Mugs

 

There is a reddit sub called muglife.  Had to share the photos I've posted there, here. 

This past week has been about a story that is not mine to tell.  Dylan is the center, of his concern and mine.  The odds are on his side, but it still sucks. Another visit, more results, a possible additional procedure, in a couple of weeks. He's doing ok-ish. 

I have the various medical people at work supporting me, and doing it in a way I understand and appreciate. 

Gravitas

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

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

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

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

And later, wrote it all up in a note. 

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

 Just finished reading an amazing series of essays on Sparta. 

Bugrit

 It's been quite the week.  Dylan got the best of worst news, and there is another surgery in his near future. I told him that our tradition is broken bones, and to stop it.  I also spent last night with ideas for how to bandage an ear pinna that won't make him crazy. And this morning thought about TNR cats who get an ear clipped to identify them as such. 

He's being all brave and I'm working the problems, and we are both making jokes, because this is how we cope. I've also been leaking tears and having episodes of diarrhea. At least getting the time off work will be easy for both of us. And we have good insurance. 

 Bugrit millennium hand an' shrimp

Stare

 After a really interesting discussion with a friend at work, I began to think about the parish church of my childhood.  I disliked to abhorred mass, and took comfort wherever I could. Imagined swinging on the pendulum lights so high on the vaulted ceiling, the singing, the candles, the incense. Joined the choir, became an altar server, and a lector, just to avoid death by boredom. Mass was punishment, a chore, and I never went after I had a choice. 

The 'art' was no comfort at all.  It's not as clear in this image, but the queen of heaven always seemed to be rather critical and contemptuous, with her harsh stare. 

 

She's gone now, the church demolished this year.  There hadn't been a service there since 2017, due to dwindling parishioners. I hope the bricks got repurposed. 

It's not the worst religious art, all in all. At my grandmother's funeral, as I sat beside my father, and saw for the only time the church of his childhood, I realized it could have been much, much worse. I have not found an image of that church - in part because I have only the vaguest idea of which one it was. Sort of where, but no luck searching.  Maybe for the best. 

The church attached to my grade school had a mosaic, which seems not so bad at all. Colors are strong and clear, and it's not excessively gory.

High School parish church was much larger.  The main altar that I can find an image for is... well, looking at it now I'd say downright goofy. But I remember a lot of side art, more than the main one. And that was at least variety. 

I've come up with the theory that maybe 20-30% of people are believers, they need no proof, and even reject it, in preference to belief. They want gods, monarchs and other authoritarian systems to feel safe, whether or not they are the ruler. Another 30-40% don't much care either way, and are content to go along to get along. The remainder really want freedom, and live in a spirit of inquiry and tolerance, although they have no comprehension of mindset of the believers. 

Amazing we get anything done, really. 

Outstanding

 So, got my electronic review that I had to acknowledge and sign, with the rating "outstanding."  That's ok, right? 

It's been quite a year. I spent a big chunk of yesterday sending information to the new Fellows and working out the surgery schedules of my shoulder surgeons.  Then answering the new Foot & Ankle Fellow who seemed to be having difficulty with reading. Twice he emailed back asking the question I answered in my original email. So I copy/pasted the relevant information right under his question, from the body of the missive below. 

Doing a lot more organizing, setting up protocols for myself to keep better track of who is asking for what. Especially since I'm also getting a new shoulder attending surgeon, who is likely to have yet another set of preferences. This is where my experience of them in the OR comes in handy, I have a better idea what questions to ask, and ask again, and double check....

They can be a slippery bunch, but that is my job - to herd cats. 

Oh, and I have started this year's bunch of mandatory training modules. 

And I still don't really have enough to do to fill 40 hours a week, most of the time.  But I do have to be there to respond to alerts and answer questions and calls. I'm still learning, but the path is not as steep. It's better to keep some margin, for when there is a crisis and I need to respond thoroughly. Better not to be so stretched that I can't respond to a sudden rush. Being efficient so that I can glide.

I'm physically and emotionally in a better place than a year ago, oh so much improved. Coming down with Covid in April/May put me back a bit, but I've still gained ground.  My back is still an issue, it always will be, but it's stabilized. 

Maybe, maybe it'll be ok. 

Bangs

 

Waft

The future, unwritten, sends back wafting scents of what might be, what cannot be, what will be, all swirled in drifting smoke. The past burning up, all the fortune telling bones destroyed, altered to fit, justifying and explaining away discrepancies and false doom and false hopes in the same wild gusts. 

We do not know the future. We do not really know the past. Our memories as reliable as our precognition. And yet we live as if they were writ in stone that will never erode or become magma or plasma in a new star. 

Face the past, remember the future, knowing we are floating on oceans of changing realities.  Hold to those we love, treat those around us with gentle gratitude, work with care, because this is all we can ever really know. Float comfortably in uncertainty and paradox. 

Zeppo walked between Dylan and I this morning. Then he rubbed his face on my foot, hopped up to the chair beside me and accepted petting for a long time. He's been doing this a bit more often, more consistently. Everything with this cat is incremental, the slow shift of a hour hand. We've always seen his love of affection, and his terror of unexpected movement. Watched the balance between the two teeter back and forth, with imperceptible increases of the former and decreases of the latter. 

He really is a lovely cat, becoming his best cat-self. 

Vet

It's been a while since they've been to the Vet. Zeppo got his ears cleaned, they both got their vaccines.  Eleanor is ll lbs(5.1Kg), Zeppo 14 lbs (6.4 Kg)! We knew he was a bit of a furry bowling ball, and needs a bit more exercise. Vet didn't seem too worried about it.  

While we waited, I brushed him and trimmed his claws - which he was very tolerant of in a way he is NOT when we are home. Eleanor tolerated him snuggling in to her. We just put her in her harness and carried her, which she was pretty ok with. Zeppo moaned the whole way there in the carrier/bag, but was otherwise not terribly distressed.  They also cleaned his ears out, he just had his eyes closed the whole time and put up with it all. 

They are both out and have shaken off the weird human thing we did. 

 

Melted

Eleanor in her garden. 

Zeppo on his sofa. 

 Pffttt!

I'm fine. It's hot, but we've gotten rain now and again, unlike last year. Grateful we have the house, and my job is a source of sufficient income and personal satisfaction. That's all. 
 

Habitat

It's official.  Well, all I had to do was donate and tell them I qualified.  Which I do, in my small way.  My only new responsibility is to keep a shallow dish of water for butterflies to puddle and bees to drink. This space is home to carpenter bees and birds. There is shelter and food and water. 

There is also a pumpkin growing where I intended there to be mostly potatoes. Yes, I did put a pumpkin seed in there, so it's not a complete surprize, but I was hoping for both. 

The work is still interesting, and I feel I'm doing some good for a vulnerable population.  Also, lots of great stories.  It's nice to have a job that isn't trying to kill me. Pays adequately, and I can take time off pretty much at my own discretion. Which for me often means going home a bit early rather than taking a week off.  Last week was lovely, between the holiday and med school graduation, I worked two days. There was bugger all to do on Monday, so I put in 3 hours and came home. 

Yes, I have a headset. I try to use it most of the time, makes it easier to work the software and type. 

Focused on what I can do. 

 

Here

 The war rages on,

Another casualty

No surrender, none. 

We knew, we knew in 2016, that awful November morning when the bombs dropped so silently.  No one wants to think, and never can quite believe, that it will happen, that it has happened, that life will not be the same, that the unimaginable just dropped on your lives.  Even when you know, you have imagined, it shocks. That evil has triumphed, and is gloating over your torn and naked body, and worse is to come. 

We must hold on to our strength, and our sanity, and we must endure until we are in a place to fight. We don't know, most of us, what we can do, will need to do, not yet. The wars rage on, and we have gained ground, and it is not all lost, but who do we trust? We see our neighbors in far worse shape, but we also know, it could be us, next. Will be, if we don't succeed in pushing out the violence, the terrorists, the propaganda, the small minded tyrants. It's happened before. 

It's happened before, and yet, there is a way forward. The pattern repeats, destruction and degradation, followed by change and renewal. We must remember, we must endure. 

There are no magic wands and no time machines. We have what we have right now, and go from here. 

Other

 Classical Rap

Hybrid Bharatham EPISODE 5 | Usha Jey Choreography | Uproar -Lil Wayne ft. Swizz Beatz

Finally it rains. The last two days dustful winds roared, smoke from a brush fire scented the rushing push, repeating the pattern from the week before.  Hot winds are distressing, irritating, full of sound and fury. 

This morning, rain. 

I've been keeping up, with a bit of side-eye lest I choke, to the irrational terrorists in our midst. It's the same shit, of course.  They want to do whatever they want, or they'll take their ball and go home. It's not their ball. It's not their home. Abusers, bullies, racists.  Not to mention the women. 

What has been dawning on me is that, despite the color of my skin, I really should not be included as White. My grandparents would not have been considered White. Nor my own parents when they were kids. They bloat their numbers to puff themselves up, and I don't want to be part of that.  I will claim Other. Irish, French Canadian, very likely descended from at least one First Nations woman, who knows what else? Certainly not the Anglo-Saxon-Norman (and even then only the aristos). 

Rather like, as I grow older, I don't feel so Straight or Binary.  I'm trending toward Ace and NB, or at least Bi and NB. This is not a new development, but a better understanding, as the hormones ebb, and the submerged appears.  Not an absolute, so much as a drawing back from the definite to a place between 0 and 1.  Analog, on dials set by feel. 

Listening to the rain, and the comforted garden. 

Linen

 So, as well as the wool pillows, we got some linen bedding. 

Now when Dylan gets up at night, he has to check his pillow when he comes back to bed. And it's always his pillow, so far. 

I did wind up getting extra wool filler to stuff my pillow, but with that adjustment, it really has worked well. All this should last us a very long time, perhaps never have to buy more sheets.  I'm using the flat sheets now unused due to duvets, as material for sewing projects. The wool Army blankets, sewn together long ago, are now under the bottom sheet - thanks gz, that works very nicely. 

Focusing on durable, natural materials, stuff that will last the rest of my life, and taking care of it. I did more mending yesterday evening. 

My difficulties with the hand Fellows is apparently not just me, I got a flash of confirmation from an unexpected source yesterday. It's not just each of them individually, they are not good together. I'm not the only one eagerly awaiting the new pair of Fellows starting in August.  It's made for a rough first year in this job, next year should go a lot smoother.  I know all the pitfalls cuz I fell right innum. I still have a lot to learn, but I'm getting the hang of it. 

And Monday, finally a celebration in this country about ENDING slavery, or at least starting to. Beats a holiday about presidential birthdays (no doubt a hangover from celebrating the monarch's b-day) or  Columbus (we celebrate it as Indigenous People's Day now) or one of two for the military (Veteran's Day and Memorial Day).  May we live up to the promise and intention of Juneteenth. Sooner rather than later.  But then, we're still struggling with Labor Day, and MLK Day. 

 THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM 

The room is 

almost all 

elephant. 

Almost none 

of it isn't. 

Pretty much solid elephant. 

So there's no room 

to talk 

about it.

- Kay Ryan

Standards

 I have begun to sew.  Well, I'm learning how to create a pattern, have cut up some fabric, and trying to understand how to put it together. Very much experimental at this point. The fabric was very cheap from an estate sale, so if I wreck it all, I won't be out more than a few dollars - and that's a good price for the lessons in making.

This is all from watching Bernadette Banner, and her book on making, sewing and mending. I've been thinking about all the clothes that I loved the most, the ones that made me feel secure, the ones with enough pockets. And I want to make new versions of them. 

There was a soft A-line jumper (pinafore dress) that I wore over a blouse. The color was not my choice - a very pale yellow, but the fabric was amazing. Mom made it, and I wore it until I outgrew it age about 10. I still miss it.  

She made a school uniform jumper, navy blue wool, that I wore all through several years at school, because pants weren't allowed for girls, and all you could buy was horrible polyester. This one was absolutely my favorite, pleats and all. I was teased about it, but I did not care in the slightest. It was a much better version of this. 

And 30 years ago, something very similar in rayon, grey, roomy, big pockets, very much the IN thing, at the time, and I wore it constantly. 

There was a pink and grey striped skirt with a high wide waist band and enormous pockets. A blouse with a tab collar and a lot of fabric in the sleeves - not unlike a Navajo blouse.  Indian style poofy pants that I have now,  but need to be in a better color. 

If I can make a version of these, I could live in them the rest of my life. Finding my style, making and maintaining it. Not giving a shit what others think about it. 

Caring about what other people think matters in terms of being kind, considerate, cooperative. But in matters of style and personal expression, Ain't nobody's business...

So far I've gotten a sewing box together, and mended the sleeves on one of my hoodies, and a tear in some cargo shorts. It's all still pretty rough, but I'm making enough progress to feel good about the process. 

Door

 View from the neighbor's yard, while I petted Spike the Dog. 

Recover

 Still recovering, physically ok, mentally and emotionally rather low. No reserves, I should say. I do a thing, and then have to stop and rest. Doing OK at work, although this past week was... hard.  A call that went far worse than even I anticipated, and apparently it's my fault (specifically me) that her husband won't even try to quit nicotine so he can get his surgery. And oh, so busy all week. Or maybe not that much, but I couldn't get out of second gear. 

A bad part in the new HVAC, two guys out already to fix it. Hopefully next week. But it's not been cold or hot enough for this to be a hardship, so we are fine. Only hitting 80°F ish this week. Takes a few days over 90° to bake the bricks enough to keep it hot overnight here.  And when it's 50°ish overnight, we have duvets and that's fine as well.  Thankful we are not getting an early, searing spring. 

Micromeadow

 

Meadow

Ten years ago...

 And now

Punishment

 There was a story this week about a parent punishing their child by having them smash their phone with a hammer. A lot of people rightfully called this out as emotional abuse. I did not watch it, because just the bare story threw me back to a punishment from my toddlerhood. 

I've written about it before. (third paragraph)

I was pre-school age, around Christmas. I was told not to go in my parent's closet*, an under the sloping roof room that fascinated me. Well, playing hide-and-seek with my mother, I forgot - as little kids do. It was just a great hiding place. I wasn't intentionally disobeying, I wasn't an inherently naughty child. 

And one of the Christmas rituals was that when I was good, I would put a piece of straw in the crib for babyjesus, to make it soft and warm for the baby - who was put there on Christmas Eve. At that age, everything is literal and concrete, and I took this duty with utter sincerity. 

When mom dragged me out of the forbidden closet, the punishment was to remove one of the bits of straw. This week, it occurred to me that she made the baby my whipping boy. "Behave or the baby gets it." May not have been her intent, but without being able to put it in words - that is exactly the lesson I took from it. It was cruel, to be made to hurt someone else. 

It was, I think, a foundation upon which I built both my sense of duty, and my rejection of imposed obligation. And my sensitivity to coercion, especially if they wanted to use me to hurt someone else. 

*Obviously, the presents were stashed there. I never noticed them. I was punished for potentially spoiling the surprise. 

Linen

 

Yesterday morning, for the first time in way too long, Dylan and I went out yardsaling. And did very well. 

An old oak school desk, that I'm starting to clean up. It has a D carved into it. 

Black opal earrings from Australia.

A black felt hat. 

A linen tablecloth. 

Spend under $10 for the lot. 

We also made it to King's English Bookshop, and I now have Bernadette Banner's Make, Sew and Mend book. By five pages in, I had a better understanding of sewing than my mother the seamstress ever taught me. I have a much clearer understanding of the WHY to go along with the rote instructions. And an attitude toward clothing, and how I will dress for the rest of my life. For a start, I will pick up a lot more linen tablecloths at yardsales, with the intention of making and mending clothing with the fabric. 

Still very low on spare energy. But we finally had friends over last night, and it was wonderful. 

Lush

Yes, I am starting to recover my energy. The garden blooms. 

The inherited pink rose, still has aphids, but neem oil is keeping them from too much destruction this year. 

I believe this might be a toxic plant that has volunteered here.  Going to spend time time looking it up. 
 

Addendum: Yes This is Euphorbia myrsinites, and 

• It was listed as a noxious weed in Salt Lake County, Utah in 2007, and since has been illegal for sale within the county.[14] Salt Lake County landowners and land managers are legally responsible to contain, control, or eradicate the species on their property. The Utah Native Plant Society has also formally recommended it be listed as a Utah state noxious weed.

Muck

 After three weeks of hardly any cleaning, we tackled the living room.  Cleared the clutter and dust, vacuumed. I'm tired, but not utterly exhausted. The tinnitus is no longer feeling like the Vacuuming Fairy is having a really good clean in my ears. It's back down to a more tolerable volume. And the place smells so much better.  It wasn't just messy, it was dirty.  If I thought I could tolerate† a housecleaner, it would have been tempting.  A lot of it was black fur...

Warm today, more irises blooming. Eleanor enjoying open windows and fresh air. I'll probably take her out to sit in the grass and catnip later. 

†I can't. Hired a couple of very nice women when I broke my arm, and they did a great job, and I hated every bit of it except the result. I felt shamed and acutely uncomfortable the whole time. I greatly prefer to be responsible for myself, and have to sit on my hands in restaurants so I don't 'help' the waitstaff. I use self check out whenever possible. I clean my own messes.