Christopher

My mother always had a St. Christopher medal in the car. I was given one of my own when I was sent out to visit my brother in Phoenix when I was ten. The original sort of tchotchke or souvenir, with vague magical powers.



He's likely apocryphal, or at least a folk tale. Still, it would be nice to have a strongman on your side when traveling.

I rather like the older saints and the fantastic fables told of them. When you carry your god on your back, they get very heavy, maybe leave you with a spiritual gift, and eternal life. Metaphor and allegory, saints are all into that. So I understand.

Teresa

"I'll just go with the sunbeam."


Saints can be problematic. Difficult. Wrong and distracting. They can lead away, even as they are heroic and inspiring and self sacrificing.

If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him/her.

This is how I feel about today's saint, since I can't avoid her. St. Teresa of Calcutta, Mother Teresa. Who served the poorest of the poor, campaigned for money for them, got her hands dirty in the most graphic way, touching the untouchables.

And yet.


She was not sure in her own faith. She was not brave enough, or maybe imaginative enough, to buck her church authority and agitate for acceptance of real women's health care reforms, real societal changes.

Instead of getting these poor people systemic birth control and safe abortions, women's financial emancipation, education, job training. Real legal improvements that would last and continue through generations. Instead, she put on band-aids. Real ones, but, it all supported cultural inequalities and injustices.

Give a man a fish. She gave out a lot of fish, to her credit. To commit so deeply, and not feel it? Rather like a really bad marriage.

Give a man a fire, and he'll be warm for an hour. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm the rest of his life.

-T. Pratchett.

Sometimes the worst we can do is make someone comfortable in hell, just enough so they won't do anything to get out. When what we really needed to do was give them a ladder and prod them more. Maybe that is what she needed, since she was certainly capable of immense courage and fortitude.

Sometimes, we need to ignore saints, and do it ourselves. Or take their direction, and go the opposite way with as much energy.

Terry

And when I mention saints, I'm certainly not hewing to the official Catholic definition*. No miracles required, save the one of living genuinely and kindly. Bodhisattvas certainly count, the ones who point toward enlightenment. Or maybe endarkenment, where we are not dazzled. So tzadik, walī, rishi, guru, or arhat.

Which leads me, as Dr. Ramirez's twitter last night, to Terry Waite. Heard him at a lecture at our library years ago, when his book Travels with a Primate came out. His presence, kindness, humanity and humility settled over us. Such warmth, intelligence, so genuine. He has a new book out, which we have on order. Out of the Silence.

This is the part of his lecture I remember, or a very similar quote.

I was fortunate, firstly, because through life I had been an avid reader and therefore I had built up a store of books, poetry and prose in my memory. Secondly, I’d been brought up as an Anglican—I’m an Anglican Christian—and had been brought up with the Book of Common Prayer. The language of that was very, very helpful. I had unconsciously memorised it as a choir boy. If I can just give you an example of what I mean from one of the great old collects of the prayer book:

Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night . . .

That is very, very meaningful when you’re sitting in darkness. That collect not only has meaning but it also has poetry and rhythm. There is a relationship between identity, language and prayer; somehow they help you hold together at your centre.

Some people may find this strange, but I never engaged in what is called extemporary prayer during that time. I felt that if I did I would be begin to, sort of, go down a one-way track, reveal my own psychological vulnerability and just get into the business of saying, ‘Oh God, get me out of here’—which isn’t prayer at all. That’s just being like a child. So by falling back on that which I knew, the Prayer Book and the balance of that, I was able to keep a bit more balance in my mind and also maintain some degree of inner balance.

-T. Waite


*Catholics believe that both types of saints (canonized and acclaimed) are already in Heaven, which is why one of the requirements for the canonization process is proof of miracles performed by the deceased Christian after his death. (Such miracles, the Church teaches, are the result of the saint's intercession with God in heaven.) Canonized saints can be venerated anywhere and prayed to publicly, and their lives are held up to Christians still struggling here on earth as examples to be imitated.

Julian

Leftovers from former evil manager's final goodbye, thankfully held well upstairs. I never even considered going up to say bye. Very few people signed her card, although a few of the scrubs who barely knew her scribbled their names. I considered just putting a smiley face and my initials, but that seemed hostile, even though she wouldn't have gotten it. So I simply abstained.

I've also been abstaining from work treats, especially until after New Year, when the onslaught starts easing up. I've slipped a little, a few Hersey kisses last week, today had a half spoonful of this, and only because I was so hungry. But it tasted awful, so I had a few corn chips and called it good. I have a treat at home, so that I'm not overly tempted, biscotti.

Did my penance, had to work with Dr. Chaos, who drives me nuts. There is no preparing for him, and I am only comfortable at work if I have a reasonable chance to prepare, even if it all falls apart after. Still, I endured with a light heart.

Today is All Saint's Day. Maybe this will be my November writing plan here, a Saint A Day.

Which means Julian of Norwich, obviously. Thanks to Dr. Janina Ramirez.

Intensity

The skeleton lives in the closet most of the year. S/he is out now, looking like bustin' a move. After last night's high winds and intense rain, still unfazed.



The Jack/Jill'o lantern will have an LED later, but for now just looking creepy cute.

Got my hair a la Wednesday Addams, more or less, otherwise un-costumed.


I love costume, but never the work/time/money to put into them, never to be seen. Halloween is always too busy a time of year, even if there is a party to attend, I tend to half-ass it at best. Went as an escapee from a sleep lab once, wore my pjs and attached leads and wires to my head. Kept telling people what a strange dream I was in the middle of. At least I was comfy.

Short day at work, so we ran an errand, unsuccessfully.

Hard

Got bags of chips/crisps, small ones in a large bag, for Halloween. Not sure when the kids in costumes will be by, as it's a Monday this year, but we're ready. We are among the relatively rich* folks in this neighborhood, so it's only right to give out good treats.

Found out about the odd fellow who carries a realistic baby-doll around. Not, as I'd feared, a story of a creep, but a very sad story of a man who lost his wife and baby in a car crash, and was damaged himself, body, head and heart. He's still a bit of a pest and a scrounger, which he likely was before to an extent, but not something more sinister as I'd vaguely feared before.

Chatted with next door Mike & Spike a while, petting Spike into a trance - he didn't even bark at the bicyclist riding past. Mike says I keep him looking more positively on our mixed neighborhood. I'm glad to be of service. He tells me all the gossip, since he's retired and knows all the "low-lifes" as he puts it. It's really not so bad here, and any walkable area is going to be a bit up and down. For me, it beats the fearful snobbery of a gated community or wealthy enclave, even if I could afford such, which we can't. Suburban US is crumbling, urban towns are losing their underpinnings, and inner cities are inundated with crime and drugs and homeless folks. Hard times wherever you go. But then, it always was.





So easy to dip into negativity and despair. Times are not worse than they were. We are not dispassionate observers, life was never simple, although we might have been. Nostalgia comes of having a decent childhood, when everything seemed simpler. It wasn't. My life keeps getting better, one of the advantages of a crappy childhood.

I remember the Detroit riots in 1967, if through the lens of a five year old. The world chaotic and unfair, mean people in charge. Just like at home.

Now, well, it's all cooperation and deep, quiet love. Maybe not everywhere, but here, yes.




*Weird to think of myself that way, growing up pretty poor, and like that most of my adult life. But, yeah, low-middle in an area where we are in the top quarter. Whew. It's nice.

Saved

House centipede

(Scutigera coleoptrata)

Fleet-footed with fifteen pairs of legs, these basement and under-sink dwellers are voracious predators and do people a favor by eating unwanted house pests. Their appearance can be disconcerting as they rush past but, rest assured, they pose no harm to people.

Photo courtesy of Bruce Marlin, www.cirrusimage.com via Natural History Museum.



One of these was in a mug on the table with a bit of tea in the bottom. At first I thought it was drowned, but then it moved a bit, so I set out to rescue it. I got it to the kitchen sill, and offered it a skewer to crawl out on. It scuttled behind the little dish there. I apologized and wished it well. They are unsettling, but they are also very welcome predators of termites, moths, flies and roaches, as well as of their eggs. I have accidentally swatted a couple, reflexively, thinking them roaches, immediately sorry for my rash violence.

Looks are something, but they cannot be how we judge others. Of whatever species.

We've got a shower arachnid, too. Long legs, it keeps us company, far up at the top of the stall.

Black

Got off work Tuesday a bit early. The car battery that I knew was acting oddly, and planned to take in Wednesday morning, whispered then failed. Had my charge nurse call security. I waited in the car, they gave me a jump - all part of the fee I'm charged for parking, so I have no qualms taking advantage of it. Drove directly to our car repair place. They took care of it, as I played sudoku on the pad.

At least I didn't have to do that today. Got the glass recycle out and cleaned the kitchen. We went to the various home repair places for supplies to replace the tub drain, unsuccessfully. Partly. Will be sending away online for what we need. It's all corroded because of a certain cat who prefers a porcelain urinal. Beats using any available rug, so we adjust.

Took Eleanor out today, a car started up, and she bolted out of my hand. A bit of frantic searching, and she'd run around, hunkered by the front door, harness still on, trailing the lead handle (chasing after her!) She rushed inside, with the handle still rattling after her!


Moby stood near the closet with a "What was that?!" look on his face, but I couldn't find Eleanor. And had to let Mike know she was safe inside, so he could stop looking. Found her later in that closet, pressed into the corner, hard to see, still in the harness. I released her, and she seemed no worse for wear. Not taking her out again until Spring.


Dreamed of cats catching mice and meeting dogs. Dreamed that Dylan and I were activated again. Kept focusing on "we're married" so we'd be given quarters together, which was reassuring. Met up with Dylan in the dream, and he had the same thought. We held hands and repeated, "We are Married!"

After 26 years together, I should hope so.

We are planning a Black Friday* party for his work colleagues. A luncheon buffet casual gathering, as an antidote for intense family mandatory festivities or heavy shopping. On the day we have often considered our anniversary. Not that we intend to mention the last part.


*The day after Thanksgiving - November 24 this year, a day off work, and socially a dead day usually.

Pumpkins

Found garbage discarded on the front yard, which I pick up and dispose of. I notice one of my cairns is toppled, not unusual after a bit of rain.

But it is unusual to have three of them down, especially the most stable one, but not all. One of the bits of trash is a large beer can, so I make my assumptions. And then spend a good amount of time happily re-balancing in a different configuration my rocks and stones.

And other items.



I'm planning on cooking the medium one sometime this weekend.


New onions coming up.



I've written before about my father's swearing at me. And I think, this is why only a female presidential candidate could best the Orangeshit. He emasculates every other male in his adolescent bravado pseudo-masculinity. But that all falls flat on a secure woman, rolls off, looks as ugly as it is.




The bully knocks down our balanced pile and runs away. We roll our eyes, and pile it back up, pick up the trash and go on. The whole point of our system is to never let the dreadfuls get too far, which means letting them have their (stupid) say. Let them condemn themselves. And, in check, they do. As they continue to grumble and whine at the unfairness of it all. They don't get to win, boo hoo. What they accuse everyone else of is what they are most ashamed of in themselves. How dare we make them feel guilty for what they are most guilty of? As though we had any power to make them feel anything.

Sooner or later, gonna cut them down. Before they go too far. Don't let them actually win, not really. We've faced worse, and pulled the struts out beneath them.


It's all ephemeral, all illusion. We do make progress, we do learn compassion.

And we rebuilt the trust, the stones, the pumpkins.

Heat getting worse. Took hours to get to sleep last night. Then disturbed several times, sweats and misery. Like lying on heated blankets in an overwarm room on a summer night. Several times today, my arms sweat, the backs of my hands prickle. It's all so irritating and wearing. I'm determined to ride it out non-medically, but it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Punters

Catnip seeds from the plants in front, mixed in with topsoil, spread on the verge. Maybe it'll come up in the spring. Rain barrels in garage. Will get soil and oatgrass seed growing for inside very soon.

Thinking obsessively about the current issues. And the prophesy "No man of woman born" comes to mind. Such a trope.

But I think the rankle comes of the fulminance of the misogyny on parade. And the bigotry. Bring out the lance, let's take care of that putrid boil. I've written here before with dismay at the stalled feminism of this generation. I think this may reawaken the issue for young women. As long as we get past this threat of losing it all.

(looked for a fulminant boil image, decided to not add it. you're welcome)

According to the Princeton Election Consortium, the Irish bookmakers are already settling, I'm reassured. They've apparently already paid out to Clinton To Win punters. Now it's just a matter of points.

Not that I know anything about gambling, except that the house always wins, and your best chance win or lose, is your first one. The odds never get better.


Which is all I remember from my statistics class.

Planning on replacing the tub drain cap. Re-starting work on the workroom, which stalled while I cleaned out the back porch for preparation to re-vamp. Still have to shift everything in the basement away from that corner.

Prior

Mangling Eleanor, to her evident enjoyment. Oh, now she's suckling my robe, as she does. Peace and snuggling in the kingdom.


Met with the gamers last night, and I played along, eventually providing a diversion that freed the other players from the asylum. Don't ask. But it was fun. My character I called Isabella Plethbert. Not a name I paused to think about, making it up on the spot. When I looked up the parts later, it fit better than I could have imagined. Pleth, as in plethora, a sufficiency. And bert is related to bright. So, a plethora of brightness. Isabella is related to Elizabeth, which is a god-oath, god-abundance, but so old it's gotten fuzzy.

Still failing to keep my attention away from the political situation. It's begun to feel like closing my eyes while driving - I know I'd feel better, but it doesn't feel safe. So, I'm allowing myself until we have assurances before I let it go. I want to turn away, I really do. I know it doesn't help. But I don't want to be slapped from behind, keep the devil in front of me.

Mild day, did a fair bit of walking. Still dealing with fatigue and flashes. Got a few tasks done, rain barrel in the garage, tomatoes pulled up, weeds destroyed. Next door neighbor little girl birthday party today, book given, toddlers had audible meltdowns. Inevitable. Dylan and I relieved we will never have to bring one home, so that's alright.

Other neighbor, diagonal, telling me her woes, through the fence. Lots of woes. Still worried about the mess left by their removal of the stink tree in their fence on our side. I reassured her, didn't matter, no sweat, and offered a surgeon's name for her husband. Soap opera people, not all of their own making, only about 75%. Some people really don't know how to live simply, or stay happy. I assume it is a certain lack of prioritization. Some medical conditions make this worse, which I wish I didn't know was part of my neighbor's many issues. She's not a bad person, but she is fucking depressing. Her husband was born without one lower leg. Now he has rotator cuff problems in his shoulders, since he uses crutches and not a prosthetic, even though he has one.

Being me, and an RN, I'm used to a lot of TMI. I can deal with it. But she pushes even my tolerances. Ah, well. PRTTFO*. No, no, I was simply reassuring. Gave her a name, a shoulder surgeon who seems to have all insane, morbidly obese and otherwise strange patients. He's good, and takes all the hard cases, but his patients are nuts. My friend's crazy stepmother wound up with Dr. T, and I didn't even have anything to do with it. Worked with Dr. T yesterday, so I had him fresh in my mind. Really, a good guy, thorough, slow. Oh, so Dr. Slow. Nice to work with, except knowing you'll be late that day. Hands out Christmas cards with cash inside to staff, which is nice.

Cats a huge comfort this week. Eleanor sleeping between us. Moby taking over Dylan. Love hearing him purring so loud. He's chosen the best of us, such a good cat.











*Patient Reassured, told to fuck off.

Beamer

Moby was on Dylan's lap when I opened the blinds, letting in the sunbeam. Moby noticed immediately, jumped down to the floor. Then started looking at the stool, which was still off to the side.

"Ok, sunbeam is good. But I want to be up on the soft, red, wooly thing. Hey! Hey! Why are you picking me... not sure about all this movement! Oh. Oh, well. Alright, maybe. Well. Actually, this is decent service. Well done."


Dylan put Moby up on it, as we shifted it into the sun. After a moment's hesitation, Moby approved, settled down to bask.

Not long after that, Eleanor came in.

"Um?! I want to bask too! Um... well, ok, there is sun here too, I guess. Well, actually, this is nice."

El

eanor.

Trying to hold on to hope.

Not, let's be clear, in a vote for HRC. I am acutely aware of her deficits. But for the SCOTUS.

Having a Dem in the ADMINISTRATIVE elective position, means a liberal, justice-oriented, supreme court for a generation. Whatever she is, is secondary to that. Really. Let's keep an eye on the long game.

Reading Notorious RBG, and our beloved Ruth Bader Ginsberg.



Got proposed to. By a rather flamboyant gay man at the wine store*. I had to disabuse him of my unmarried status, since I've been married ˜25 years. He wanted to marry if we were both 35 and unmarried. I did not add that 35 was long ago for me. Still, nice to be flirted with, even in such an utterly safe manner.

Vote for a progressive Supreme Court, if nothing else. If you can vote in this election. If not, well, some of you, I know, are believers. So, well, I figure prayer certainly can't hurt. I'm looking at some of you Brits and Canadians, as well as Brit ex-pats. Not that I think god has done very well in politics, but give it a go, ok?

Ok, go back and focus on the cute kitty. Or, this.

Podride

via tywkiwdbi



*They also have beer. Which is all I am interested in. I really don't like wine.

Paper

The sari material that has done excellent service as curtain for nearly five years, pulled away this morning. Very faded, dusty, worn through now, I took it down. The film on the windows does a pretty good job of reducing the glare through those windows, but it still looks pretty bare and cold without that still lovely fabric.

Visit to Tabula Rasa, found some pretty (Italian, the owner tells me) paper with dragonflies, damsel flies, to attach to the top. It works, adds warmth, cuts out that high angled light that blinds.

On the way out, I passed a card/novelty shop. Halloween decorations, a line of decorated resin skulls. One had a line of bullets like a mohawk. Triggering a song.

"Listen to some bullet-head
And the madness that he's saying." Which I sang all the way home.


Realized how Nostradamus-like it is for the current shitforbrains 'candidate.' I'm not the first to notice this.




This is where the party ends
I can't stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend

It was the loveliest party that I've ever attended
If anything was broken
I'm sure it could be mended
My head can't tolerate this bobbing and pretending
Listen to some bullet-head
And the madness that he's saying.

Out from the kitchen
To the bedroom to the hallway
Your friend apologizes, he could see it my way
He let the contents of the bottle do the thinking
Can't shake the devil's hand
And say you're only kidding

This is where the party ends
I can't stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend




Anyway, the window turned out well.


Jan, 2012



2015


Today. A very overcast day, so it doesn't quite compare.

Taiko

Sanity in the form of a cat, thanks Maru.

Fatigue

Fatigued with the week, the night sweats and vague sense of my body fighting off a virus. Wondering if the political angst is part of it. Watching shithair bragging then denying, then squirming and blustering, makes my skin crawl.

So, a writer asked on twitter for stories from women of the first time they were groped. An article on cracked sums up the situation.

I was about 10 or 11, my breasts were starting to form, painfully. And my father and uncles - his brothers, began to reach around from behind to hug me around the chest, in a way that is commonly done with very young children, except they'd never done that before. Not like tickling the tummy at the waist. It did not feel innocent to me, and it hurt. I learned to always sit on chairs with backs and keep my arms close to my sides. I evaded contact.

So, when I was 19, working at the main library, and got on the elevator with the security guard, and he cornered and kissed me, I was shocked, but ready to fight. The door opened, he exited, I was furious, but at him. I kept him far away from me, we were never alone on the elevator again. I warned everyone I worked with about him, they were not surprized. Anymore than I was.

While we were in Saudi, warrant officer was cornering young women and kissing them. I'd already spotted him and never let him get near me. I wish I'd talked more to the other women about him, so they would avoid him as well.

So, my creepy male relatives may have done me a backhanded, accidental service - not that I'll thank them for it. By the time the outside threat happened, I was already beginning to harden. I already had the beginnings of a plan.

Got my voting material in the mail. The main bit is filled in, just taking some time on the local issues I haven't read up on yet. By tomorrow, it will be over for me, for good or ill.

Recommended

So, our plumber recommended a contractor who recommended an ... architect, or structural engineer, not sure his exact title, to do the drawings and deal with the city permits. He was rather apologetic about his fee for such a small project, but it would take that amount of time and the fees would be the same. He seemed satisfied with our stated budget, which is not the actual whole of our lump-sum-derived budget.

I'm inclined to follow the professional recommendations as given, professionals like working with other professionals. Getting foundation work done, structural, plumbing, electrical, going cheap is false economy. We have the funds, or will soon, and doing it right is important. Doesn't have to be pretty, I can do pretty later. Our Old Girl deserves the respect of a proper job, good underpinnings.



Ultimately, we can't just let it continue to deteriorate. We can't.

Woke sore and at ends this morning. Despite having a cat pressed into my back. Not getting a lot done, not enough. But the catsoup is cooking, and half the kitchen counters are cleaned. Chatted with Spike&Mike several times, as I kept going outside. Nice to have a friend next door. Two. Three if you count Sebastian Cat, who may not. But if I'm chatting with Mike and petting Spike, Sebastian will sometimes come to me for a light massage as well.

Looking forward to the most recent Christopher Guest - Mascots.

Solid

Solid couple of days at work, which is good.

gods

Wizards don't believe in gods in the same way that most people don't find it necessary to believe in, say, tables. They know they're there, they know they're there for a purpose, they'd probably agree that they have a place in a well-orgainized universe, but they wouldn't see the point of believing, of going around saying, "O great table, without whom we are as naught." Anyway, either the gods are there whether you believe or nor, or exist only as a function of the belief, so either way you might as well ignore the whole business and, as it were, eat off your knees.

-T. Pratchett

Grudging

It really does suggest that our neighbor Mike&Spike and we don't get along. A sort of grudge hedge*. We do, honestly, like each other. Mike&Spike went on extra walks the day Eleanor got out, looking for her. He was nearly as relieved as we were that she came home.

The hedge is just my own personal nemesis. I trimmed it back today, and intend to keep it in check on my side. He likes his hedge, and that's just fine. It can be shaggy on his side as much as he likes. A bit of "Not my circus, not my monkeys" as well. I know where my duties end, and other's begin.

The yellow stripe is mostly so I, or any of our visitors, or our neighbors to the south using that space, won't displace Mike's tenant, who parks there every day. It's just a guideline.

Addendum:


Different sort of pumpkin. I may keep it intact until later, at least roast the seeds, maybe try again to cook the pumpkin. Need to do some research on how best to cook it. Given we now have a slow cooker, that might be the solution.



Also Puer tea in a block. The box will become decoration, along with the previous year's tea boxes. My own small celebration for Chinese New Year.

A woman arrested for driving without a license, verbally abused the police officer arresting her. In her mandated apology, she says "That is not how I normally act, it is totally out of character" which is almost certainly a lie. One I used to tell, which is how I know.

No. How we are under stress, tired, hungry, IS who we are underneath, when not on our best behaviour. I kept hearing myself using that phrase, "that's not how I usually am" until I realized ... yeah, yeah apparently, it is. So, I stopped excusing myself, and worked to change how I acted, and beneath that, how I thought (so it would stick, and grow deep.)

Another public figure used that phrase this week, and all I could think was, "Yes, that is who you are."

When I act badly, I take that as me becoming something I don't like, and I do everything possible to stop. By their fruits shall you know them, sort of thing. How we act is who we are, when the manners slip.

When Dylan came out of anesthesia, he was loving and grateful. I've always known he was solid, the same all the way through.



Also, found a replacement necklace.


May get my old one back once repaired, but this will do. More than do, I think it's gorgeous. From the same woman who made my key earrings, and my teacup earrings (seen).




*Grudge houses are well documented, but I can't find a source link because there is apparently a Japanese horror film popular now with that phrase, and nothing else will come up through that noise.

Shares

Sharing a sunbeam.

Hoody

Dylan watching Luke Cage on his ipad, tells me there are are parts of it I would like, as I'm sure I would, but. I asked if it was rather explody and shouty. He tells me it's more punchy and shooty. Action series do tend to be a bit loud and full of distracting movement. Shame, since I rather like the idea of the story.

Punch and Shooty.


Still getting very hot intermittently. Had to take my hooded sweat-jacket off quickly. A while later, getting cold flashes, I put it back on.

More conveniently.

Then put a bowl of chips in the hood.



Maybe I could start a trend among 50something women.

Ooooo, BAYbeee!

Back to reading The Pigeon Tunnel, John le Carré.




Finished the Awkward Yeti archive. Love the anatomy diagram. It's actually pretty accurate, given.

Tongue (with ice cream cones) eyes, on brain
tooth, red blood cells, esophagus and trachea
lungs, thyroid, heart (and it's butterfly)
liver, kidney, stomach, pancreas, spleen
gall bladder, gut,
bladder.

Steps

Plumber figures we have a good project, suggested two contractors. Have to get drawings done, city inspections and permissions. Concrete footings gonna be expensive.

We are still committed to fixing the wood-into-dirt, slanting, useless space we have, fixing the wreckage that is, and turn it into Useful. Do what we gotta do. Really can't just leave it, because it's only going to degrade further. And our knees ain't getting any better - we need to spare ourselves multiple trips down those basement stairs weekly for laundry. A hospitalization would cost a helluvalot more than the renovation. One fall would do it all.

We could, theoretically, borrow against our equity, but we are neither of us comfortable with that idea. We like paying in full and up front. It's in our natures.

The city has a process, we can talk with a planner. So, next Wednesday, we get more rolling going.

Have to clear that corner of the basement before any work starts. Oh, joy.

Should get the check in early December, so we can start scheduling.

Sofa

Two cats next to us on the sofa. On my robe.

Seemingly comfortable together.

Awkward

Just found Heart and Brain at Awkward Yeti. Had to share.

Conversation

Buddies in communication.

Our elegant cat.

Between

Pearl and jet, alive.
Satin, and velvet, soft fur.
Sitting between cats.


Locksmith came by and worked on door latch. Not, as hoped, a definitive solution, improvement certainly. But his expertise offers a great workaround.

A strange and exotic thing called a ... handle. Han dəl. Hand ell. Handel.



Since the problem is largely that touching the knob turns it enough for it to disengage from the strike plate, leaving the door a jar. Ajar.





As well as suggesting another sweep or two up the jamb.




Instead of insulation tape.