for her ill treated staff in the future, if not for me. So be it. As I sat out in the mild spring air, Moby somewhere at the end of the tether, the garden teeming around me, my mind found a way around.

I will thank her for the opportunity to approach all my teammates and tell them how much I value and appreciate, as well as trust, them. And I am deeply touched by how much they expressed their value of me, and support, to be outright told they have my back, to know they are on my side. The advantage of being completely true.

Whether I say any of this out loud is another thing, but I have it in my heart.

Now, that is worth something, when you think about it/That is worth some money.


Next Friday, I'm having the recycle party here. We are looking forward to it.

Pretty

Not, it must be admitted, the prettiest of flowers. Not something to show up in a wedding bouquet.

But, green onion flowers certainly have character and a sort of weird charm. The bee appreciates their beauty.



As someone who could be similarly described, I feel the kinship.



Show offs.



But, awww, so delightful to the eye. And they have a right to their more generally noticed beauty as well.

Addendum: For those of you who have not read Pratchett yet, IO9 has a handy guide with descriptions.

Aptitude

Forty years ago, I had no idea what I could be, what to do for a living. Counselors had interest and aptitude tests that were useless. I was interested in everything, as a good generalist student. People had opinions, but the idea of a woman with a career was still a bit new to be considered as a serious question.

I knew I didn't want to work fast food. Nor wind up in a factory like my father, nor sewing as my mother'd done until marriage. Other than that, I had little more than vague fantasy.

Kids today I imagine feel much the same, differing in the detail. Something to do with the internet is probably as far as they get, but how real will that be in 20 years? What comes next, and will it bear any relationship to now?

What I did get was a solid academic education, rigorous homework and tests. One excellent class "Growth as a Person"* that taught me how to make decisions. I learned to study, work hard, and stand by my choices. Having ballet as a kid taught me a kind of grace and comfort in my body, with the mindset to endure discomfort and pain. Learned it again in the military. Never could manage a musical instrument, but I sang in the choir, which helps fluency.

When D started back to college, he credited his Critical Thinking class for a great deal of his skill dealing with research. He played guitar, and wooed me. Still plays and composes for the sheer joy. As maker fairs appeared, we both wished we could have had access to building skills early on. For the sake of problem solving and perseverance and confidence to make mistakes. We are struggling with basic handyman work.

One of my surgeons was taught to tie flies as a kid, challenged by his father to do them faster and faster. Those long practiced movements serve him well tying suture, his hands blur, and it's astonishingly assured.

All this is about as good a training for an unseeable future as possible. Since it's less what we learn than how we approach learning. One form will convert to another.





*I shit you not. I didn't want to take it, but wound up needing it for credits. And it really turned into a great lesson.

Onions

Onion garden on the north, flowering. Clover and lavender largely on the south. Lettuces in mini-skirts in the raised bed.

I remember asking if there were green flowers, and getting evasive and bored answers. The green onion flowers look to be my answer, although they are also white among the green. And I remember being stymied by the "go look it up" response, since I didn't know HOW. Library books for kids didn't have indexes, and how would you look up "green flowers" in an encyclopedia?

Still wouldn't know how to look that up in the books I had available at the time.

Out with Moby, who got to chase a butterfly.

Static

Took Eleanor out this morning for the salad bar. Took her a while to decide, but soon enough figured out what she needed. Ate an impressive amount of grass, then low-crawled to me to go back in. The traffic at this time of morning a bit more than she can take for long.

Turned the compost pile, and it's looking good. I'll sift and spread it right before putting in the tomatoes, which will be next week. For now, just getting the fresh stuff down where it will degrade.

Not up to much more today. Head booming, still chipping away at the deep congestion. Flushing with saline, drugs and tea. Reading online easier, if only because it comes in tiny bites. A novel sits waiting, but I can't seem to swallow it, nor follow the plot in such small sips.

Some coughing through the night, a long session this morning, but productive, and settled now. Still silent, to rest my throat, mouthing words to D as needed, signing or writing.

When I was a kid, I often considered which sense I could most do without. How would it feel to be blind, how could I cope if deaf? I don't remember wondering about losing my voice, perhaps since I already felt I didn't have one. Eventually decided losing my sense of smell would be least annoying, although I've since reconsidered that opinion. A reasonable choice for a city child assaulted by stenches. Anosmia interferes with taste, a whole host of emotional cues come through odor and aroma. Bad enough when I have a cold. Lost sensation of any kind divorces us from our world, a grief, damage.

Loss of sight would be more than stumbling around the house, loss of connection not only through books, but these days, the whole tech world is largely visual. My own vision issues make this a real issue, no romantic story attached.

My current muteness is largely voluntary, a step toward healing an irritated airway, temporary. The loss of my voice, so long fought for, is difficult. To be silenced again, a sort of ache. Intensely frustrating. Dr. H did the Time-outs yesterday when I could no longer be clear nor loud. By the time I left, incomprehensible.

We need all the sensory apparatus we have, we need all we can muster to communicate. Hard enough to listen at the best of times, hard enough to be understood. But sometimes, forcing the hand, demanding the eye, means we must actually look and struggle for comprehension. We think we know, but we don't. We make best guesses and sigh.

Principle

"And the question is, do you as a society force them to do that out of principle?"

Yes. Yes, we do. If the principle is to serve people regardless of their ethnicity, or religion, or gender, then, yes. If your religion says you have to treat anyone with genetics that express as dark skin as second class, then don't go into any public service business. If you can't get your head around the fact that sexual orientation is any more a moral choice than if we "prefer" to be male or female, then no, you don't get to refuse them service.

I didn't make a moral choice to be a woman. Decided long before I was born. And if a culture has an issue with that, then the government has a responsibility to enforce a principle of justice and equality on them. Other gender variations are the same.

And no one needs to "promote" heterosexual marriage. It's the assumption and norm, and needs no more forcing. If it's falling apart, it's about more than a law that allows any other group to benefit from the same status.

Marriage fell apart because it was no longer the only choice for women, no longer the enforced state for anyone wanting any place in society. Maybe, only half of people need to be coupled in this way, and orientation and gender identification has nothing to do with this. If this causes societal disruption, then it needs to be turned over and changed. Ending slavery causes turmoil, does this mean we should defend it because of the bother?

By their fruits shall you know them.

Do onto others as you would have them do unto you.

Love one another, be kind to one another.

Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.


Compassion, really, really the way through. Compassion for the closed minded does not mean letting them continue to be cruel.

Article over at Cracked, Reasons Gay Marriage IS Traditional Marriage.

Larynx

So much coughing and congestion has finally taken away my voice. Wasn't feeling that bad at work, not great, but nowhere near ill enough to call in. Tired, but not exhausted. I'd been sucking on cough drops and taking mucous thinners, irrigated sinuses last night. But as the morning wore on, my raspy voice became harder and harder to produce, until I started signing and writing notes, finally down to wheezes and squeaks. So, when S came to relieve me, I reluctantly accepted. I could no longer function, since I couldn't be heard.

So, I'm home, still coughing, still stuffy, and now on a complete vow of silence until Thursday morning.

This is a nasty virus we are all dealing with. My surgeon today is just getting over his bout with it. So, this morning when a number of critical problems came up, he refrained from venting his frustration at his fellow sufferer, or at the float scrub who came in today to help. He bit on a towel to express himself, but otherwise kept it to himself. I hear he lost it in front of the charge nurse, but even then kept it from being a personal attack. He is one of our more volatile surgeons. Although those of us who have worked with him a long time also know he has a good heart, and much of the noise is because he is passionate about the care he gives his patients.

One of the notes that I kept for reuse was "STOP MAKING ME TALK!"

Sending D messages via chat.

Windows are open, air is warm and summery.

Staring

Hey, look over there! It's Frank Sinatra,
Sitting in a chair.
And he's blowing
Perfect. Smoke. Rings.
Up into the air. And he's singing.
Smoke, makes a staircase, for you
To descend.
So rare.


Ah desire! So random So rare
And everytime I see those smoke rings
I think you're there.
Que es mas macho staircase or smoke rings?



- Laurie Anderson, Smoke Rings

All Things Linguistic joined in on a Sign meme.

I especially like mine.
Pisces: Your star sign should be spelt ghoti.


Aries: Proctology, or at least the ER taking foreign objects out of rectums.

Taurus: Have you considered large animal veterinary nursing?

Gemini: Psych nursing, for the irony of being split personality, and having the insane care for same.

Cancer: Well, obviously oncology.

Leo: Speech therapy.

Virgo: GYN.

Libra: Bariatric.

Scorpio: Toxicology.

Sagittarius: Acupuncture.
Capricorn:

Aquarius: Like Saussure, you understand the arbitrariness of signs.

Pisces: Your star sign should be spelt ghoti.