Soft

And now, an out of fashion meme. Ten things. That you would do with a multi-million (dollar, euro - take your pick, this much and it don't much matter) prize. Complete windfall. After taxes, a sum between say, ten and fifty million monetary units. More than you can spend in a lifetime at your current income.

1. Refurbish this house, after paying off the mortgage. Say a cool million to replace the roof with solar panels, landscape the front into a desert friendly garden, new chimney, repaint everything, Japanese bath in back, new garage with door, finish the basement into a well-lit workshop with tools, replumb, repave the drive, that sort of thing.

2. Clear friends and family of their mortgages, preferably anonymously. College funds to their kids, or to them to return to school. Not extravagant gifts, opportunities.

3. Foundations, that will become at least party self-sustaining, then find people to run them. They will fill niches for obscure skills or neglected areas of research, or peculiar dreams. This is the alternate question, if a friend who won a lottery wants to do this, and offers you the chance at a living income to research something, or fill a small need in your community, what would you do?

4. Scholarships. But with oddball requirements. Like David Letterman has a scholarship set up at his alma mater for C students. Maybe I'll have one set up for middle age nursing students who are veterans and blog about their cat.

5. Travel in absolute comfort, not stay in fancy hotels, just the moving about bit will be first class. Visit Istanbul and Roman ruins in Britain, maybe a tropical island for completeness, boat up fjords to see glaciers. Or travel on a reproduction sailing ship, join an archeological dig, beachcomb.

6. Build a small pottery, with kiln, and invite amateur potters to use it.

7. Rent a space good for dancing, lots of wood, good acoustics, and have dances for bellydancers, and Singings for Sacred Harp singers, and be open to other community artful expressions.

8. Actually, we would probably move to a coast, live near the ocean, eventually. As I would, after a few years, not do the job I'm doing, but run a foundation researching weird questions, writing. Best not to upset everything all at once. And I do like what I do most days.

9. Clothes. Yes, I know, petty, but I would have the most lovely, elegant, comfortable clothes, natural fabrics, warm in winter, cool in summer, well made and full of color, to the end of my days.

10. Linens. Yup, that as well. The best sheets, woolen blankets, biggest softest towels, most amazing oriental carpets. Yes, running out of big things, but these last two little things are just as much from the heart.

Moo

Sun rushing through the curtains, strong and low. Glad to be home, D made a good dinner, now I sit, decompress.

Not a bad day, but we were in the only room running from 1400- 1820. A lot to be put away at the very end, and just me and the scrub to do it all. I moved as much out as soon as possible, the 20 liter suction machines x2, the C-arm and monitor, cleaned all the foot pedals during the final closure, returned extra supplies as best I could while finishing the case. While BtheScrub took his table to decontam, I disassembled the bed and put the positioners away, moved the hip cart back to it's home in the hall. The fellow (bless his heart) took the x-ray aprons and put them away. I was a bit irritated that the charge nurse left at some point, without even checking on us, or letting us know she was going. Didn't get everything before he got back, but he only had to do a few more tasks as I finished mine.

I do like Regina Spektor, although I'm not a fan of piano music, her voice is amazing.



Oh, and did you hear about the cows?


Obviously, I'm in a bit of a writing dry spell, but keeping up the practice. Using the forms to move my brain.

Ibis

The truly great, don't think about being great,
They just live well.
The shallow want to be lauded as great,
And can't even be good.

The great souled just get on with the task,
And everything gets done.
The fool tries to look busy,
And leaves a mess for others to clean up.

Real kindness is thorough, without being picky.
The bean counters say they want fairness, but nothing is accomplished.
Those most concerned with rules, really just want to force others to obey.


When the Tao is lost, there is niceness and manners.
When strict etiquette is abandoned, kindness can exist.
When kindness is lost, there is nit-picking.
When justice is lost, the husk of the form pretends to be fair.
This is the terrible illusion, when we mistake the grin for the joy.

Knowing the way the wind will blow isn't magic, it's about sound observations.
Magical thinking leads away from truth.

Real greatness isn't fooled by the surfaces, but responds to the essence.
Attune yourself to the ring of truth, always prefer it to shiny illusions.

Ibis (i' bis). A sacred bird of the ancient Egyptians, specially connected with the god Thoth, who in the guise of an ibis escaped the pursuit of Typhon. Its white plumage symbolized the light of the sun, and its black neck the shadow the the moon, its body a heart, and its legs a triangle. It was said that it drank only the purest of water, and that the bird was so fond of Egypt that it would pine to death if transported elsewhere. The practical reason for the protection of the ibis - for it was a crime to kill it - was that it devoured crocodiles' eggs, serpents and all sorts of noxious reptiles and insects. Cp. ICHNEUMON.

Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963. p.477.

Puttering

This stuff is flourishing out back. Any ideas what it is? Furry leaves, tiny purplish flowers, happy in the shade.

After some help from the wonderful folks at Gardenweb, it is apparently Veronica hederifolia.





Seven rows dug, sifted, tilled. One more to go, then the back part which worries me a bit. Call it the Dump. More rocks, more roots, no more Star Wars figures.



I much appreciate previous owner's shovel. The fork makes a huge difference, as I got two rows done this morning. I keep reminding myself that this may be next year's garden, and that's just fine. I find myself being meticulous, and enjoying not having to be efficient, no hurrying, no need to be done. Enjoying the doing. Feeling more optimistic that I can get some kind of crop, maybe lettuce in that 8th row.

When I find worms, I try to lift them out, and put them into where I've already dug and filled in. I tell them "Hey, little guy, this is a better place for you right now." Got a good number all the way around. Hopefully, they'll like the looser soil, and hang around. I don't mind handing them with gloves. When I was a kid, and went barefoot whenever possible, the worms in the dirt seriously creeped me out. Understanding what they do makes them more interesting, if not more photogenic.



Only want to stop having the garden songs going through my head as I work in the dirt. The Garden Song (Inch by Inch), Octopus's Garden, Seeds of Brotherhood. Although when La Isla Bonita got stuck, I went back to the others. Not even rethinking the lyric as "Last night I dreamed I was Pedro..." helped. I need to go out there with a song in my head already.

Being very careful of my back and thumb, I'm sure I look ridiculous sitting down to shovel dirt. Have my thumb brace on under the glove. I figure, I'm allowed to look very silly. I'm in my own garden, and I'm too old to feel peer pressure - not that there is anyone to see to ridicule me anyway. So I puttered about quite contentedly.

Kings

Tao expresses without fanfare,
Everything happens.
If the rich and powerful could understand this,
There would be peace, and enough for all.

If they acted with the tao,
Without presumptive goals and plans,
They might actually be of some use.
Abandon greed and expectations,
to find everything in place.

A cat may look at a king. An impertinent remark by an inferior, meaning, "I am as good as you." There was a political pamphlet published with this title in 1652.

Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963. p. 181.

Straws

Storm Trooper guy seems to be Han Solo under the helmet. Here he is taking a preliminary bath, as he was caked with mud. Right now, he's in the dishwasher.




D got a poster up. I think it works.

Considering what, in an ideal world that I controlled, I would want. And I keep coming up with, nothing. To be left alone, as far as the genetic kin are concerned. Maybe if I could rewind time and make them get to know me... but even then, only an genuine response would be satisfying, for good or ill. If I can't be loved, or hated, for who I really am, I'd prefer to be let be. I'm not one for wishing. Real love beats any fantasy. Honest friends leave dreams fading into wisps in the night. A whole life, myself as best I can be today, with clear eyes and plain truth, awake and kind. I can't change them, no one can make anyone do anything, and resting one's entire happiness in anyone else's hands, dependent on their behaviour, assures resentment and disappointment. I can't be that for anyone, no one can be that for me.

D and I share our happiness, we have bendy straws.

Dunning-Kruger

Thinking about a boss who figured "I'm usually an excellent judge of people!" when a string of hires turned out to be pretty & charming thieves and malcontents. And how my mother constantly commented to me, when I was a small child under her care, how she worried about being a "good mom" - to which I had to respond with reassurances of her skill, as though that was an unbiased assessment instead of an coerced one. (If she'd asked me once, as an adult, that would have made some sense, although still a bit of a fishing trip.) Also, the folks who say they are good at multi-tasking are often the worst at it, and it shows in their driving - as they text. Apparently, it is a typically American disorder. Accounting, perhaps, for the Canadian variation my mother exhibits.

Thinking about how physical abuse is the tip of the emotional abuse iceberg. If one had a loving parent with a spastic/seizure/thing that caused them to physically hit their children at odd times, with no emotional component, the child might be a bit jumpy about physical closeness, but would not (I'm guessing) feel abused, despite bruises. That doesn't happen, of course, it's a made-up situation for illustration. But I know when my demented patients took a swipe at me, I didn't feel abused at all. Nor when my drill sergeants screamed at me, utterly controlled and with no personal agenda, did I feel threatened as a person. Very different to be irrationally criticized and bullied at my only home. I began to want to be hit, so I could strip my sleeves and show real scars, just to be believed that harm was being done.

I hate thinking about this. I've worked through it. Apparently, it's like the arthritis that develops long after an injury is healed. Sucks. Enough drama. Condition of my life. Cause to appreciate where I am right now.

I realize that this is ridiculously anthropomorphic, even for me, but I think the house knows we love it, and are taking care of it, and loves us back, including it's new cat-household-god.



Suffering an emotional hangover today. Typical, I often crumble after the crisis is over.

Bast

The bubble pops,
Because it was inflated.
The sand
Is crumbled mountains.
The crash to the ground,
Comes from climbing very high.

We gather the crop
We planted before.

So everything moves from one state to another,
Success and failure, strong and weak, life and death, all existing together.

This is our condition, we fish in this ocean.
Don't be too proud when you are on top.

Bubastis. Greek name of Bast, or Pasht, the Diana of Egyptian mythology; she was daughter of Isis and sister of Horus, and her sacred animal was the cat. See CAT.

- Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963. p.148

Pancakes

We both got up early, but decided at 0600 to go back to bed, and for the first time in a very, very long time, it worked. We slept until nearly 0830. Ate a good breakfast, I even made pancakes - and they turned out.



The fork, as you all knew, and I believed you, made the next trench a much easier, more successful endeavor. I got one for $27, which beat the next lowest one of $38, most ran over $50 and up and up from there. The cheap one worked a treat, thank you all for encouraging me to get one. HUGE difference. Got done in an hour what took me three days for the first one, and two hour sessions the second. This one took me an hour, and it's much fluffier.


Found this little guy about a foot or so down. D amused, as was I. Gotta be a story there. Sibling punishment or just a game?



Lost and forgotten, either way.



When we manage the next more expensive project, the shades for the front - where the hot sun will blare in all afternoon in the summer, this is the color we are considering. There is a lighter shade, a Berry-something, not too pink, which I also like. But D wants something less formally tasteful - as defined by modern designers. I think "Sangria" would be lovely.


Moby taking over my lap whenever I sit in the music room today. Very insistent, too. Endearing, a little strange, hinders me from doing anything. I've let him pin me down several times before shoving him off - to his sighing annoyance. He's lovin' on me today, honey. D thinks this is the house he's always dreamed of living in, so now he is comfortable to be completely happy and himself, and showing his appreciation. I gave him a good brushing, got out a large ball of undercoat fur. Well, had to do something while I was sat upon.



We'll take the curtain on the doorway down soon, but it's nice to easily warm one room early in the morning. Cold weather is not over quite yet, not for certain.

Cheese

Attitude problem,
A struggle to keep going,
So tired, don't wanna.



This is a week I could have used a holiday, but there are none until the end of May. Hoped to get off a bit early today, no chance, there until the bitter. Have to take my BLS class tomorrow, then go to work. I've been doing CPR pass off since 1988, and although there have been changes, improvements based on data, I've kept up. The updates should take an hour at most, not five. But I am a month past the lapse, missed due to the move and our office manager got no notices that I was late - as she usually does. Ultimately my own fault, but there were circumstances.

Letting go is an awkward process. The right one for me, of that I am sure. I will not be compared to my abusive father, I will not accept the blame for how I was treated as a small child under his control. They are free to see it differently, I am not subject to their skewed reality. My family is D and Moby and our friends. My genetic kin is on their own, nothing to me. I leave them chained to their own fates. So often I was told what I "had" to do. Mostly, those were lies. No, I didn't have to. No, I do not owe.

As John Cheese says, "I think there's a point where you're allowed to let that shit go to voice mail."

Assortment

Fog on Boston Common.


No comment necessary.



Tough chick, near Boston College. This is March. But then, flip flops appeared all over as soon as the temps got above 40˚F, to my amazement.


The view over the Charles River, Zakim Bridge, Bunker Hill Monument, from our 20th story first apartment there. Provided by the traveling agency.



A Smoot mark on Harvard Bridge.


Really enjoying my day off this week, after last week when I didn't have one. A pause.

We still miss Boston, always will. This is home, now.

Traded

So, they cut our four stinky trees down. Light for the garden. Very entertaining to watch, better than surgery. The guy up the tree, with the chainsaw dangling from his belt is awesome. Stomped my freshly dug beds, but I knew that would happen, thought too late of putting something over them, and just let it go. Also thought to ask for the chipped wood, but it stunk of Tree of Heaven, and I didn't want to bother them, nor have that stench on the lawn. I'll find a way to get some compost on it later. The lawn will die, but there is no rush.


The neighbor with the adjacent backyard stopped by when they finished, and asked to come by later. Of course I said sure. That was right after M from work, our office manager, called to see if I would be home so she could stop by and finally see the house. So, I said, sure. And cleaned up as much as I had time to and apologized for the rest. Seems like it would be bad luck to refuse any visits at this point.

Neighbor is pleasantly odd, I rather like her. She told us that she might have a seizure, she's prone to them, especially today. Still, when it took her, I didn't catch it, or her, fast enough. She went down hard, gonna have a bruise or three. Not like a faint, those I'm good at spotting, and have made some good catches. D took it pretty well, I stayed with her, and Moby came to see what was wrong. Very prudent of her to have friends nearby that she can rely on. We drove her to her FIL's house for the afternoon, so she would have company. She also told us that when she was having her fence put in, the previous owners only let her in their yard reluctantly. Well, we have always suspected they were kind of jerks. Anyone with that much Ikae* would kind of have to be. A little is normal, like having some Tupperwere,* or Reader's Digested condensed books, but not the whole set, you know?

Got a garden fork today, Ace had one for a very reasonable price, finally. And I got a gift certificate at work for Home Despot - which will get used for something else, but is mentally covering the new tool. All a trade.





*Trying to avoid Oogle bots. And Tupperwerewolves.

Bilocation

I am imagining walking around Boston, as Phil is doing.

Like this house.

Or the bunny in Copley Square.

Along the Fenway.

Where we lived in Brookline.

The Dutch House.

The USS Constitution.

Harvard Square.

Around Boston Common.

Just along the path. Jaywalking.

Piano movers. By Deathwish.

Near the stadium.

Library Lion.

The old State House.

Maybe later, some photos from the archive.

Lingering

Don't pick up the cat,
These days unless you mean it.
He loves to linger.

Trench

One row lifted, sifted, filled in, with lavender planted. Next trench nearly half dug, what I can do before the rain and snow imminent. I'm finding a method, got good leather gloves, wearing my thumb brace. The dog gate makes a great sieve to declump and get rid of the larger rocks. And the very old dog turds. I listen to when I need to stop, better to do a little each day. When I got home the day of the funeral, I finished the first trench - perhaps 15 minutes work.

Compost heap a mere pathetic pile, but started. Finding all kinds of trash out there. Just sorting through, like untangling string. No big, fast, easy way through, only simple patient, systematic thoroughness. Not a talent I have naturally, but I've learned, and more practice is useful. Like untangling all the cords and lines on a patient in surgery. Start at one end, follow it through gently, until everything is clear. Coiling the cords at the end of a case, the light, camera, shaver, cautery, control, suction, irrigation - that have all macramé -'d themselves into a draped mat somehow. One by one, careful not to damage them.




The hyacinth is out there, because I could not stand the odor in the house. Felt my throat seizing up the day it bloomed, smelled like old socks, dryer sheets, burned food. It is pretty, just not too near my nose. I'm not good with strong flower, perfume smells. I'd make a terrible bee.

PS
I actually finished the second bed, digging and refilling. I've definitely got a better technique. It was starting to spit rain, so it seemed important to get it to that point. So far, nor more rain, only gusty winds. Have to remind myself I have nearly two months before I can plant anything else, certainly not actual plants. Time enough. But what took me three days before, I've done in a couple of hours in one day.

Throb

With my shattered heart,
I love you imperfectly,
With every cell throb.

Geese

We did several surgeries, changed and went to the memorial service for a 19 month old child of one of our surgeons. Our office manager arranged a shuttle. The surgeons on duty split their day. I have been to more funerals than I can count, but this was heavier. Infinitely more massive. I guess about 500 people attended, cried quietly, did what they could, which was not much. Piano player as the crowd straggled in, fine, until one song, and the tears became choked and smothered sobs. Only after did I completely figure out what it was, the one song as a child that irresistibly forced tears. Baby of Mine from Dumbo. Obviously, I was not the only one who reacted so.

The surgeon, well, I've heard the term gutted before, but I've never seen it until today. Grey and gaunt, if his guts had been yanked out of him, tripping him as he walked, it would not have seemed worse. When his mother, speaking German, bid her granddaughter adieu at the grave, I had to restrain myself from running to her, to hold her close. I held myself in, this is not my grief, I only carry a slight weight of it for an hour. Not enough to notice, but a gesture, only.

Waves of grief, echoed around, gaping empty loss, not just this one, but all our griefs. I wore Aunt Evelyn's kilt, and although this added to my tears - it also comforted me. The minister at one point asked us what song was sung by those we had lost. It took me a while, and he had not meant it so literally, but it came to me. Aunt Evelyn sang:

Hail, hail, the gang's all here!/What the heck do we care?/We don't wear no underwear! (Around my mother, I had to use the expurgated "We don't need no car fare") / Hail, hail, the gang's all here/ What the heck do we care, now?

Then we went back to work, and finished the day. My head and eyes are swollen, eroded. Brain exhausted of thought, drained of emotion. A furry black sponge sits beside me, a comfort, a joy.

When I spoke to my mother yesterday, she told me how she's tried to ease my SIL's anger at me for my decade out of contact, explaining it as a defense of my husband. My mother seems to see my father's abuse as me "not getting along" with him. (Apparently, it was my job - as the child, to create the relationship, and he, as the adult, was not.) My SIL believes in family above all - and never saw my father's malevolence. My mother also spoke of having more money now than she ever expected to have, I believe from various life insurance policies my father set up. Good for her, he did work hard and saved money - one of his good points - no question. Especially given that we lived on the edge of the poverty line. But then she makes a point of telling me she's done her will, which divides what is left among the three of us. My stomach sinks, I won't be bought. My love has no price.


D helps me work through this. Because of him, I have the courage to drop my end of the rope, and wait to see. (After all, in the ten years that she may well live, it will be all gone anyway.) That kind of non-action slowly rolled my brain around through the night, and kept me from sleep for many long hours. Part of me wants to make a statement, refuse any inheritance. On the other hand, the Army paid me $300 a month in separation pay from the (not then yet) ex for six months, something for the years of hell. I want to tell my eldest brother, the executor, to leave me out of this, I won't take a penny. And I may not, in the end. If there is anything after all, which seems unlikely as ever.

I don't know what will happen, and I'm not yet content with that. Time enough to defer, and ignore. To bide.

As we approached the gravesite, three Canadian geese honked overhead. I imagine a little girl would have been delighted. I will remember the geese. Much loved child, she lived a perfect life, never been lonely, never been lied to, never had to shuffle in fear, nothing denied to. The suffering is to those left.

Story

An older couple lived by a stream, with their young daughter, a bright joy. She watched the silver fish in the stream, the blue birds in the sky, the red flowers in the fields, and laughed at the rainbows and pink clouds above.

Until one day the sky heaved, and the wind beat the earth, and a black mass of tiny demons swept over the little family, and swept up the tiny child, and took her off. The couple watched her disappear, helpless to her plight, until she vanished completely far up and away. Not knowing what to do, with hearts of lead, they sat down on a bench in the meadow, held hands and wept in a world without color.

They wept and wept, day after day, until their tears formed a pond. Far above an eagle watched curiously. Until the pond became a lake, salty and dead, since no fish from the streams could live in salty water. The eagle, who loved cod and herring, had an idea.

One day, as they sat weeping, they heard a splash, which startled them enough to look up. Above them, an eagle wheeled away. A little while later, he came back, with a fish held gently in his talons, and splash, the fish fell into the water. Something about the bird, and the timing of the flop caused them to laugh. For the first time since their daughter vanished, they stopped crying.

Next day, more large birds brought more ocean fish, until the couple figured they could catch one and have dinner. Slowly, the fish thrived, and the eagle would circle above them, or perch on their roof, listening to them talk quietly of their loss. The eagle thought and thought, as he soared, until one day, he saw a small, starving child sleeping by a river. The eagle swept down, and gently wrapped his talons around the child, and flew hard, carrying him along to his lake and the couple. Then he caught one of the fish in the lake, and enjoyed his dinner by his own calm sea.

In the morning, the woman found the child asleep on the porch, and took him in. On that day, the color began to return, the stream began to brighten, and the roses bloomed a pale pink, the birds seemed a light shade of blue. The man even whistled at his chores, now and then.

Over the years, the boy, although always solemn and a bit thin, became a good kind man, with a sweet cheerful wife, who took kind care of the now old couple, and a small granddaughter who watched the silver fish in the stream, the emerald fish in the lake, the blue birds in the sky, the red flowers in the fields, and laughed at the rainbows and pink clouds above. And never wondered why so many eagles loved to circle the strangely salty lake near her home.

Loss

One of our well respected, and well liked surgeons, lost his young daughter to a fluke virus over the weekend. The people who have children seem to be taking it much harder, as one would expect. I sense the enormity of it, knowing no words are of any use at all. Grief overwhelms, the loss engulfs even the peripheral observers. It's not my grief, but my tears swell in sympathy. Every death elicits tears from me, always has. Not exactly for those gone, absolutely for those left to mourn.

All of my experience has been with death in adults, I know what to say when someone has lost a grandparent, or even a spouse. But a young child, there is no comfort, no solace. I think about granny, born herself in 1890, who bore ten children, with only six reaching adulthood. A single child dead, the twins dead, all in their first year. Another died within a week. Then the oldest, a son, drowned at 16. She was expected to get over it and get on with it. I don't know if that's good, or helpful, or cruel. Certainly her fervent religious beliefs provided her reasons and consolations. If I'd been her, and believed in a god that had taken those children, I'd've taken it personally, and as proof this was no god worth the trouble.

But to even consider the function of justice in the death of children seems to me a gross affront to how life works. There is no injustice in viruses, or bacteria, causing death. Fairness doesn't enter into it. Goodness is a poor weapon against septic shock, even with proper medical care. No one past the age of twenty should ever whine "but it's not fair!" No, it's not, so? Crying over rain when I wanted to play outdoors didn't get me anything but a red nose and a headache. A high school friend of mine got in touch a number of years back. After a while she told me about her young son, who died because of a car accident, her fault, and he was not in a seatbelt. No tidy moral will make a damn bit of difference there, won't revive the dead or assuage the remorse. No murdered child lives again once the killer is caught, or executed. Any more than 90 years wasted gets another shot at it. One lifetime, that's it, a day or a century, same thing.

We want to see causes, cures, solutions. There are none here. There is only the love we keep alive, the life we continue with - once the worst of the shock passes. Only the laughter will break up the thick concrete grief that will never be gone, only cracked and covered with leaves.

Ditch

It really doesn't look like much.



My hands are shaking. Yesterday I dug out enough sod to plant thyme in the front lawn. I did too much and my arms ached and shook, and I'm back in the thumb brace. Today, when I started feeling stressed again, I put it all away and called it good. Well, I did three more shovelsfull, but mostly. I work a physical job, but this is an entirely different set of muscles and rate of exertion. Lots of stones and a number of nails, this is not a garden that was ever prepared properly, even I can tell. I'm sifting it through the dog/baby gate left by POs.

Using the shovel they also left behind.



Lots of stones, and concrete, a few old nails.


Familiar to any of you? I knew it immediately, and there is still a coal room behind it. When I was a kid, still had a coal furnace, and I took my turn stoking it, and shaking the ash from the damper. I was about 15 before I realized that not all boogers were black.

Sunset

This place has lovely sunsets, with large western windows. I wonder if we can mark the solstices, equinoxes, places where the sun strikes. Moby especially photogenic in this light.

Asap

Cranky today, and so was everyone else. A kind of vague irritableness that seemed to get everyone. Next week looks to be a doozie, I'm going in on my day off to cover lunches. With the damn time change (to those in other parts of the world, no joke, in the US it changes this weekend) likely the whole next week will be likewise annoying. I resolve to stay cheerful, and have beer at home.

Had a tree guy in to take care of our weed trees. Went to the pertinent neighbors - who all were not only nice, but downright enthusiastic about getting rid of the damn things. Will schedule ASAP, in view of putting in garden.

During a newspaper interview in March 1966, John Lennon said that the Beatles were “more popular than Jesus.”

On August 13, radio station KLUE in Longview, Texas, organized a bonfire in which protesting Christians burned their Beatles records.

The following day, the station’s broadcast tower was struck by lightning, rendering the news director unconscious and knocking the station off the air.

From Futility Closet.

Friday, bah. Done, basta.

Zebra

Zealous, with razor,
Hazard the zing, zero in,
Amaze and zip in.

Scan

Fur all filling back in. Proof, if any is needed, that cheap beige apartment carpet is not good for anyone.

D just glad he can keep the scanner out, not stored away under the bed. All a matter of perspective.

Sat down with a mug of tea, check the usual morning sites while D dressed & ate breakfast. Moby insisted he is a better laptop, since he is warm, furry, & purrs. He has a good point. I'm stuck for a while. Sorry about the lack of quality, photo-booth can only do so much at this angle.


Jobs to do, must wait a while. Snowed all night, to little result - don't even need to shovel. I rather expected as much. Still, I'd rather prepare for a dump and wind up with a dusting, than the other way around.

Calm

Snow coming down. Looks like a doozie, but in March, even that doesn't mean much in a city used to snow anyway.

Pistachio

Yeah, ok, I get why they call it pistachio cream.







Loves the hugs.

Sod

Not a day to do, really. Up too early, grumpy, unhappy gut, vaguely miserable. After lunch I felt I had to do something, with the sun and warmth outside. So, I swept out the garage full of leaves and blown in trash. And found just how much crap the formers left. Weed killer by the gallon, turf builder in several bags, two one gallon gasoline containers, both full. I'd like to pour all of it all over them, but then it would still get into the water table. D is going to find out where to take the toxins. A half rotted string hammock, destroyed brooms, good for only their handles. A small tarp and a mover's quilt. A shed with a few random tools. More paint, to add to the collection already in the basement. Probably a good place for it, paint on all the raw concrete down there is one way to use it.

Thinking it best to let the back lie fallow, with clover, sunflowers, barley, that sort of thing, this year. Clear the dog shit and weed killer. And plant a few things in the front only. Although that is likely full of even more weed killer. Ok, maybe both areas. Shit, I really wanted a few tomatoes. Must think long term. Just keep it green, and healthy. And find out where the sun hits. Disappointing, but also hopeful. This is going to take some adjustment, and a new plan. Sod removal and ground cover, oh what fun. Double dig the whole place.

Sod's Law.


Think, think. Think, think, think.

Limitattions

Wrong,



Better,



I do know that I am an intelligent person. I also know the limits of my intelligence and knowledge. I'm always working on those gaps, but I also know in what ways there will always be huge gaps. I think that is part of being smart enough, being able to see how far the road goes on, and how little fuel I have left. I will never be as smart as any crossword compiler, my uncle Walt, or our friend N, for instance. I'm crap at rote memorization, spacial relationships, arithmetic, and I'm not a fast thinker most of the time.

Puzzles are a great challenge, sudoku a practice in seeing numbers - that I still screw up, and I rarely get a late-week crossword puzzle off perfectly. No expert I. I've had to work at anything I wanted to understand. Doable, but not easy, ever. I worked for every A I got in school, and I got a lot of them. Lots of school prizes, and I never cared, because I knew how good it could be, and I had not gotten there. Playing a musical instrument, oh, my do I know how it feels to be inept.

This is part of why I love writing and photography, because I don't really understand, and I have to put everything into getting it attractive and legible, readable. I make progress. I know good writing, and good photographs. I can see what it takes, see when they are really worthwhile. I can't do them, save the occasional lucky shot, the odd essay that transcends my skill. As all artists who occasionally transcend their skill, a period of extreme inspiration and talent, a masterwork, often never to be regained. A minor version of the To Kill a Mockingbird experience, as Harper Lee has admitted, when the story wants to be told, and one amazing book emerges. What else could anyone want?

I work at it, so if a photo wants me to take it, a story wants me to tell it, maybe I'll be able, ready, at the right time. No guarantees. There never are.

Wooly

In the music room, the blinds by day and night.





Just a poster, but it really brings the kitchen wall together. Brighter, instead of all that dark blue. Normally, I like dark blue, and with the sun on it, it's not a bad color at all. But without sun, it sucks in light, never letting it out. Typical of the paint in this house.



And in the bedroom. The windows glow at night, pleasantly.



Just have to cut through the excess green. A bit of red will do. The army blankets, two sewn together, are very warm indeed. Good wool, if not a terribly attractive color.

Blinds

A week of work, at least. Sore neck/throat, as though fighting off a virus. I know there is Something Going Round, and I got it. This year, I've not been down with anything much, perhaps because of the flu shot, perhaps because I've already been sick with what came through this year, and was immune. I'm a big fan of flu shots, since I used to be a sensitive canary, ill every winter, first down, longest miserable, last relapsing. Since the flu immunization became more common, especially in my cohort, I've escaped a month of dreadful ill every year. I still catch What's Going Round, a stray virus, colds, and it always lingers with me. It just doesn't happen as often, as badly, as when younger, for me. I can tell all my lymph nodes are on overdrive, and I tend to be tired, but otherwise, meh. Damn stiff neck on one side is a bit annoying, capsaisin rub helped.

Thankfully, Friday was short, got home shortly after D, time to let myself rest and heal. And right after I got home, the guy called to come install the blinds. Oh, yes, we dug deep, and decided to get the cellular* blinds that were a priority before we moved in, got pushed down the list in preference to the plumbing and so many other expenses. Before the move, I'd even ordered free swatches, and chose the most likely - "Candlelight." But a few weeks ago, D and I talked about how cold he was, the general darkness, and how much both of us hated the brown, dark, hideous blinds. We went back to Home Despot, I found a comparable color in the other brand, and the installer came to do proper measurements. The other brand came in at $20 less, not sure if it was per window or not, but cheaper was cheaper, so I stuck with the new "pistachio cream." Went a bit on faith, honestly. Hank was a joy. Older guy, very personable, we felt in good hands. Moby just watched him from the chair, placidly. When he appeared with the blinds yesterday, it didn't take him long, and he assured us we'd gone with the better made product, and we joked about the names of colors. Moby followed him around a bit that time. But respectfully.

And we nearly gasped at the difference it made. Really lovely. We can keep the heat in, and still bring in light. The weighty and depressing brown is expunged, at least from two rooms. They are beautiful. They make both the music room, and the bedroom so much more light and open. Huge difference. We will do the rest of the windows in time.

We stopped by the apartment to see if we needed to pay for another month. By our lease, we were liable for the equivalent of four month's rent, but they offered to let us just rent until the next tenant moved in. Well, the management agent there was shocked that we hadn't been called, it had been rented on the 24th of last month. The refund/deposit check will be on it's way about a month after that. We were rather worried, not wanting to pay more for a place we didn't need anymore. We went to find out, check in hand, because we are honorable people, if with heavy hearts. We nearly whooped, to find out we were off the hook. Such an enormous relief. One less worry.

Also went to where I'd gotten the camera for a tutorial on manual focus. I've been needing it, and failing to figure it out. Feeling very dumb, lacking vocabulary and technical knowledge. I know the words f-stop and aperture and bracketing, and I know, theoretically, what they mean. But I don't really know how to make them work for me. It's too spacial, a lifelong weakness in my comprehension. But the camera expert was kind, and got me just enough information to get me a bit further along. All I needed for the moment.

But then the camera battery needed charging, so no photos today. Tomorrow morning. Grey, glareful day anyway. And my over the top sunglasses snapped.

Then, well, before actually, I went to my Beginning Organic Gardening seminar. I am so excited about growing a garden, and so many of my questions have been addressed. I loved being spoken to as an intelligent person, as well. More on that tomorrow as well, I think. Actually used some of my organic chemistry, which is nice. NPK, and she never explicitly explained it. But I got it, after a moment. Nitrogen, Phosphorous, Potassium, when to add. Companion plants, bed orientation, managing pests and weeds, not eliminating them, feeding the soil - and where to get it tested for cheap. So much to read up on. Reassurance, don't expect too much, don't try too much, it all goes to next year anyway. I found it all wonderfully interesting.

Good to have an organic garden, since I wouldn't want to eat anything from an Inorganic garden. (Chemistry joke.)

Life is so much more engaging these days.


*Much cheaper than new windows, or window covers, but will save so much in heating/cooling over time. Dramatically cutting down on the drafts already.