Color 18/100

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Build platform, for washer dryer which Polynesian friends moving

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

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

Shepherd 17/100

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

Raineth 16/100

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

Hardy 15/100

When not feeling well, the nonessential stuff I drop.

Wearing earrings. Picking up socks. I conserve energy, shunt effort.

Writing so far down the list I don't even remember.

Feed cats. Get to work. Drive carefully. Eat food occasionally.

Hug Dylan. Read a little. Wear clothes to stay warm.


Still dragging my butt around, each day improves a little.

Reservoirs refilling. I've never been strong this way, knocked down,

I tend to take a long time recovering, frustrating, worrying.

And it doesn't take much, a gut bug, a flu,

A sleepless night. I would I were more hardy made.

Ill for several days. Will start again when I recover. Nothing serious, just completely fatiguing. Not to worry.

Freedom 14/100

Old age is not kind to any of our bodies

The trade is for perspective and the possibility of wisdom.

The pain is more tolerable than the ignorance for me.

But then, I once had both pain and ignorance together.

My heart is free, my mind unfettered, soul easy.


That my knees crackle on stairs, shoulders spasm each morning,

Still better than my gut in uproar, migraines pinning me,

Which was my childhood, on top of my father's rage.

To see clear, to be loved, to love so freely

My body can deal, knows how to ignore and cope.

Forgot 13/100

I forgot yesterday, came home tired. In no mood. I

Wanted to sleep. Mess at work. So

Came home, watered. Ate a meal. Not

At all easy. Did not prepare. Which

I usually do. Before bed, prep. But


Wakeful in the wee hours I remembered the project and

Felt neglectful and unfaithful, so I resolved to do better.

Got home so tempted to let it go again.

But faithfulness is important and neglect the worst of sins.

Didn't used to think so, but, it's the worst one.

Sight 12/100

Moby wanted to be out, he seemed more confident today

His one eye, at least, constricted, I think he sees

At least a bit, now. He seemed to feel better.

After thirteen years, we are attuned to his mood, so

Yes, I think the antihypertensive is working. The next step.


Ten days, rechecking blood pressure. We wait and watch him.

He's had some bad luck with health, teeth, murmur, eye,

Paw, gut, skin. Now this. He's lost weight, two years.

Nothing we can't deal with, or him, but very annoying.

We just do what is needful. As with each other.

Pressure 11/100

Blood pressure. Not cataracts or glaucoma. Need to know why.

Visiting vet examined, diagnosed, treated. Gave him meds with meal.

He seemed to feel better immediately. Now stretched out comfortably.

Tech will come back and check his pressure every week,

His vision may return, at least in one eye, soon.




Insulation in progress. Very quiet out there, not too hot.

Will be warm this winter. A pleasant if utilitarian room.

Planning on a chair, so I can read while waiting.

Tomatoes still coming, lots more green on this unassuming plant.

Still very warm, rained enough to make it uncomfortably humid.

Endings 10/100

Confusing day, short but long. Unaccountably tired out by work.

Dylan read A Legacy of Spies by John Le Carre yesterday.

I have Golden Hill by Francis Spufford, one chapter in.

Getting ready to put it down, skipped to the end.


Tired of the mystery. The answer so stunning I smiled.

Now, I'm eager to read it, the sense of inevitability.

Always happier with fiction when I know the ending, reading richly.

Rereading a book much more a pleasure, if well written.

Life rarely offers answers, novels provide satisfaction, reason, meaning, endings.

Maelstrom 9/100

Inside. Pulling myself inside, my own world, in.

Inside my head. Inside my silence. Inside my skin. Inside.

Here, I am fine. Here, I am kind and loved.

In this house this home, this family of us folks.

We are secure in our hearts and souls, in here.


That the storms are external, the world is in strife

Confuses my profound internal balance, after a life of internal

Wrongfootedness. Now I'm finally a gyroscope, watching the world falter.

Watching the chaos, mesmerized by my own balance, raw bones,

No protection, no plan, whirling in the maelstrom of fate.

Rasp 8/100

Raspberries. Perfect, seedy, delightful balm to any tongue. New planted.

Only this spring, and here they are, ripe and ready.

Behind the roma tomato plant that has overwhelmed the fennel.

Likely to take over the poor soil next summer season.

This is fine, they are welcome, be fruitful and multiply.


Moby wanted to visit the back, so I followed him.

City inspector arrived, pleased with windows. I explained my purpose.

Watching near-blind, elderly cat, protecting him from any harm.

Inspector tells me of his elderly cat friend, we bond.

Moby approves of the construction also. Both cats seem to.

Eternity 7/100

Apple slice in almond butter. Sticky rice in lotus leaf.

Milk in a tea cup. Fresh peas from the garden.

Cat in a sunny window. Smoke on the western horizon.

Screen door in a thunderstorm. White caps on the lake.

Music drifting through the darkness. Old house creaking at night.



Soft breathing in my ear. Warm body at my back.

Worry pricking through my sleep. Elastic taut below my arm.

Scratchy grit in my eyes. Spasm gripping my waking legs.

Memories withdrawing into dense torpor. Hair pulling away the dream.

Late light in heated morning. Solid floors floating in eternity.

Immunity 6/100

The solution to pollution is dilution. We cannot be rid of

All our Us vs Them thinking, because it's built

Into our cells, and is usually necessary, evolutionarily advantageous.

The foreign body, the invading virus, will sicken and kill.

The stranger is not kin, is unpredictable, may steal.


These are life saving defenses. Turned off, we are vulnerable.

We have not all learned yet why, or how, to stop.

Left unchecked, they attack healthy tissue, friends, neighbors, humanity.

Racism is that mechanism, overfed on fear, greed, power.

Unaffected by reason, must be flooded, treated, contained, turned around.

Solarium 5/100

Someone painted these bricks. And getting paint off bricks is

Not a reasonable project for amateurs. So, I checked online

Found a video, and much like make-up, with paint

It can be faked. More paint, roll, stipple, blot, highlight.

Well, that* I can do. Old girl gets a makeover!


Very hot, but Porch is fine, not done being insulated

Even so, moderate. Eleanor explores. Moby sits close, not in.

Why? Cats, who can figure 'em? Planning a door flap.

Litter box out there. A way up to windows, sun.

Multi use room. Laundry, toilet, solar. Everyone welcome. A chair.






*A whole year of theater make-up, long long ago.

Change

Windows 4/100

We have windows now. I stand in this space now,

And it is a room, a part of House, secure, solid.

I'm impressed with the craftsmanship, appreciate the work done well.

A worthy project, not cheap. Eager to decorate it well.

Much more than we'd planned, but - feels like a bargain.






Moby casting about, I sat him on the sheepskin chair.

He didn't settle, so I sat him beside me, he took arm.

I got up, he moved down. Eleanor hopped in beside.

They've been there hours. "We voted. We get the chair."

Ok then. Who am I to deny a proper democracy?

Cops 3/100

Things you never want to see in front of your

Home. Panoply of police vehicles, and yellow tape, and cops.

Everyone safe now. Distraught man with a gun, suicidal, running

I was still at work, parked a block away,

Escorted home. Neighborhood on edge. Hot, dusty, anxious.


We have windows in the back porch, enclosed, still bright.

Cats allowed back out there now, have not explored yet.

Yes, I know about the nurse arrested for doing right.

I hold the University Police responsible for not doing their jobs.

The future is female, but not without a hard fight.

Progression 2/100

I wanted to think, or read, but she wanted to

Talk. And talk. I stayed polite, mostly. While wanting to

Tell her to just be quiet, please, stop, I'm not

Answering, adding, encouraging, nothing but barest civil acknowledgement but no.

She needed company, I needed solitude, not a good mix.



Got soil to plant lettuce in the raised bed.

Green leaves in autumn is the hope. We shall see.

Nearly every day, visible progress. A bit more wood here.

A new doohicky there. Evidence of attention and care.

Moby more comfortable with Eleanor lately, his old weak eye obvious.

Blindness 1/100

Hundreds of dime sized tomatoes. Some frozen. Many already eaten

Brought to work, given to neighbors. Some dropped while picking.

Most from just one plant, sprawling, generous, eager. Such pleasure.

Such bounty. A puppy of a plant, eager and happy.

Pouring out everything in one season, one whole rich lifetime.


Moby went out, he's going blind, and misses the step,

Keeps going. Stretches out near the catnip, sunning himself.

Moves to return, mews in his hoarse voice, looks exactly

Like a panic attack, can't focus on my voice, pick

him up bring him in, calm him down. Fine now.

Luggage

Having lost my way writing, I need to be workmanlike. Not avoiding subjects, nor including them. A structure, but not a theme. I must reach back out to the world. Pour out art as my handful of sand in the eyes of fascism.

Dobby Lessons‏ @DouxDux Jun 2

7)Authoritarianism cannot withstand creativity and the love of beauty and the enjoyment of people you know around you, your neighbors&friends.

8) On days I don't have much time and I feel useless, I send a card to a nearby mosque or synagogue. Thank them for being in my community.

8.1) I just write 3-4 sentences that express my gratitude for their mission of peace, and that I am glad they're my fellow Americans.

8.2) It's cheesy and I don't care. They must get so much hate mail. I want them to know they are loved.

And it came to me, 100 words. I've done this, and it's prose that reads vaguely like poetry.

My first entry - though not my first essay, was a

simple list. 100 things about me. Having now lost my

impetus, I am drawn to the idea of a dribble

of words. I stare at nanowrimo with my toddling novel

staring at me with big imploring eyes. I am at

a loss, of words and of focus, though not ideas.

First, to prime the dry pump, lubricate. Today and for

the rest of the month, I will write 100 words

exactly every day. I will write about whatsoever is at

hand. There may be more bad haiku, whinging, work stories.



So, starting later today, for the next 100 days, 100 words a day. Photos at least every other day. Get my mind disciplined again. Maybe distract and entertain you who still have me on your rss feeds... Getting out my hammer, gonna build something. Not sure what.

Hidden

Coming along. Down to the plumbing and electrical that doesn't much show.

The windows await.



Hard week, 4 straight days. Last night, vomiting, for hours. Exhausted and sore today, but feeling better this evening, keeping food down.

Trying to keep pragmatic, doing the job in front of me. Sustaining emotional food, to stay strong.

Spasm

The plumber was supposed to be here too, but there was a water heater emergency, so he'll come later. The framing is done.

Watched the eclipse today, the most impressive way was through the leaves of our tree. Light got odd, birds freaked out, grasshoppers got lost, it came and went and the breeze was cooler for a few minutes.

I was home because the schedule was so small. Instead, I'll be doing my ten hour shifts 4 in a row. Difficult, but then, we could have more shortish days.

Trying to stay strong and calm and rested. Massive apprehension, the small minded hatreds and bubbling violence so ominous. The war is upon us, declared or not. The world spasms.

Frame

The framing continues. To the point that I long to decorate. We've found self-stick vinyl floor tile at .38$ per sq ft, enough to do the whole space, to be covered by colorful children's play area mats and foam tiles (now in the basement.) The yard sale wall coverings ready to go. Planning to faux brick the painted brick so that it looks like... brick, again.

Want this to be a place to occasionally sit, reading a book, until the laundry is done. Not gorgeous, but a pleasant enough place. Not like the concrete, dark, basement.

Doors from the house on feet, on slides, hinged together, as a screen, for the toilet. And fogged windows on that side. But moveable so if I need the space...

Ok, I have this idea in my head. The plans, and contractor, and Dylan, were confused on this. But I think it's more or less sorted now. With some runaround with the City planning. Sorted now. Need a stretch of room for a drying line. Away from dust and pollen, but can hang up some clothes to dry. Or spread out a project. The term "Powder Room" on the plans should have alerted me. As much as en suite and vanity on our initial meeting with 'designer' long ago to get a cost estimate. I do hate those fluffy words.

Got my shift moved away from Monday, and the eclipse, so great, until Wednesday, which means 4 days in a row, ten hour shifts, and glad, but, ugh. Making ready for a pinhole camera set up.


Cats being weird about food, adjusting. Giving them options today, more acceptable. Trying to care for our interspecies relationships. Bad air? Probably.

Boston calls me today, and I so wish I were there, with the tubas and trombones, the bagpipes and resistance.

Restoration

The TV in the staff room was broken this week, a relief. One of us brought in his laptop to stream movies. He started with Sing! I'd half heartedly intended to see it eventually, but after catching a few minutes, I had to see it soon. Got home, Dylan rattled by his day, we watched.

The animation is really good, no smirking. The story a bit thin, but the characters rich, very funny, the songs don't go on too long either. And, it's not sugary. There is a sweetness to it, but enough bitter to keep it interesting. The rat with the wonderful voice is a rat literally and figuratively, he's not redeemed, but his talent is undeniable. The porcupine couple live together and are not married, and nothing is made of this. The female animals have tails, but not busts. Rosita and Gunter are dance partners and friends, but not romantically attracted. Neena is painfully shy, and although she does well once she finally sings on stage, I get the feeling she'll always be happier behind the scenes.




The audition bits are pure humor, how else to describe a snail singing Fly Like the Wind?

Anyway, I found it delightful.

We went to the Craft Lake City festival. Dylan picked up a few witty postcards, so he tells me, it's Mormon images subverted. He explained, but I don't have the references from my childhood. And a print of an original needlepoint by the same artist, "Nevertheless, She Persisted." Dylan quite taken with it, as was I.

The crowd was so diverse, a welcome antidote to the news. Salt Lake is far whiter than Detroit, but there is still a lot of color here. The young hipsters have a distinctive style, but they seem to make it work for them, rather than force themselves into it. Mix of ages as well, although it skewed young. Dylan got to do a little music and VR, I talked with some naturalists. The music didn't interest us, but there was quality. Lots of soap, lots of vintage updated, recycled, reinterpreted, lots of punk esthetic, death made cute, or cute made morbid. We took the bus, so I didn't have to drive. A restorative afternoon.

Progression

More progress. Holes drilled in the foundation for plumbing.



Wood framing begun, and continued over two days.



It's taking shape. They seem to stop by, do a part, show up another day, do the next bit.

As you can see, I made a very small pile out of the half of a large pile they left after they filled and tamped in. There is dirt all over the back garden. Hopefully, it will sustain plants a bit better in time.


I think once it becomes a utility room, we shall still call it The Porch. It's a good name, and it's used to being called that. House seems to be pleased with the much needed upkeep.

Dirt

Lots of dirt moved. Most of it went back in where it came from, the contractor's guys tamped it down well. But about half the pile remained, and getting it hauled away would be an extra cost and who knows when. So, I claimed the dirt, and spadeful, cartful at a time, shifted the pile to the various areas of the back garden that could take it. Mostly beside the fence, where the neighbors' yards are higher and erosion has taken a toll. But my neighbors have enough room to turn around and get their vehicle into their garage again. They've been more than patient. They will be getting a chocolate babka when this is all over.

The work is hot and sweaty. Dylan helped me moving the two slabs of old concrete out of the way. One muddy day when this is all done, they will go back. And one day when the $$ is replenished, we'll get a load of pea gravel and stabilize the mud properly. Until then, well, it's dry and dusty at the moment anyway.

Still a mess out there, which depresses me a bit. I'll deal with it in small amounts, over time. Much as it would be lovely to have someone come in and make it all pretty, it wouldn't be mine then. So, I do what I can and nibble away at the endless tasks. When I do my own work, I get stronger.

I admit, I've been spending too much time on the tweeterverse. Watching the train approaching as we lay tied to the tracks. Holding vigil. This afternoon, it's slowed to a halt, tweeter that is. Although, it may indicate a break in the toxic treason wave we're enduring. Not getting hopes up. Stalled out, I come back to blooger and write. I think I've figured out how to write the novel, started so long ago as nanowrimo. I may start seriously writing again. Soon. It's building up, slowly. Getting The New Yorker is inspiring me. Not that I've read it much, I can't seem to focus that long, but I dip in, and it's there, waiting. Like this site waits for me. I won't stray too much longer, I think.

Yesterday evening, feeling tangled and spiraling, I put on the heavy duster coat, the smell and weight of it comforted me. I've always had a thing about textures and textiles. Not necessarily soft ones, either. Quality though, silk and wool, leather and canvas. This coat is heavy and enveloping, I knew as soon as I saw it, and nearly talked myself out of it. But sometimes, the important things in your life come along, when you least expect them. When you are least prepared to accept them, when it all seems like bad timing and you're NOT ready. When I have shut myself up, not let myself talk myself out of them, they have turned out to be lovely. Some small things, the odd sweater or pair of mittens. Some huge, like Dylan and House. This duster coat was one of those. Moby nearly was for Dylan, but I knew as soon as I saw his photo on the Rescue site that he was OUR cat. Turned out he was Dylan's cat, he nearly talked himself out of Moby.

We hit yard sales this morning early. A fabulous set of cloisonné, bowl and tiny cups, but for $20, I felt it was a find for another lucky searcher. I don't have a place to show it off properly, glad to have seen and held them. And a chat with the current owner. And his black cat, Wanda. But, we got a large mirror in a wood frame there, dust came free! At another, genuine U.S. Postal mail bags, which took Dylan back to his days as the unit postman when we were in Saudi for Gulf War I. Got those, and the Useful Tub and a lovely large teacup that is pleasing to drink tea from. I almost wish I'd gotten the whole set with bowl, but I have no place to put them, and unique in the House is desirable.

Drove to the west side of the valley later in the afternoon heat. Nothing like that concrete, industrial, shabby part of town to suck some of my love of life away. I begin to think maybe full destruction has it's appeal. Then we get back into the greener, residential side, and I want to save it all again. At least from human harm. If the supervolcano gets us, I'm good. I won't even know. Maybe future archeologists will find me with my teamug.