Smoky

A town in the southern part of the county caught fire yesterday afternoon. The smoke sits on the valley. Someone in a truck parked on dry grass, the hot engine set it on fire. Most of the rest of this season's fires came from target shooters, out in the cheatgrass. With no rain, no humidity to speak off, lots of fuel from last year's rainy growth, D's joke about the whole state spontaneously combusting is not quite enough of a jest.

Oh, one other thing, and I don't want to make this political. Drives me crazy when Affordable Health Care is derisively called "Obama-care." Before it was even passed, one of our privileged little residents snarled about some insurance catch 22, and called it Obamacare. Our head of anesthesia is very skilled and caring and I'd trust him as a doctor, but he's politically pretty far right (religious affiliations, I have to assume) and sneers about Obamacare. Now that it's holding, the stories are coming out of the good it has already done countless people, and I heard one comment that I will keep as a mantra. Yes, Obama cares, Romney don't.

That'll do. In twenty years, the reactionary-conservatives will be holding on to it as tightly as they do Social Security, claiming they always loved her.

Moby's been spending most of his nights up on his tree, the former Fortress of Solitude, now his Watchtower. When I get up, he comes down, and sits beside me on the sofa, or on me in the music room chair, depending.

Necessary

Perhaps it is the heat, the hint of smoke on the breeze, since I have not exactly been working all my hours, that explains my lassitude. Today, D changed the filters on the furnace/AC, and since I've been home my eyes are feeling less sandy and my nose has unclogged. Seems to be working. Mostly, I think everyone at work is more or less sick of each other. It happens.

The holiday next Wednesday is on my usual day off, so when I was offered the Monday off as well, I figured Sure. Why not use the holiday pay on the same week? Since I won't be using it on Wednesday. Fair trade, I think.

Very relieved that the health care reform is still standing. I think it will do a lot of good for a lot of folks who can't get care now. Secondarily, I think it will keep me in work. It won't be perfect, but I think it will be more fair. It's already done good by removing "pre-existing condition" from the landscape, a particularly evil bit of insurance company manipulation.



I love this, D found it.




He also made us a lovely dinner tonight, which we both needed.


No fires close by, but the winds seem to be bringing whiffs of smoke from afar, along with the usual summer dust. Having a green spot of our own helps.

A paltry post, that kind of day, week, month. I will plan better for tomorrow. This is my attentiveness practice, and I've gotten out of practice.

Plaid

Amazed myself today. Working with a surgeon who usually gets right up my nose, and a scrub whose omniscience is not what she thinks (and uses baby-talk, and doesn't get anything ready, and always has an excuse) and I sailed through with utter peace. Not just in my outward actions, but inside, all the way to the basement. When Silly-scrub announces that she's hurt her back and I "HAVE to be good to her" I smiled and only thought "No, no, I don't have to do that at all." I have to do my job, keep everything running smoothly, but, mostly, I need to keep notes on the concrete lapses to report to the manager. Inside, not bothered at all.

Yup, cousin was right, life begins at 50. If you let it.


Surgeon was as needy and unpredictable as always, but mostly I got to work with his most capable fellow, and let the rest of the chips fall as they may. Kept the music going (one of those online services, on the Talking Heads station, a good, odd variety, with some Bowie and ska.) Our room "won." Which is our way of saying we were the last one going. No matter, wasn't really late.

Last week I realized that all my shorts were a decade old, and one in particular needed to be thrown away completely. Leaving me with one. So I shopped, and came up utterly empty. Women's clothes have always been a tribulation for me. And I've gone to the men's department more than once. Women's shorts these days are either supercute-blech, very short, or capris. Capris* only look good on Audrey Hepburn or a young Mary Tyler Moore, I am neither. Or they were for women much larger in the middle than I am. What few shorts were more or less age-appropriate, all had either very short rises, simply would not go on, or were huge on my waist - all the exact same size, mind. None felt like the old ones, or were bearable in the hot weather I need them for.

So I went to the men's section. The woman at the changing room was sympathetic and helpful, as I had no idea what size I would be. Took a half dozen tries, but the last one was a winner, and I simply got another one the same, different plaid.




To me, both look a bit, well, girly. For a young man, at least. They fit me nicely on my waist and fall nicely from there. Sturdy, comfortable, with good pockets. And drastically on sale. Should keep me for a good number of years.


*Popular in this area because they are long enough to cover the holy underwear.

Rattled

Spider on the tomato plant. No visible aphids. Sounds like a deal to me.


I believe it is a yellow sac spider, found it again today, curled up this time. Live and let live, I figure.



This hole seemed much bigger than this meager spot. Oh, well, transplanted thyme and an annual (my fault, I didn't check that it was perennial.)




Cat really happy to sleep beside me. Got to sit on my lap. Had an adventure with Mocha again. I think if Dog hadn't caught a leg in Moby's leash cord and yanked it, all would have been simply a moment of wariness. Moby instead had a freak, and became HUGE, every bit of fur at full alert. But he calmed down within a half minute of being back inside, no worse for wear. Startled more than anything. I think they would get along fine, if only Mocha-dog would approach quietly, instead of thundering along. Moby seems to get that she means no harm, but still gets rattled by the energy.

Meanings

Long ago*, and far away†, D and I found‡ The Meaning of Liff. We have, over the years, used a few of the words, made them part of our vocabulary, and added a few of our own obscure placenames to cover experiences for which there is no adequate word in English.

For many of Douglas Adams & John Lloyd's definitions, we have expanded meanings to cover additional, but analogous, situations. Some blogger (no profile offered) is putting up a word a day from that wonderful book. I wish I'd thought of this. So, I will, as applicable, link and add our tweaks.

We already own both books. The original British edition we found (and kept) and bought the Further Meaning of Liff new, when that came out. If you have not bought either, send John Lloyd a little something. Douglas Adams probably doesn't care these days. Although he might be pleased that some people have his words in their daily vocabulary.


Scethrog is perfect by itself, although we sometimes use it for any intentionally odd-shaved-shaped facial hair.

We got rather clathy about all the halogen and fluorescent light bulbs we had to dispose of when we moved in here.

A scopwick is not just a smoking related injury, but happens during anesthetic induction quite often, as the dry lip sticks to the breathing tube, catches when it's put in, and bleeds a bit.

The grayling (after a small town in Michigan, named after a variety of trout - to which they erected a large concrete statue) is the food in the cafeteria that is not particularly delicious, but is reliably edible and safe. (This is one of ours.)

Got any of your own? Or a favorite from Liff?


*1990.
†Saudi Arabia.
‡Among the makeshift library of books donated for military folks.

Shit

Dug a hole, before it got unbearably hot. Still turned red (not a sunburn, a marked flush) and got a nice throbbing headache. Yes, I did check my BP, still low. When it's 115/60 and I feel hot and overworked, I don't think I have a problem.

I find I really love doing physical work with an intellectual component. Understanding the chemistry and physics of compaction and a saline (salt lake, after all) area that desperately needs nitrogen. Stayed out a bit longer than was wise. Not going back out until the shade covers that area again.





This hole did not get down to a sandy layer with rocks. Just more and more clay.Poured in a bucket of water, managed then to get down a bit further, still without hitting the drainage layer. If there even is one. A good two shovels deep. So I read up on dealing with heavy clay soils, and got some of the good shit.









(Thanks herhimnbryn for suggesting Spaced in the first place.)

More tomatoes on the way. Evident bug damage to some leaves, but they survive. I go out and squish aphids like zits. Disgustingly satisfying.

Hot

1753, 23 June
Fair

99°F
(37°C)
Humidity: 3 %
Wind Speed: SSW 29 G 36 MPH
Barometer: 29.69 in (998.20 mb)
Dewpoint: 7°F (-14°C)
Heat Index: 93°F (34°C)
Visibility: 10.00 Miles


This is just not happy.

I have only one pair of decent shorts, and one with holes, both are about ten years old. I tried to find a replacement, and could not. All the same size, some were too large, some too small, some too tight in the thigh, some too short in the rise, some simply too large. Did not want capri's because they only look good on Mary Tyler Moore and Audrey Hepburn, when they were under 30. Useful for Mormon women who need to cover their holy underwear. For me, a complete waste of time. Did bring home a knit skirt that I can use when it's hot and I don't give a shit, i.e. going to work. It was also on sale, big time.

Friends over, with three year old. Moby remarkably tolerant, until he was done and went to hide in the back room. Got to talk gardening. Found out the front door frame is wobbly, Dave offered to come out and help with putting in some bolts. Good friends, in the midst of early parenthood, among other issues. Time is their most precious resource, we don't want to ask much of them right now. There is time. We have a thirty year mortgage.

Forcing myself to pace it all is difficult. I want to fix everything right now, so I can relax. Doesn't work that way.

Senses

Make your own.


Names I struggle to remember, dates are a sinkhole of lost numbers, old addresses, whole words swallowed up in the potholes of my mind. But I remember the smell of my mother's talcum powder, remember the blue round box with the horses, the two mirrors in the corner of the tiny bathroom, over the sink, the several different rugs over my time there. I remember the voices of people I knew thirty years ago, their faces and expressions, a hug from a girl after high school graduation, visual sensory memories that blur a bit, but stay clear and sharp in the middle.


So much would be easier forgotten. But that's not how my brain works. Take what I have and treasure it.




Oh, the intertubes are wonderful, it's Elizabeth Arden, Blue Grass Dusting Powder. The one luxury my mother allowed herself. It came with a lovely puff with a blue ribbon. Research is a joy.

Fire

Lots of grumpiness at work today, the kind that makes one want to punch some people, but laughing is much more effective. Walked out to my car with farmgirl, into the smoky hot air. Campfire smell, everywhere, meaning a wildfire and a wind blowing toward us. We were dismayed, her especially since she has a market garden, and the irrigation has been on the fritz.

NOAA brought out a new graphic, or at least I don't remember this one before.


Although the forecast "areas smoke" seems annoyingly ungrammatical. "Smoky" would have been more elegant and descriptive, wouldn't you think?

It's not as miserable as in places with high humidity, low altitude, and architecture for winter. Still searing and glaring.




Layering is not just for icy blasts. Cellular blinds can only do so much, so the $20 yard sale screen and the bamboo screen that lived on the balcony at the old place, have all been put into service against the low beams.



To those of you dealing with the heavy, damp heat, my utter condolences.

For those of you further afield and getting too much rain, may I please have some?

Fruits

Moby loves the kettle full to the top, so he can lick out of the spout. I sat in the chair with my feet up when they put in the door yesterday afternoon, so that he could sit on me and be comforted. A lot of loud noises and banging. When I got sore, D picked him off and took my place, and Moby then settled on him in the same way. Either one will do, apparently.



When I got off very early today, D and I walked to, and through, the Farts Aestival. Mostly because in the guide for the festival there was a photo for the artists who so touched me the last time we went - several years ago. We'd looked at our savings, decided we could get some art - as we'd always wanted to, over twenty years of hoping one day we would find something we loved when we could afford it.

This apparently is the year of fruition.



I rather wanted the foot, but standing in front of these countenances, we would not have chosen otherwise. A place will be created in the garden.

Really getting hot, and the walk home was heavy laden. It's not as heavy as it looks, and we traded off, but it's not light either. Which seemed an important part of the sojourn. We did have good, wide brimmed hats.

Chesterfield

Coming down, around
Corners of wood, and paper
lamps, on the sofa.



Cat caught spying out,
Glowing in the evening sun,
The light of the black.

Toast

Yesterday, worked with a worrier. Now, I worry, plan, prepare, I know whereof I speak.

But she goes right off the charts, and shares. That last bit is what gets me, when she gets her teeth in, gnawing and growling, and cannot be consoled or dissuaded.

It's all going to hell, we are all getting screwed, we have to lie there and take it. She often goes in to the late room and offers to let them go home, and because she so often worries about getting in her hours, most people say fine, sure, whatever. But then she'll complain about how she is always in the late room, and how tired she is.

She was working herself up about how we get paid our time off last evening, which is changing. Really, it's more administrative, but all she could see is how we will be getting less (probably not) and we'll be losing our sick time (we won't, it just goes in with everything else.) This with the other RN as I cleaned up the room at the end of the day, and they are standing there whining. Finally, when I'd gotten everything done, I said they were getting me depressed, and I had to go home.

She also went on about how people are just going home these days and not helping clean up rooms. When we would have to sit around for more than an hour to do so, that's what we are supposed to do, saves the department money, we get to go home. And then she was on about how the place isn't making money, so we will all lose out when it goes out of business. She will sit around for hours, and miss the clean up of the last room. She is a walking Catch 22.

I struggle not to get sucked in, but holding so tight to the edge tires me out only somewhat less than just dropping in. By the time I got home, nearly 2 hours late, I was toast.

This week, I am abstaining from alcohol, beer specifically, as my use has crept up, and it's a good idea to stop habits occasionally. A test to make sure it's just a habit, not a dependence. When I got home last night, that beer in the fridge loomed balefully, and as I hugged D, I whispered, "I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue." He laughed, and that made it all better. Being able to make him laugh is one of the main purposes of my life.

Got off early by the clock, but my feet are convinced I've been standing on them at least 12 hours or more. How do two cases take that much energy? And I got to work with a great scrub tech today. On the other hand, the software was updated over the weekend, and the drop-down menus were obscuring the button to save the dropped down selection. Took twice as long to do the workaround to get the chart done. Compcaste changed something on Friday for us as well, and we lost use of our phone. D got it sorted today, with another provider, and we have a new phone number. No sweat, I like the new one better anyway.


New door tomorrow. I may paint it. Red. One should have at least one red door in one's life.

Nose

Friend beside me, cat.
Nose touching finger, purring.
Curled, stretched out in trust.

Sits

The cat sits where he wants. When he sits between us, as he often does, we know it is only because that is what he likes.




He seems better at jumping, moves more easily, partly because he jumps up to the top of his tower many times a day. Getting in condition, and feeling better for it.

Happy household god, happy house, happy home.

Need to indulge my introversion, without a day to myself this week. Took D's parents to lunch for Father's Day, but begged off the BBQ tomorrow. I just could not deal. They were understanding. Drained, and needing to replenish at home. Plus, it's going to be hot tomorrow, mid 90's. (35C.) After 20 years, they know me pretty well, despite my reserve. I appreciate them giving me an out.

Out

Rou was aghast that I mentioned how much I dislike eating outside.

Quite true, it's no kind of treat for me. Never cared for the eating part of picnics, nor the outside aspect of barbecues. Too many bugs either around me or on my food for my taste. Or anything else blowing by. Food cold by the time I got it, which could be just a few seconds. It always seemed a hurried way to eat, furtive and troublesome.

I have such clear recollections of a propane camp stove and a picnic bench at a roadside stop, somewhere in Ontario on a raw, windy day. An attempt to make tea, with only unwarmed chicken, and blown away chips, a billowing plasticized table cloth, cold and hungry and not much to warm up with. The idea of a restaurant, calm and cozy, and with hot food on a plate, with forks and knives, seemed a much better idea.

Likewise a day in Basic, lining up for grub, given a plate of some sort of semi-edible hot substance, but by the time I'd reached the area designated for eating, taken off my cap, it was cold, not really palatable stuff. All I had to eat, so I stuffed it in anyway. After that, the romance of eating on a patio seemed remarkably ludicrous. I want to eat well sheltered, without competition for my sustenance. Without dirt or wind, begging birds or hot sun.

Thankfully, D is a Great Indoorsman. Of course, he had a similar experience, and interpretation thereof, as me. We scoff when asked if we want a table outside or in. Well, IN, every time. No question. This is what civilization is all about.

I'll go out after I'm done eating.

Kiwi

No little baby bel cheeses? Horrors!

Still, a nice spread for work, the classes were, as expected, relatively painless, and I snagged a paper and did the sudoku and crossword to stay awake. I am well versed in MH, and kept myself getting annoyed at the change in how paid time off is done. The new way here is like most other places I've been, but not to a lot of the folks where I am now, and it's better or at least no worse. So they started with a series of questions, which was fine. Then the loop began to repeat, which is when I finished the crossword. D observed that in this right-to-work state, employees are used to being screwed, so they are suspicious. At a university hospital, this sense gets doubled.

I did snag some kiwis. Not sure what they were thinking that they didn't slice them, just whole, unpeeled, kiwis sitting in a bowl, next to sliced ham and cheese, croissants and cut up fruit and almonds. No one touched them. No surprize, not the most attractive fruit in it's scratchy brown skin. So, I swiped 'em. Gonna make smoothies.




The processing staff had the inventory done by the time we were done, so all we had to do was pull our case carts for Monday. Easy. Although my scrub was awol, no matter. Only three cases, and I set it up for my convenience. Instruments and supplies, that sort of thing. And then, I skipped the lunch/"barbecue" because I do not enjoy eating outside, and I wasn't that hungry.


Got the sticker on the license plate, tied up the tomato plants, turned the compost, borax on the stink tree stumps that are trying to sprout around the bases. Swept the bedroom. D getting laundry done.

Doors

We didn't get our back door installed this Wednesday. The guy called last week and asked if he could postpone, very apologetic, his daughter's camping trip... . No question, we are not in a rush, we have a door that closes - more or less, and any man who is being a good dad gets my full support. Good fathers touch my heart, and I wish for every little girl a decent, loving, kind dad. Boys, too, but daughters especially.

Worked with a guy who often spoke of his daughter, took it as read that dads let daughters cover them in pink bows and join in for doll tea parties, go to soccer games and learn to brush their hair. He talked about the issue of female adolescence, offering information without intruding, buying a variety of menstrual items - and that she should decide what she wants, and give him the package - he would buy more. (Mom was not reliably in the picture.) He freely admits he was not comfortable with the situation at first, but decided she needed him to be matter-of-fact, so he learned.

I want every child to have a good dad, or several, in their lives. I had a few uncles, and my brothers were occasionally helpful - mostly I had to figure it out as best I could. I went through no "I-hate-boys" stage, always preferred male company. It's more straightforward, less fraught than with women. Not looking for a father, but for decent men, decent human beings without regard to gender.

Children need good people in their lives, men especially. They need to see power in terms of forgiveness and kindness, not distant judgement, or hot, angry abuse, or far worse - sexual exploitation. Women tend to children, overwhelming them sometimes. Fathers are too often absent or frightening. Men who nurture are so valuable. Not really rare, but it feels so to me. So far away, so impossible. When I come across the ones who consider it normal, I want to shower them with appreciation.

Like the men who are horrified at any man who would beat up a woman. Not rare, not at all, I know this in my head. But they seem so to those who have lived with the other sort.

We'll have the door in next Wednesday. Plenty of time.

Cheeses

Tired takes over. The heat builds, slowly. I yawn like a cat, with all my body. A day of inservices tomorrow, then inventory in the afternoon. Hope I can stay awake. I will snitch as many cheeses as I can get away with.

Verdant

Awake in the wee hours, awake again at 0630 - despite not having to go in until 1100 to cover lunches, thinking about working on the lawn and getting the older hedge debris that I'd stowed in the back into the bin. In the end, I did nothing before I left. Shopped on the way home, and we made lunch very late indeed.

Then I went out the garden. One of the big reasons I really wanted a house rather than a condo, and it has become more than I hoped. Ten years ago, I could not have been the gardener I'm becoming. Would not have had the patience, the attention to small things, the desire. Although I did plant roma tomatoes in a planter on the carport roof outside my window in the first apartment after freedom, when D and I first lived together. It's probably still there.


When D and I were out there last evening, in looking for bugges, I noticed they all have little, bitty, potential tomatoes growing. We whooped in pride and delight.

Hello!


Welcome!


There were bugges, but some of the flecks were tree debris. I'm keeping them all sprayed with my homemade mixture of bugge deterrent.

The grapes overflowing from next door put me right back into Mrs. Rizzardi's arbor. When small, I loved those sour green grapes, and ate what came through the fence as soon as I could. Perhaps that's when I got used to the idea of spiders, since they loved her arbor, as much as I loved her. When someone mentioned that spiders eat mosquitos, I was quite content to coexist with spiders.





I did mow, and rake, and get most of the scrub into the bin, and turn the compost.

Great when a plan comes together.

Mail

The monstrous Hedge is better. Next year, when it fills in, it will be rather good.






The mailbox on the house was cheap, old, didn't close, too deep for most mail, too high up to see into, beat up and I took a rather personal dislike of it. Not entirely rational, it still worked. Replacing it was an unnecessary expense. But. So, after a lot of searching for something practical, and appealing, at a decent price (you'd be amazed how expensive mailboxes can be) we settled on this one.

The old one was put up with two different nails.


This one is up with proper screws into the brick. Easy to see into, it'll hold magazines. It'd hold a cat, though it won't have to.




Well, it'll be there a long while.

The sunflowers are getting munched. I hope they survive.

Master

"How many times have you encountered the saying, 'When the student is ready, the Master appears?' Do you know why that is true? The door opens inward. The Master is everywhere, but the student has to open his mind to hear the Masters voice."
- Robert Anton Wilson

From Whiskey River.

It's not the few that are called. Everyone is called, few listen, fewer answer.

Quart

Got about a quart of new soil when I sifted the compost heap. Put in on the potatoes - as I am assured that this is the way to get more potatoes. The heap has been an unexpected success, albeit a very small one. It smells good and loamy, and it's breaking down well.

P at work asked if I'd put in any fruit. No, from what I've read it's not the easiest sort of thing to grow. I mentioned that I was prepared for getting nothing at all out of the garden this year. P was aghast, but it was the simple truth. This is my first attempt, an experiment. Failure is always an option. Great to have a significant amount of food from our own garden, but I was not going to be all disappointed if it didn't work. Given how much toxic material I took out of the garage to the county waste disposal site, who knew what was there? What might grow well? What kind of soil, vegetable eating insects, sunlight, birds, are here? I had no idea. ANYTHING that works at all is a blessing.

The hopes of planting more in the front are mostly dashed, delayed at least. Without stripping out the first 18" of dirt and replacing it with topsoil, using earth moving equipment, not much is going to work. I will continue to dig deep holes and put in what I can. A very long, arduous project. Eventually, yes, but not any time soon.

Ideally, I want a large statue of a penguin out there. Or something like

this

.

Junk

We did walk over to the swap meet. Nothing notable, although if the scuffed library chair had been half of what the guy wanted for it, we would have it now. Problem with dealers, they don't seem to get that odd stuff at a flea market needs to be a deal, not what the market will bear. Rather like a yard sale when the sellers expect top dollar for used stuff. That sort of event needs an attitude of getting rid of stuff for a nominal fee. It's not like going to a shop that fills special orders, it's junking. One expects to pay junk prices. That's the deal. If one wants to look for the valuable & rare, antique stores will fill that role, and charge accordingly.

I blame ebay and Antiques Roadshow. Really, a treasure is in the eye of the beholder, and most of it is just more or less trash. Our disliked crap is not worth a ton of money, to anyone. D did check out the handful of guitars, just in case, but no, nothing notable, not close to nifty.

Nevermind, we will keep going because it's something to do one weekend a month on a Sunday when we need to go for a walk. And, you never know.

Saturdays will be for yard sailing.


I just hope the lawn debris bin gets picked up this week. Didn't last week, which meant I didn't do any trimming this week. Probably just as well. I did weed the chard bed of cottonwood seedlings. Talk about fiddly work.

Tomato plants doing fine, now.

I find myself not wanting to write anything deep, or important, or anything much at all. I take photos, but they don't turn out well and I delete them. Minutia is as much as I want to consider. Little things.

Rivers

Feeling deeply for Jean, who seems to be going through a particularly rough patch. She isn't specific, but I think I know the kinds of changes that leave one raw and lost and miserable, even as they are right and true.

She put me in mind of my first year in the OR. After so many years of struggling through, never resting, no stretches of calm water, dominos for as long as I could remember, the hours and stress of surgery wrung me out completely. Despite this, I knew I'd found my niche, a place to bloom. I came home every day and cried, and napped before dinner, then went to bed early. It's a difficult specialty to learn, because there is no slowing down for new people - learning at full speed takes more time, and can be terribly frustrating both to the newbie and the trainer.

Seems a long time ago, that sense of stumbling along. A childhood where I never felt safe - studied with all my heart for the sake of a chance out. College in a major where I had no talent, but my scholarship depended on my grades - so I struggled to get As. Uncle Walt died just as I started. Always had a part time job to pay rent, eat ramen and eggs, and not much else. Moved several times, had a series of bad roommates. Got involved with a bad person, married him. Car got stolen. Moved across the country. Multiple part time jobs, so I joined the Army - a year of disruption, then a year of overt abuse (started nursing prerequisites - and kept a 4.0 GPA) before I escaped. Within a month - sent to Gulf War I. Strangely, that 6 months were a kind of rest, no decisions to make, nothing I could do - except fall in love with D. Every quarter of nursing school beat me up, still scraping financial bottom every month. Then working in a nursing home, until I got the OR job.

The structure and protocols, back-up and support systems, reassured me. It hurt every day, as I painstakingly gathered up every wit and forced myself to learn and memorize. Then D smashed his elbow, and I tried to be a good nurse for him as well. But I was on solid ground in a way I'd never experienced before. Even the move to Boston, which upended my assumptions nicely, couldn't touch that sense of stability.

I remember when I saw my life only as a series of crises, each one triggering the next, lost and frantic. Wondering how to find respite, and crashing into another obstacle. Finding D meant having a good boat, and the OR first year rapids flowed toward a deep, slow river of a living wage and mastery.

I don't think it's age, either. Every life has roils and breakthroughs and sticking points, in no particular order. A wonderful childhood and a peaceful early adulthood can be overthrown into chaos, illness, grief. There are no scripts, no maps.

Life, what a mess.


Beats the alternatives.

Wad

This is some of the fur taken off Moby. Not mostly black, but the lighter undercoat. He does seem more comfortable since. I say some of the fur, because there was quite a lot left all over me.





Got to the Farmer's Market. Got some raisin bread. Only a very limited amount of greens and beans so early in the year. We went mostly as a reason to get out on a Saturday morning. After both being awake at 0400, then pulled each other back to bed, and surprisingly got back to sleep, until the neighbor hammered something at 0730. In his defense - he knows we are normally up as early as he is, and he probably never considered we were having a rare sleep-in. No matter, we were glad to have slept a bit more.

Tomorrow, a swap meet.

Save

On the way out this morning, I noticed the tomato plants had some leaves that looked very dry. So I checked, and they were all covered with little white larvae of some sort. But I had to get to work. Once there, I asked my cow-orker who grows tomatoes, and she suggested dilute dish soap spray. Then I called D, and he was willing to Save the Tomatoes. When I got home, ten hours later, the little plants were looking much happier, less infested, and not at all dry.

Sometimes work is about running like mad all day. One of our patients woke up saying she was doing her job, and this is not uncommon. Certainly if I were in surgery, I would dream about work... oh, well, I guess that's a little different.


D says Moby was a very high maintenance cat, wanted out, didn't want the harness, wants out, wants back in, no - don't touch me, wants out, etc. Moby is now curled up between us as we watch Community.

Irritation

Parsley with nothing to be ashamed of. And, um, beets? Not sure. I've gotten confused. Some of the bush beans are being eaten by some kind of insect, the other two patches are fine.







Moby being very needy today, which I am getting unnecessarily annoyed by. Took him out this morning, he got freaked when the reel cord got caught under the trash bin, had to carry him in. Took him out later, and he got freaked out, ran in, snagged a back paw on the leash and mmmrrrooowwwed at me as I had to hold him still to untangle him. Wants, wants, wants, something, wants me to sit still so he can crash on my lap, which I am not fine with today. He has food and fresh water, I've held him and walked him and THAT'S NOT IT!

Scrubbed the kitchen floor, hands and knees and sponge and cloth. Cleaned the bathroom sink/toilet/tub this morning. Grocery shopping done. Watering and weeding done. This is my day off, but it's all done, dammit.

Yes, I am being a bit irritable. Deal.

Update:
Apparently, he needed a Damn Good Brushing, and is now irritated with me, but with a lot less fur.

Oh, and the local community garden folks have a class about year-round-gardens, and I have to stop myself and say, next year, next year, not now. I have time, chill, not this year on top of everything. So happy, but have to pace ourselves.

Trader

Sometimes, life hands you little treats, for no reason. For us, today, we discover that Trader Joe's will open a store right around the corner from us. An easy walk.

We may never have to enter the horrible supermarket on the next block again. Which we do now, because there is little other choice for certain basic items. If you haven't shopped there before, it's a bit hard to explain why a simple grocery store could elicit such passion and loyalty. Because that is all it is, but then again, it isn't. It's not a pricy health food store, which is what we thought until we got used to it.

At any rate, it looks to be ready by Christmas, and that is a holiday I look forward to this year as I never have before. Yule will be celebrated this year, with decoration and food and gatherings - here, in our house and home. With chocolate cherries, maybe even pistachio cream pie. Oh, and their fish sticks. Yes, I know, but... these are really good fish sticks.

Deprecation

Yesterday, I visited a comic site I check in with periodically. It had been hit by malware, and I managed to get to a page to contact the writer. Today, I got a thank you from him, letting me know he'd gotten it sorted, and the offer of one of his drawings. Normally, I would demur, this is not why I reported the problem. That is more to do with my training, which admittedly feeds into my natural inclination to butt in. But this was one of those offers that really mean something, and to refuse seemed downright silly.

Now, if he forgets, that's fine. But sometimes it's important to accept and be gracious. Not one of my stronger traits.

Indeed, I have always felt that any truth more important than the friendship needs to be told, at the risk of the relationship. QED. That if everyone else was standing back, afraid to look foolish, be a target, then I had to do it. Didn't want to, but sometimes someone needed to seem the bad guy to get anything done. And when on those rare occasions someone stepped up and gave me the hard truth at the risk of my anger or hurt, I always admired them - even through the dismay.

This has lost me a number of friends. Unsurprizingly. I knew the risk. I wish more people had given me the hard truths more often, earlier. The ones who didn't lost my respect, in the end, over time. Not that I imagine they mind.

This time, I had to play to my weakness, saying yes, thank you, that would be lovely. Fighting every self deprecating reflex in my heart.

I hope he does send a drawing. It will be cherished. I won't mind if he forgets, though.


Oh, the site. Yes, well, it's called Domestic Abuse.

It's funnier than it sounds. Watch for the little eyes.

Seen

It crept in slowly
this understanding, knowing.
Waiting to be seen.

Sentinel

His favorite place these days, to survey the world, or his domain.

Flowers

Composition in Black&White. Or, indoor camouflage.

So pleased that the plants are looking hardy.

Not the most showy of flowers, but most welcome. Some on every tomato and pepper plant, all six.

Mocha

So tired when I got home, but we had to get food for dinner, at least. Once we'd done all that, D started cooking, and I took the door-haunting cat outside. Well, a guy with his dog walked past. One of those cattle dog/mixes and Moby was just going to go back in. Lingered at the closed door. I took the chair to the lawn, and reluctantly, Moby followed. Settled himself on the lawn to munch grass and wander a bit. He'd gotten to the point of lounging a couple of feet from me, D had just come out to see how we were doing, when Mocha bounded out of nowhere, and jumped over Moby. Moby very startled, splayed himself for a moment. I focused on the dog - who was just playing, to stand between if necessary. D says every bit of Moby's fur was right on end, but it took cat a moment or two to seriously decide to retreat. Mocha's guy got her leashed and away without a problem.

A moment later, Moby is inside, up on the tree, looking out, tail up, not so much frightened as startled, and back to ruling his domain. So secure, so brave, not hiding, not much bothered. "What was that? That was kinda exciting!"

This owning a house, or perhaps more correctly - us at this time having this right house - has been a profound change that we could not have anticipated. It's not about buying a house or not, anymore than it's ever about being married or not. It's about the right big choice at the right time, real love, trusting one's instincts after a lifetime of honing them. Probably why it was such an unexpectedly harsh move, we were making a much deeper and complete transformation than we could understand from that side of the decision. We never minded apartments or the transience of our life before, all things pass. We decided to find a house for rather logical reasons, market forces, and a cat. But the cat, like any decent small, household god, for his own mysterious reasons, led us to a kind of small domestic paradise appropriate for his adoration.