Muntins

We come together...and miracles.



We can’t save everyone, but we save those we can.

Migraineish season, another wobbly Monday, which ran very short. Susan needed to call people off today, offered it to me so I don’t have to have a sick day counting against. I’m fine, hesitant to venture out, disinclined to eat, still getting chores done. More painting of muntins. Toilet flapper gave up, so we got a new one of different design, got it on and working yesterday.Emptied the water salvaged from the AC, cleaned, dishes away. Dealing with elm seed bugs, not dangerous, but they get everywhere.



Other bergamot blooming. Cats in their favorite spots.

Vet came yesterday, Moby maintaining. Labs happening. Vet says he’s completely blind now, but in good body condition. Seems so thin to me. He still gets up on the sideboard to drink from the kettle spout. Still eating well, likes going outside, peeing regularly, if in random places, turds coming out. Proof of life, all that. Stretches across Dylan’s lap for hours.

Windows

I realized I could do this window without using a ladder, from the inside. Making good progress. I’ll scrape the windows once I’m done.

Side

Profile.

Damsel

Damsel fly, Western honey bee.


100F, 36 dewpoint.

Jerryrig

The ipad doesn’t work smoothly with blooger, links and photos require workarounds. That’s fine, eventually everything I do will need to change. My back and now shoulder require adaptations, fudges. The garden is a process, exercises in figuring out what will work, seeing life as it is, not as I want it to be.

Science, at heart. Only magic and religion try to make the universe conform to little human ideals. Life is wild and far too complicated for philosophy. It’s all making it up as we go along.

I sit out by the bergamot, bee balm, to watch the bees. I chose it, planted it, but then it grows and attracts bees who have their own lives and reasons.

There is no plan, it’s all exploration and wonder, misery and failure, redemption and salvage.

Found Do It For Yourself with Mary Bellows, a strange little Canadian DIY show from 1982-3, that I loved. Made Dylan watch an episode, and he could totally see my attraction. I think she is the seed of my eventual love of gardening and fixing things. She’s delightfully inept, and yet capable. I want to send her a fan letter, telling her what she meant, means, to me. The confidence to make a botch and still call it good enough.

Perfection is both impossible and undesirable.

So much fun watching bumblebees on the bee balm.

Bergamot

Got Eleanor’s claws trimmed, which was not a happy. But then she could knead on me, put her paws on my face and get a good long headrub, which is a very happy. So. happy. cat.



Bergamot going nuts.



Another panorama.


HP & I were sad yesterday, because the holiday is on Wednesday, our regular day off. But then, because there are only 4 cases today, we were both offered a call off. We said YES, then didn’t mind when two cases got shifted into our room and we went from being the first room done to being the last out. She’s so easy going anyway, a pleasure to work with.

Rosa is coming this morning to paint more. So, I’m glad to be here.

Didgeridoo

Twenty six years ago, Dylan moved in with me. We took the commuter train up to the Ogden farmer’s market to celebrate. There, because it’s easier to go an hour there than walk further through worse areas to attend the local one. Read and chatted the whole way.

At the market, a woman with a guitar doing a very good version of Riptide, dude rocking out on a didgeridoo*, lots of dogs, the aroma of bbq.

We decided it was Chekhov’s bbq, once smelled, by act III it must be eaten. And, wow. Yum. Brought some home.

We also like trains.

Dealt with the wheat harvest today, straw strewn. Not threshed exactly, but all the heads in a bucket for the next day.

Moby leaving us nearly half the couch.





*video to come

Pissah

So, Moby is an old guy with a casual attitude toward where he takes a piss. Any rug left on the bathroom floor was clearly an invitation as long as he’s lived with us. Not new behaviour, but newly persistent, since the kidney troubles. He used this spot in front of this mirror in the dining room several times, the mirror helped me spot it before I stepped in the puddle. So, I put a rug I’ve been putting down in the laundry that he also likes to piss on. And now, it’s his new favorite place to sit, and not pee on.

Why?

Who knows. It’s a cat thing, I wouldn’t understand.

Brewing a migraine through the night. Short work day, got there, they had enough people, so as I deteriorated she sent me home. With a barf bag.



Thankful I didn’t need it in the car on the way home.


Not a severe migraine, but the best drug I have means I really can’t drive or work safely. Should be fine by afternoon.

Dry, hot winds yesterday. 4% relative humidity and 97F, 30 mph gusts. One other person at work got a migraine last night,but got it under control. Another has a sinus issue. I dread the fireworks coming, there will be fires. It’ll be a wicked pissah.

Kenny

S/he knows I’ll bring a meal. Still won’t get close, but is clearly curious. A neighborhood cat, likely knows how to catch mice. Feral or semi-feral. Young. Seems generally healthy. Dylan would like to get cat into a home situation. I’m less inclined, but I mostly agree. Humane Society here is problematic, I don’t entirely trust them do do what’s best. And it’s a pretty good area for a stray to get fed & find shelter on their own terms.


Calling cat Kenny, after Bill Kenny of The Ink Spots.

Update. Best Friends has a feral capture, neuter, release program. Left them a message, hoping this will work.

Float

She’s there, lurking.

Bergamot swaying.




Two varieties.



So, taking the day slowly.

Friends over last night, watched Murder of Quality, ate well, a bit of sake, smart conversation. Letting roots stay deep, floating leaves on top.

Slow Sunday, Eleanor on harness. In the garden.

Family

“C’mon little one!”

“So cute!”

“Sheesh.”

Blooming

Bergamot, rose, Fire Chalice, sunflower, bergamot.

For scale, behind Turkish Veronica, also hummingbird trumpet, trio, bee balm.



Onion amid poppies.

Gruff

Got through the week, dogged by a mood of irritation and exhaustion. A recent commenter who overstepped her welcome. The legal order about (non) weeds. Emission inspection done, car tax paid. Monday stuck at work past 1900.

Said commenter is one whose blog I checked out, and was not interested in, but not enough to object to. The comments were slightly off. Until one where I was told how to do something, in a contemptuous tone and without properly reading. I first replied, but then deleted my reply, and reported the comment as spam. Troll might have been a more accurate word, but not far off. And what do I get, a response calling me “sick” for doing that rather than using the moderation feature. So, yeah spam troll, since adding further insult works so well. Why do some people think they can barge in and say anything? Who is this person? I certainly never invited that one in.

Nevermind. Another quarter turn as of 0400 this morning. A pause, pushing off again. Feeling better this afternoon. Got my evaluation, and I’m valuable to my manager and fellow staff, but more - to my patients. Abrasive at times, and I try to be kinder to my annoying cow orkers, and sometimes fail.

So, my gruffness and snarling always show. But, mostly, I’m ok.

This week, well, we’ll see.

Koko

Our communicative gorilla Koko died. She will be missed.

Hire

A woman via a local network came and painted where I could not reach without a ladder that I should not get up upon. I paced and fretted, checked on her far too often. Took Moby out. Read. Made catsoup.

And I thought about how difficult it is for me to accept help. Letting others do my work.

And I thought about how much I once dreamed of hiring a housekeeper, back in apartment days. Having enough money to afford it, anyway. But ultimately realizing I took pride in doing my own work. Today, I just think having anyone else touch our stuff would drive me mad, as well.

I would never make a boss, or supervisor, of any sort.

Our painter did a fine job, will be back another day to finish, she’s lovely, and it’s a bit weird.

Wary

Sheaves

First!

The city issue of weeds vs wheat seems to be settled. I’ll thresh and winnow in a few weeks. I do keep humming Bringing in the Sheaves. I’ll plant some in back, some to eat in cereal, some for sprouts this winter for cats. Lemon thyme planted.

The tomatoes are looking healthy. I’ve eaten raspberries from the back garden*. It rained quite a bit yesterday and the night before, with hail. So rain barrels are replenished a bit. During my 12+ hour day, knowing the garden would be rained upon eased my mind.§




Moby basked on the porch a long time. Sunny, but not so hot day.

*Probably a euphemism for something.

§And missed Dylan.Who got me lunch for today and fed me last night.

Harvest

Got a certified letter from the city demanding I cut down ‘noxious weeds’ - which is irritating. I’m sure it’s because other properties nearby have had long, neglected weedy verges, saw my tall wheat, and decided to be vindictive.

So, I stewed a little, did a little research, and harvested the wheat. Borrowed my neighbor’s week whacker, and cut down the rest. I’ll call on Monday about the sunflowers and cornflowers and mustard, the last of which is shorter than the 18” limit on the height on non-lawn plants. The essential trouble is that these are what I’m growing to keep down the weeds. I also have the hummingbird trumpet, creeping type, that is looking good, and will hopefully spread and return next year. I found out about woolly thyme too late to establish it this year, other thymes and mints have died in that depleated soil and harsh sun.





The roses bloom.

Dog

Had Eleanor out on her lead. Big friendly dog I know comes by, not on a leash. Usually not a problem. Owner nice, but a little clueless. Dog gets past me, and spots Eleanor. Both startled, Eleanor BOLTS. Thankfully, the harness works, but it’s a bit like hanging onto a mad kite in a strong gale. Dog scurries off, and I get a very fluffy tailed cat inside quickly. No harm, everyone is fine, but not happy.

Lovely Dog, but not under good control, and very friendly!!!

Seek

Our cats seek us out, to be near us. This is gratifying. They know this is home, and are good with us.

Larkspur

Or, more likely...

Delphiniums Are Pretty Tough - One of the Hardiest Perennials in Northern Utah

Aquilegia

GZ, I think you are correct. Those flowers have a columbine shape. I’ve tried to grow other columbine in front, to no avail. And this just happens without my intention. Proving my point.

Aquilegia


A somewhat uncompromising image, but true.

Relinquish

Cut up most of the rest of the scrap wood from the project. Not the long grain pine boards, too many nails to use the power saw, and even I’m not up to using a hand saw on that. Maybe someone will want it yet. Tried to put it in the garage rafters, but it’s too long. The scrap is in the trash bin, about half of what’s left. The city no longer picks up this sort of thing, so we’ve had to shift for ourselves. It’s been a long, slow process, but I’m getting used to those. Patience takes time.




As well as some actual success in the back. Finally.



The chives went in the first year, and the lone tomato plant is a volunteer from who knows when. I’d never have thought of fennel or raspberries, and sunflowers were only for the front along the sidewalk. Life takes our plans, and turns them into something better, so long as we let go of them. The purple ones? Unknown, likely from the wildflower mix. The California poppies were planted in front, but these may be from the mix as well.

It’s good to dig and suggest, then step back and allow.

Floating

Smiling not a natural trait of mine, but it’s coming along.

"Pay attention to the gentle ones, the ones who can hold your gaze with no discomfort, the ones who smile to themselves while sitting alone in a coffeeshop, the ones who walk as if floating. Take them in and marvel at them. Simply marvel. It takes an extraordinary person to carry themselves as if they do not live in hell."
- D. Bunyavong

There is no hell, save the one we carry with us.

Movement

Sand

The laptop died yesterday. Many passwords were lost, or at least temporarily misplaced. The iPad mini simply can’t do what I need it to. Dylan was happy to get a new laptop, but it seemed like expensive overkill, when all I need is a keyboard and a way to deal with photos. Other tasks are also easier there. It gets complicated. I figured a cheap wireless keyboard that we already had, and a full size (not the pro) iPad would be sufficient. Occasionally borrowing Dylan’s desktop. And I get a decent discount at my University’s bookstore, as well as the U credit union card.

Unfortunately the password situation is worsening as the set up continues. All on Dylan’s shoulders, as IT guy. They are hiding as fast as he finds them, which is worrisome. Any fun he has in setting up a new device has long evaporated.

The irony of this post after the last one is not lost on me. The icy breath of loss is on the back of my neck. How ephemeral and fragile this all is.

I feel like we live on a knife edge stuck in sand.

Different

Is there a word to describe how I feel? When a couple, who look Cambodian/Laotian/Hmong pick a bit of the mustard, and I assure the embarrassed woman that they are welcome, and here's some mint and onions and a rose too, and I tell them to come back, and they do? And I feel overwhelmed and sad and glad they get some comfort from my front garden?

What is that emotion, because my heart is in my throat, and I want to help more but also defend their dignity and I want the world to be different, and I admire their ingenuity and resourcefulness?

Claws

"Let's sit in bed and read," says Dylan.

"Oh, good, you're lying down," says Eleanor.



"You need your claws trimmed," says I.

Time

Time scales are different. Time is not easily defined, anyway.

My old friend used to call it "Queer time", a vague estimation, later than you think. There was "Indian Time" which meant time to the precision of One Day. Meant as slurs, both still had a basis in reality. Dylan and I tend to be early for everything, being essentially pessimists. His, our, friends tend to be flaky optimists, who arrive late consistently. I used to wear a watch, stopped a couple of years ago because wrist watches were getting expensive and hard to find, and largely redundant.

My own sense of time is pretty strong, except when I'm working in the garden. My stomach tends to keep me on time, by being hungry.

I replied to a handyperson on a local network for painting help. She responded very quickly, with an apology for not getting back sooner. I would be happy with anytime this month, this day is not slow.

As I get older, I get more tolerant of slowness, in anticipation of my own slowing. It's fine to wait. A day is a fine measurement of time. I look forward to a day when I can lose track of weeks or months. Time speeds up so much, now. I lose track, and see little point in hurrying, outside of work.

Time curves and weaves and ducks away from me, and I can already tell this will happen more and more. May be why grandparents deal better with young grandchildren than young parents can. At least sometimes.

Every day is a smaller and smaller proportion of my life. My long childhood days still heavy on my soul. Still trying to balance this teeter-totter existence, slowly shifting the fulcrum, more and more slowly. Xenon's Paradoxical equation.

Another friend's* parent has died. We get to see our friends thereby. Dylan beginning to understand my childhood attending funerals of great aunts and uncles, and so getting to know my cousins.


*Second degree friend, close to our friends Mike and Matt, who married (sisters) R and C - whose mother died.

Souls

We think we've found someone to do the windows next year. As in, restore and paint. Get them to open. We shall see.

Until then, I'm doing stabilization and painting.



I don't do tidy, but it'll help a bit.

Unbound

"My loyalties will not be bound by national borders, or confined in time by one nation's history, or limited in the spiritual dimension by one language and culture. I pledge my allegiance to the damned human race, and my everlasting love to the green hills of Earth, and my intimations of glory to the singing stars, to the very end of space and time."
- Edward Abbey
Confessions of a Barbarian

Via Whiskey River.

Wildflowers, sunflowers, the back yard. Don't know why it took me so long to try sunflowers along the back side fence, seems obvious in retrospect. Sunflowers grow in gutters. Ah, well, every day a new adventure. The new raspberries from Dave* and Kathy, are alive. The older planting much more vigorous. The volunteer tomato plant (likely a Better Boy) is growing up with a sunflower support plant. We shall see. In the front, the greenery coming up is not the fennel I planted, but the Mexico midget tomatoes that grew there last year, en mass. Not sure quite what to do, although thinning seems crucial.



As far as I can reach without a ladder, that I'm not getting up on.

Ladders are especially dangerous for the over 50s, and hiring someone is cheaper than a hospitalization. We search for someone to paint.




Graduation day, for my University and all the high schools around. Traffic bad, and I'm off work.