Yes, it's my own hair. A bit of black greasepaint on the face. I do hope we get lots of kids.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Halloween
Would you take candy from this person?
Yes, it's my own hair. A bit of black greasepaint on the face. I do hope we get lots of kids.
Yes, it's my own hair. A bit of black greasepaint on the face. I do hope we get lots of kids.
Jealous
Henri at Halloween, so appropriate.
A thought just occurred to me, about black cats and Halloween. In some areas, black cats become targets for those with evil thoughts around this time. The Boston Animal Rescue League gave explicit warnings, and questioned us closely on why we preferred a black cat (we think they are smarter) when we adopted Moby eight years ago. And Moby, then Midnight, was simply our cat, perfect for us, a gorgeous panther.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Perfection
One of those so called "perfect" days for weather. Bah, boring. Inside most of it, though. Not as bad as yesterday, after watching the hurricane coverage all day, and half expecting to go out to at least a little rain. Nope.
Really interesting cases, which is one aspect of working in a very large trauma hospital that I do very much miss. Seeing those cases that are rare, or unique. And there were two of them today in my little corner of the world. Children, but they got very well cared for, good repairs for congenital deformities. They will heal well and quickly.
Turned into the driveway, and saw a certain black cat sitting on the walkway near the house. I stopped, turned off the engine, calmly got out and approached. "Hey Moby, why are you out here by yourself, and naked?" He walked over to me, blinking in calm bliss at being outside and warm, "Oh, hi, yeah all good, hey! waitamin... " I had him picked up. Thankfully the front door was unlocked and I deposited him inside. D had no idea. He must've made a run for it when he'd checked the mail an hour before. So Moby got to bask in the sun and sniff to his heart's content.
I think that because he knows the edges of his territory, knows his house, his yard, is used to being out there, he is fine on those occasions when he gets past us. I don't think just letting him out whenever would be wise, but once in a while if it happens, he'll be fine. Not to do intentionally, but he knows where home is. He gets a bit of practice this way.
He's snuggled in between my knee and D's elbow, purring contentedly.
Really interesting cases, which is one aspect of working in a very large trauma hospital that I do very much miss. Seeing those cases that are rare, or unique. And there were two of them today in my little corner of the world. Children, but they got very well cared for, good repairs for congenital deformities. They will heal well and quickly.
Turned into the driveway, and saw a certain black cat sitting on the walkway near the house. I stopped, turned off the engine, calmly got out and approached. "Hey Moby, why are you out here by yourself, and naked?" He walked over to me, blinking in calm bliss at being outside and warm, "Oh, hi, yeah all good, hey! waitamin... " I had him picked up. Thankfully the front door was unlocked and I deposited him inside. D had no idea. He must've made a run for it when he'd checked the mail an hour before. So Moby got to bask in the sun and sniff to his heart's content.
I think that because he knows the edges of his territory, knows his house, his yard, is used to being out there, he is fine on those occasions when he gets past us. I don't think just letting him out whenever would be wise, but once in a while if it happens, he'll be fine. Not to do intentionally, but he knows where home is. He gets a bit of practice this way.
He's snuggled in between my knee and D's elbow, purring contentedly.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Register
Not too long after we moved in, I spent some time shining up the brass door knobs and faceplates. An act of caring for the house, pleasantly mindless work with obvious results, quite therapeutic.
One of the grates for the heat had, and still has, a broken lever, which we will be working on shortly. All were blackened. So, when I pulled out the center part to take to the hardware store for advice, I realized it was mostly brass as well. It didn't shine up terribly well, a little better, though.
When I went at the one in the kitchen, though, it gleamed.
Another one is missing the lever and sheet of metal. Several are painted, which seems terribly sad to me.
It may not be important, but I want to tend to such details. A simple matter of brasso and elbow grease, to make the house feel beloved. Small things.
Like sweeping. Oh, yeah, well, I'll get to that again very soon.
One of the grates for the heat had, and still has, a broken lever, which we will be working on shortly. All were blackened. So, when I pulled out the center part to take to the hardware store for advice, I realized it was mostly brass as well. It didn't shine up terribly well, a little better, though.
When I went at the one in the kitchen, though, it gleamed.
Another one is missing the lever and sheet of metal. Several are painted, which seems terribly sad to me.
It may not be important, but I want to tend to such details. A simple matter of brasso and elbow grease, to make the house feel beloved. Small things.
Like sweeping. Oh, yeah, well, I'll get to that again very soon.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Gangnam
I have to admit, I am completely taken with the PSY Gangnam Style video, and a number of the responses to it. Largely because I have known a number of Koreans, mostly in Boston, and every one of them had wickedpissah senses of humor.
The MIT version just had me howling.
This is the most charming version by far. Acoustic and understated.
I made D watch the original and MIT versions. His response was, more or less, "huh." Oh, well. Maybe it'll be funnier later. Maybe not.
So, I had to inflict it on you, as well.
The MIT version just had me howling.
This is the most charming version by far. Acoustic and understated.
I made D watch the original and MIT versions. His response was, more or less, "huh." Oh, well. Maybe it'll be funnier later. Maybe not.
So, I had to inflict it on you, as well.
Thrift
Thoughts about the genetic kin taking on the distinct sense of acedemic distance. Deep history. Strangely interesting, no longer important to my daily life, no longer in my heart.
I sought the truth, it wasn't that bad.
Oh, bad enough, just not dreadful. Like that oh so fascinating thrift shop, that seems to hold treasures and menace. Once entered is simply musty and crowded, with a cranky owner, spider webs and dust, and lots of junk from not that long ago. Maybe I'll stop by on a rainy day because of boredom, expecting nothing at all. An absence rather than an aggressive hostility. A culpable lack of parental love, disinterest, contempt. Nothing to be returned, though.
Thinking about my parents' persistent negativity. I started hiding from my mother as I realized how much of what I liked were subjects of criticism of other people. From color preference, to use of dishwashers, to attitudes on abortion, others were foolish, wasteful or downright sinful. Having no intention of changing my tastes or opinions, I pretended agreement, or stayed silent. And have done for upwards of forty years. Having always refrained from voicing preferences for anything she has degraded, there is no remaining desire to fight that long dead battle. Let her think she's won. I will wear dark purple, with red all over my home. My dishwasher is a treasure, as is the AC in the summer, and I drink beer, and swear, whenever I damn well want.
And I think abortion is a medical decision that politics and religion need to keep their fucking noses out of. For the vast majority of my life, if I'd had a time machine and could force my mother to abort me rather than put me through my life (until I met D) I'd have done it in a heartbeat. I will pugnaciously call myself PRO-abortion, given provocation. No child should have to be born unwanted. Recycle the unwanted, until they get conceived by a decent set of parents. Anything else is hardline rhetoric, which never raised a child lovingly.
I get a little bulldoggish about children, even as I don't like them around much. I want them cared for, and I will protect them with vigor, and I have nothing but contempt for neglectful, lazy-ass parents. Perhaps as I do any vulnerable living creature. That I have no feel for them just means I don't pretend around them, don't get chummy. Hurting them, though, that is down to fundamental character flaw. Neither of my parents could manage the Do No Harm clause of doctors. Seems to me, that should be a vow every parent takes. First - do no harm. Basic. Like providing food and not beating.
I am free now, I know this. No one will try to contact me again. It's all in my hands, and I drop the rope. There.
Found four different wine glasses at the local church thrift shop. I do like some variety in my dishes. Will do nicely for beer or ginger ale or sparkling cider, very festive.
I sought the truth, it wasn't that bad.
Oh, bad enough, just not dreadful. Like that oh so fascinating thrift shop, that seems to hold treasures and menace. Once entered is simply musty and crowded, with a cranky owner, spider webs and dust, and lots of junk from not that long ago. Maybe I'll stop by on a rainy day because of boredom, expecting nothing at all. An absence rather than an aggressive hostility. A culpable lack of parental love, disinterest, contempt. Nothing to be returned, though.
Thinking about my parents' persistent negativity. I started hiding from my mother as I realized how much of what I liked were subjects of criticism of other people. From color preference, to use of dishwashers, to attitudes on abortion, others were foolish, wasteful or downright sinful. Having no intention of changing my tastes or opinions, I pretended agreement, or stayed silent. And have done for upwards of forty years. Having always refrained from voicing preferences for anything she has degraded, there is no remaining desire to fight that long dead battle. Let her think she's won. I will wear dark purple, with red all over my home. My dishwasher is a treasure, as is the AC in the summer, and I drink beer, and swear, whenever I damn well want.
And I think abortion is a medical decision that politics and religion need to keep their fucking noses out of. For the vast majority of my life, if I'd had a time machine and could force my mother to abort me rather than put me through my life (until I met D) I'd have done it in a heartbeat. I will pugnaciously call myself PRO-abortion, given provocation. No child should have to be born unwanted. Recycle the unwanted, until they get conceived by a decent set of parents. Anything else is hardline rhetoric, which never raised a child lovingly.
I get a little bulldoggish about children, even as I don't like them around much. I want them cared for, and I will protect them with vigor, and I have nothing but contempt for neglectful, lazy-ass parents. Perhaps as I do any vulnerable living creature. That I have no feel for them just means I don't pretend around them, don't get chummy. Hurting them, though, that is down to fundamental character flaw. Neither of my parents could manage the Do No Harm clause of doctors. Seems to me, that should be a vow every parent takes. First - do no harm. Basic. Like providing food and not beating.
I am free now, I know this. No one will try to contact me again. It's all in my hands, and I drop the rope. There.
Found four different wine glasses at the local church thrift shop. I do like some variety in my dishes. Will do nicely for beer or ginger ale or sparkling cider, very festive.
Lamp
Moby ensconced on the new blanket*, fleecy and warm.
In the sun, with the bedpad turned on, bliss for a cat.
Evening light rendering the lamp useless, for an hour or so.
Time changes back in a week. Looking forward to Halloween. Birds in the Hedge. Errands to run. D short of gloves. He found four, none of which is a match for any other. Last year, I was a bit under the clothes/storage situation, and Stuff Got Lost.
Nine months ago, and a few weeks, we moved in. Hardest move ever, for both of us. Neither of us exactly sure why, so much in our favor. We had more than a day, we had help, moving from a small place into a larger place - much larger than ever before. It was January, but very mild that week. Yes, we'd bought the house, but that went off so easily, really. Yet, we were shaken to the core, struggling with basic sorting and motor skills. D thinks it was in large part because he was cold all the time, wondering if it would ever be warm in this house. A good space heater eventually helped with that. I felt so guilty that he seemed so miserable in this irrevocable move.
It's gotten better. We do love living here. Hearing Moby gallop around, engaged and healthier, was what we both held on to. That sound, of him chasing and thumping at night still causes us to giggle.
*One of those so cheap on sale things, I went back for a second one, my favorite kind.
In the sun, with the bedpad turned on, bliss for a cat.
Evening light rendering the lamp useless, for an hour or so.
Time changes back in a week. Looking forward to Halloween. Birds in the Hedge. Errands to run. D short of gloves. He found four, none of which is a match for any other. Last year, I was a bit under the clothes/storage situation, and Stuff Got Lost.
Nine months ago, and a few weeks, we moved in. Hardest move ever, for both of us. Neither of us exactly sure why, so much in our favor. We had more than a day, we had help, moving from a small place into a larger place - much larger than ever before. It was January, but very mild that week. Yes, we'd bought the house, but that went off so easily, really. Yet, we were shaken to the core, struggling with basic sorting and motor skills. D thinks it was in large part because he was cold all the time, wondering if it would ever be warm in this house. A good space heater eventually helped with that. I felt so guilty that he seemed so miserable in this irrevocable move.
It's gotten better. We do love living here. Hearing Moby gallop around, engaged and healthier, was what we both held on to. That sound, of him chasing and thumping at night still causes us to giggle.
*One of those so cheap on sale things, I went back for a second one, my favorite kind.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Curiosity
When a week stretches on as this one has reached, my sense of time stretches as well. Came home, ate, slept until my alarm chime,chime,chimed. Perhaps only an hour of overtime, after all is counted, distributed in lumps and gouts and lapses. Home with a mug of tea in my paw by 4, as I hoped, watching how the schedule played out. Sometimes I get very good at estimating, sometimes not so much. Worked very diligently on not complaining, blaming nor suffering, just dealing and acting and doing the job in front of me. Still worn, but not heart abraded, my emotions left serene.
Finding the winter light rushing in the edges, through the windows, to be a delight of the House. Golden evenings, slipping in the edges, under the eaves and blinds. There was this last January, but October light has it's own charms.
I rake the leaves onto the garden plot, and pour water from the buckets under the eaves onto the salty soil. Let it all rest, time enough for growth later.
We applied for a lower (in line with purchase price) house value to improve our taxes, got it, then got a letter with the new value, but the old taxes. Called. Woman on the phone so kind, so clear, there had been a mistake, they knew, it would be corrected. I approached her with a calm curiosity, but I think she would have sounded the same if I had screamed abuse. Still, how centered she must be to work for the tax commission, and be so... sweet. Genuinely dulcet. I can only imagine some of the angry people she must have to deal with, daily. Took my breath away, even as I tried to match her tone.
I made sure to send an email to that office, to commend her professionalism and kindness. Seemed meager, all I could do. I shall meditate on her, and consider her my lesson.
Got the corrected, lower, tax assessment today. I can only imagine the rush to get that out, as the problem seemed to be universal, and must have generated a plethora of angry calls.
Finding the winter light rushing in the edges, through the windows, to be a delight of the House. Golden evenings, slipping in the edges, under the eaves and blinds. There was this last January, but October light has it's own charms.
I rake the leaves onto the garden plot, and pour water from the buckets under the eaves onto the salty soil. Let it all rest, time enough for growth later.
We applied for a lower (in line with purchase price) house value to improve our taxes, got it, then got a letter with the new value, but the old taxes. Called. Woman on the phone so kind, so clear, there had been a mistake, they knew, it would be corrected. I approached her with a calm curiosity, but I think she would have sounded the same if I had screamed abuse. Still, how centered she must be to work for the tax commission, and be so... sweet. Genuinely dulcet. I can only imagine some of the angry people she must have to deal with, daily. Took my breath away, even as I tried to match her tone.
I made sure to send an email to that office, to commend her professionalism and kindness. Seemed meager, all I could do. I shall meditate on her, and consider her my lesson.
Got the corrected, lower, tax assessment today. I can only imagine the rush to get that out, as the problem seemed to be universal, and must have generated a plethora of angry calls.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Bricks
Krazy Kat inspired. Enjoy, watch for thrown bricks.
Got a book from the library of KK cartoons. I am in awe, really I am. Scanned one of the drawings and D photoshopped
and cafepressed, a mug is on the way - free! Well, apparently a few people have bought some of our cafepress¥ stuff. The I Lost My Faith in Nihilism, or All Bleeding Stops Eventually‡ shirts, or the Tyrant† buttons. D wore the All Bleeding Stops Eventually t-shirt for a while, and was told that it wasn't true. He patiently told them, that, if they thought about it, they would find that it was. We expect that the Krazy Kat mug will be unavailable due to pesky copy rites* very soon, so we got one made up immediately so we will at least have one.
‡A truism of surgery and trauma.
†From Making Money, when the Patritican is told "You can't do that!" He replies, "Do I need a button that says 'tyrant'?"
¥Find it yourself, worth doing, but I won't even advertise our own creative stuff. NO ADS! (see sidebar)
*The holy damn things.
Giving
Fall has arrived, and welcome. The air wet and golden, all heat forgiven.
Motivational speaker holding the right stick, in a fairly ineffectual way. Buddhist ideas without the ability to guide or suggest a method for how to live compassionately. Quoting Einstein when talking about compassion - not exactly the guy's strong point given how he treated the people he claimed to love. Mostly a waste of a good sleep in. Decent snacky breakfast, given. I'll go read more Pema Chodron, and try to be kinder.
Two of the people at my table that I work with, their name cards were misspelled by our manager. This is why it is so hard to take her seriously. Mindfulness is not her strong point.
But I need to settle my own mind, and let it go. Farmgal brought eggs, and P a large bag of good candy from costcorp for me to hand out at Halloween, for which I will pay her tomorrow.
There really are a good number of neighborhood children, so I feel that to be a good neighbor, I need to be ready for trick'r-treaters. I'm good with this. Generosity is not one of my strong points, but I do want to be more willing to give for no reason at all.
Moby joins me, and we share a moment.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Lump
Got off at 1920 Monday, and 1647 today, and I have to go in at 0630 tomorrow for a meeting. Given that I start work usually at 0700, this is not as unreasonable as it sounds, except that it is on my day off, after already working over half my scheduled hours this week. Some kind of "motivational speaker" I understand. Still, high suckage, mandatory. Great, just fucking great.
Forehead that got bumped is now turning a lovely yellow hue. Still dealing with residual, persistent nausea.
Damn summer finally lost it's grip. Monday, 72˚F, today, 47˚F and raining. Chance of snow tonight. We are much better prepared for the cold this year. When we moved in last January, it was all too little too late, much we couldn't really do effectively. This year, the blinds will insulate, the chimney is capped and blocked, plastic up on the north windows, back door is an actual working door now. We've gotten a lot done.
One last rose out front.
So tired. Going to be a lump the rest of the evening.
Forehead that got bumped is now turning a lovely yellow hue. Still dealing with residual, persistent nausea.
Damn summer finally lost it's grip. Monday, 72˚F, today, 47˚F and raining. Chance of snow tonight. We are much better prepared for the cold this year. When we moved in last January, it was all too little too late, much we couldn't really do effectively. This year, the blinds will insulate, the chimney is capped and blocked, plastic up on the north windows, back door is an actual working door now. We've gotten a lot done.
One last rose out front.
So tired. Going to be a lump the rest of the evening.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Melted
The cat melted in the sun.
"I did not. Silly human."
I am quite in awe of my neighbor's yard. Working toward an analogy.
Moby watching out for Sebastian, the cat next door. Not exactly buddies, but they seem very aware of each other.
"I did not. Silly human."
I am quite in awe of my neighbor's yard. Working toward an analogy.
Moby watching out for Sebastian, the cat next door. Not exactly buddies, but they seem very aware of each other.
Chatter
Hit my head at work on Thursday, and let the Chattering Monkey (CM) get to me. Car battery dead when I left work, got a jump from security, should have gone directly out to get a new battery, but I was tired and just went home. Ill, throbbing headache through the night, battery still dead in the morning. Called in sick, AAA came and charged the battery, after it got light and I'd gotten over the worst of my unhappy gut, drove immediately out to get it replaced. The battery, not my gut. Work called, asked me to come in if possible, so by 0930, I was there. Good thing, I was quite useful for a while.
Manager called me in over the snarl at CM, which was another series of details now written out in an email I will never send, but those don't matter. Not really.
I need to see the people who drive me crazy as the demons with the most important lessons to teach. With CM, I don't feel strong or sane at all, only annoyed and out of control. But I had a moment of clarity, or rather glimpse after glimpse, like shadows at the edge of my vision that I could not bring into focus, that finally coalesced as I woke.
I must answer her chattering with silently noting my exhale. I realize this does not make sense written out. I can't let her effect me, not even to give her an answer to her persistent social questions. I have to acknowledge her, and treat her with the patient compassion of one meditating, to the burbling thoughts that intrude. They will keep happening, but I don't have to follow them, react to them, just let them flow back out. I have to listen to her, in case what she is asking for has to do with work. But I don't have to be irritated, and I can simply smile and nod. I don't know if I can manage looking into her eyes, but one step at a time.
CM is completely out of control. But I can't control her. Look at what trouble I have controlling my own reaction to her? It's one of my core fears, maybe the one at the bottom of it all. People shouting, jumping, wild, angry, terrify me. So, I have to face that, as all fear must be faced in order to strip away its power.
Oh, and the battery? I knew it was on it's last legs, should have taken it in before now, that is on me. My own inattention. Tiny thing - that battery. Security, AAA and Pep Boys guys all commented on how small it is. Not cheap, therefore. Found out how to get the code to reset the radio, thanks to Oogle.
The pumpkin I got for a jack-o-lantern is minimally carved and on the front porch, it was rotten, probably cancerous, inside. The smell stayed in my nose a long time. I composted everything inside.
I should have thought more about that pucker. Not just a quirk, but damage.
Got the plastic insulation up on the north windows. Kitchen cleaned, mostly because I had to move everything to get the kitchen windows covered.
Thumped forehead feeling better this morning. Still swollen and tender. Church bells pealing, a wonderful sound, like train whistles and ship horns.
Manager called me in over the snarl at CM, which was another series of details now written out in an email I will never send, but those don't matter. Not really.
“The only reason we don't open our hearts and minds to other people is that they trigger confusion in us that we don't feel brave enough or sane enough to deal with. To the degree that we look clearly and compassionately at ourselves, we feel confident and fearless about looking into someone else's eyes. ”
― Pema Chödrön
I need to see the people who drive me crazy as the demons with the most important lessons to teach. With CM, I don't feel strong or sane at all, only annoyed and out of control. But I had a moment of clarity, or rather glimpse after glimpse, like shadows at the edge of my vision that I could not bring into focus, that finally coalesced as I woke.
I must answer her chattering with silently noting my exhale. I realize this does not make sense written out. I can't let her effect me, not even to give her an answer to her persistent social questions. I have to acknowledge her, and treat her with the patient compassion of one meditating, to the burbling thoughts that intrude. They will keep happening, but I don't have to follow them, react to them, just let them flow back out. I have to listen to her, in case what she is asking for has to do with work. But I don't have to be irritated, and I can simply smile and nod. I don't know if I can manage looking into her eyes, but one step at a time.
CM is completely out of control. But I can't control her. Look at what trouble I have controlling my own reaction to her? It's one of my core fears, maybe the one at the bottom of it all. People shouting, jumping, wild, angry, terrify me. So, I have to face that, as all fear must be faced in order to strip away its power.
Oh, and the battery? I knew it was on it's last legs, should have taken it in before now, that is on me. My own inattention. Tiny thing - that battery. Security, AAA and Pep Boys guys all commented on how small it is. Not cheap, therefore. Found out how to get the code to reset the radio, thanks to Oogle.
The pumpkin I got for a jack-o-lantern is minimally carved and on the front porch, it was rotten, probably cancerous, inside. The smell stayed in my nose a long time. I composted everything inside.
I should have thought more about that pucker. Not just a quirk, but damage.
Got the plastic insulation up on the north windows. Kitchen cleaned, mostly because I had to move everything to get the kitchen windows covered.
Thumped forehead feeling better this morning. Still swollen and tender. Church bells pealing, a wonderful sound, like train whistles and ship horns.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Locks
Reading Pema Chodron, about fear, and the facing of fear. And pondering my actions with my family, and how long it took me to leave the ex. Sometimes it's hard to know when I am courting pain rather than facing fear. When I am letting someone punch me, or if I am avoiding a hard decision.
I remember my brothers locking me in the garage. For a long time, I pushed on the door and begged to get out, and they stood outside giggling. Eventually, I gave up, and sat on a bit of wood and watched the dust motes in the sun coming through the smeared windows. After a long time, I heard them - far away from the door, so I went to check it, and it wasn't locked. They'd just been holding it until they got bored of me as the game. This happened more than once, and I am probably remembering a series of these events, like a dream that replays with different endings. Because sometimes my mother comes looking for me, sometimes they come back and mock me for not just coming out because the door was open all the time, sometimes I don't even bother to try and open it until I figure they are elsewhere.
Coming to terms with my hatred of my father took a long, painful time. That the rest of my kith cared no more for me is relatively recent knowledge. I knew I needed to distance myself from them, and I did, fearful that I would get a call, would have to deal with all that poison and negativity and judgement again. So I locked the door. My mother rattled it and cried at it the longest. So, when I decided after my father's death to face them, I feared their intrusion, but I felt the need to handle it. They were worse than I remembered, still I stuck it out for a while.
No need to hurt myself so long, though. I closed the door, told them it was shut. Thing is, I never locked it. This space, my email, are still in their hands, and they could find the address and phone number with any slight effort. And they have not. I think that is the aspect I hadn't realized I feared as well. That, given an unlocked door, they couldn't be arsed to try and open it.
I'm glad I didn't examine this all too closely at the time, but acted according to that quiet voice that can't explain itself clearly, but whispers truth. I was terrified of calling them, I wasn't acting out of fear then. Maybe I should call my mother, and approach her with curiosity and compassion, and not rationalize my irritation and dislike away as wisdom. But it feels too much like plunging my hand into the fire just to see if it will hurt.
Now, I will leave all to settle, wait and watch and listen.
Too grim today? Sorry, please go here. Made me spit tea on the keyboard.
I remember my brothers locking me in the garage. For a long time, I pushed on the door and begged to get out, and they stood outside giggling. Eventually, I gave up, and sat on a bit of wood and watched the dust motes in the sun coming through the smeared windows. After a long time, I heard them - far away from the door, so I went to check it, and it wasn't locked. They'd just been holding it until they got bored of me as the game. This happened more than once, and I am probably remembering a series of these events, like a dream that replays with different endings. Because sometimes my mother comes looking for me, sometimes they come back and mock me for not just coming out because the door was open all the time, sometimes I don't even bother to try and open it until I figure they are elsewhere.
Coming to terms with my hatred of my father took a long, painful time. That the rest of my kith cared no more for me is relatively recent knowledge. I knew I needed to distance myself from them, and I did, fearful that I would get a call, would have to deal with all that poison and negativity and judgement again. So I locked the door. My mother rattled it and cried at it the longest. So, when I decided after my father's death to face them, I feared their intrusion, but I felt the need to handle it. They were worse than I remembered, still I stuck it out for a while.
No need to hurt myself so long, though. I closed the door, told them it was shut. Thing is, I never locked it. This space, my email, are still in their hands, and they could find the address and phone number with any slight effort. And they have not. I think that is the aspect I hadn't realized I feared as well. That, given an unlocked door, they couldn't be arsed to try and open it.
I'm glad I didn't examine this all too closely at the time, but acted according to that quiet voice that can't explain itself clearly, but whispers truth. I was terrified of calling them, I wasn't acting out of fear then. Maybe I should call my mother, and approach her with curiosity and compassion, and not rationalize my irritation and dislike away as wisdom. But it feels too much like plunging my hand into the fire just to see if it will hurt.
Now, I will leave all to settle, wait and watch and listen.
Too grim today? Sorry, please go here. Made me spit tea on the keyboard.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Ray
It's that time of year, when the sun sneaks in through the sides, looking for a place to hunker down for the winter.
Moby enjoying the new table nearly as much as the new blanket, nearly as much as I do.
Working through my patience with the Chattering Scrub Who Can't Be Arsed today. Not irritated, but tired - of fighting the urge to get frustrated. An emotional, spiritual workout. It's a daily struggle, not to get sucked in, not to give in to anger and disgust, complaint. Some days are easier than others, today was more uphill. That everyone else in the room was lovely helped immensely.
A young surgeon, just finished his fellowship, after residency with us, and most welcome back. A lot of different preferences, but nothing unreasonable. In fact, he's willing to explain his reasoning to me, since I told him I remember what I understand, and not so much just rote lessons. He knows why he wants what he wants, so I endeavor to support that, and make him feel like the attending that he is. He's good at what he does, and I have to look to the young ones to take care of me over the next decades, best to give them the respect they've earned.
Moby enjoying the new table nearly as much as the new blanket, nearly as much as I do.
Working through my patience with the Chattering Scrub Who Can't Be Arsed today. Not irritated, but tired - of fighting the urge to get frustrated. An emotional, spiritual workout. It's a daily struggle, not to get sucked in, not to give in to anger and disgust, complaint. Some days are easier than others, today was more uphill. That everyone else in the room was lovely helped immensely.
A young surgeon, just finished his fellowship, after residency with us, and most welcome back. A lot of different preferences, but nothing unreasonable. In fact, he's willing to explain his reasoning to me, since I told him I remember what I understand, and not so much just rote lessons. He knows why he wants what he wants, so I endeavor to support that, and make him feel like the attending that he is. He's good at what he does, and I have to look to the young ones to take care of me over the next decades, best to give them the respect they've earned.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Unkempt
The unkempt side of the room.
My own neat spot.
A cat watching from his perch.
A link about common sense.
The large red plaid fleece blanket I got so cheaply, D left on the sofa yesterday. Moby seemed to think this a bit of heaven, the SOFTEST PLACE EVER! He didn't even come sleep on us last night. This morning, I wrapped myself in it, as I washed my own robe yesterday, and it's not entirely dry. Spread my arms and enveloped D. He thought I looked like an enormous tartan bat.
A short story about a Scottish vampire, with accents and stereotypes intact, could be quite amusing. Dressed in plaid, with a weakness for golf and deep fried food, an aversion to overfamiliarity, polite and proper and almost impossible to understand because of his accent. Well, someone who is more familiar with the assumptions would do it better.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Love
No one should ever say "Of course" when it comes to love.
And if you ever say "unconditional" when it comes to love, you'd better be damn sure. And keep to it for all eternity. Because it's pretty arrogant to claim, when the person loved does not agree. When the supposed beloved feels not love - but abuse, obligation, coercion.
Because that's what unconditional takes, if you dare use that word. Not "As long as you hold to my faith." Not "As long as you obey your abusive father." Not "So long as you love me." Unconditional damn well better be a precise term, not something to keep children beholden. Really, the one loved is the only one who should be able to say "I was loved unconditionally." Otherwise, it's rather presumptive.
Love is not a damn noun. It's not an adjective, permanent and indissoluble. It's an active verb of sharing - lives and honor and compassion and admiration. Not just between lovers, but from anyone aspiring to real love.
Parents do well to keep this in mind, that children need to share their love, give and accept. Respect flows around, not just one way. Or children can almost never learn it properly, or nearly can not. Or in spite of. As I spent the first three decades guessing at what love was. Spouses need to hold out for this, to do less is worse than mere lack of love, it's manipulation.
-- -- --
I was never Catholic. I went to Catholic school, baptized in the Catholic Church, First Communion (with white dress) and Confirmation (another white dress - but ugly) but if I'd ever refused the Church, really resisted attending mass, my mother would have hectored me, then shoved me away, the love would have stopped, with her great, shared, distress. Her 'faith' mattered more than my individual self. As her image of me as "her daughter" meant much more than who I actually turned out to be. But I never believed. I made no point telling her - to save her feelings. She would never consider putting her faith aside to save mine, or her feelings aside to save mine. Wouldn't even occur to her. I felt no love in church. I felt no love in my mother's faith. Only the fear of losing what I did not - in retrospect, have anyway.
Over the years, I have tried so often to define love, but it is, like the tao, indefinable. Slippery in the presence of words. The more words used, the more we miss the point. What is easier is to define what it is not.
Love never assumes. Love doesn't present itself as "unconditional" it simply is - over decades and lifetimes. Love never blames, nor requires religious adherence, nor picks and picks. It isn't defensive nor demanding. Never jealous, nor selfish, but it doesn't tolerate being walked on either.
Love wants to keep proving itself, keeps checking that the beloved feels loved, eagerly pours more love all over the place, invites in more love - like flames spreading among a sea of candles as carols are sung. Love relishes a chance to grow afresh, and start again.
Love is generous and kind and never minds being asked for proof, always ready to cite sources and share. Love accepts back, with an open and appreciative heart, Love adores a whirlpool of giving, but withers in the presence of neglect, becomes poisoned when used carelessly. However passionate and sensual - prefers not to be obscene or crass. Robust with attention, it dies with neglect and presumption, devaluation and contempt.
Love is infinitely grateful, and never assumes.
And if you ever say "unconditional" when it comes to love, you'd better be damn sure. And keep to it for all eternity. Because it's pretty arrogant to claim, when the person loved does not agree. When the supposed beloved feels not love - but abuse, obligation, coercion.
Because that's what unconditional takes, if you dare use that word. Not "As long as you hold to my faith." Not "As long as you obey your abusive father." Not "So long as you love me." Unconditional damn well better be a precise term, not something to keep children beholden. Really, the one loved is the only one who should be able to say "I was loved unconditionally." Otherwise, it's rather presumptive.
Love is not a damn noun. It's not an adjective, permanent and indissoluble. It's an active verb of sharing - lives and honor and compassion and admiration. Not just between lovers, but from anyone aspiring to real love.
Parents do well to keep this in mind, that children need to share their love, give and accept. Respect flows around, not just one way. Or children can almost never learn it properly, or nearly can not. Or in spite of. As I spent the first three decades guessing at what love was. Spouses need to hold out for this, to do less is worse than mere lack of love, it's manipulation.
-- -- --
I was never Catholic. I went to Catholic school, baptized in the Catholic Church, First Communion (with white dress) and Confirmation (another white dress - but ugly) but if I'd ever refused the Church, really resisted attending mass, my mother would have hectored me, then shoved me away, the love would have stopped, with her great, shared, distress. Her 'faith' mattered more than my individual self. As her image of me as "her daughter" meant much more than who I actually turned out to be. But I never believed. I made no point telling her - to save her feelings. She would never consider putting her faith aside to save mine, or her feelings aside to save mine. Wouldn't even occur to her. I felt no love in church. I felt no love in my mother's faith. Only the fear of losing what I did not - in retrospect, have anyway.
Over the years, I have tried so often to define love, but it is, like the tao, indefinable. Slippery in the presence of words. The more words used, the more we miss the point. What is easier is to define what it is not.
Love never assumes. Love doesn't present itself as "unconditional" it simply is - over decades and lifetimes. Love never blames, nor requires religious adherence, nor picks and picks. It isn't defensive nor demanding. Never jealous, nor selfish, but it doesn't tolerate being walked on either.
Love wants to keep proving itself, keeps checking that the beloved feels loved, eagerly pours more love all over the place, invites in more love - like flames spreading among a sea of candles as carols are sung. Love relishes a chance to grow afresh, and start again.
Love is generous and kind and never minds being asked for proof, always ready to cite sources and share. Love accepts back, with an open and appreciative heart, Love adores a whirlpool of giving, but withers in the presence of neglect, becomes poisoned when used carelessly. However passionate and sensual - prefers not to be obscene or crass. Robust with attention, it dies with neglect and presumption, devaluation and contempt.
Love is infinitely grateful, and never assumes.
Mesa
Despite my fatigue, I walked over to the store last evening. After four solid days works, all busy. Found a table/4 chair set for half price, downright cheap for solid(ish) wood (made in Vietnam), and a good fit in this house. Also a red plaid plush blanket for $15 (queen/king size) that Moby is at the moment stretched out on.
Brought D over to see if he agreed one the table, and we picked it up this afternoon. We don't make $200 decisions unilaterally.
Guys who got it to the car amazed that the whole flatpack box fit in the Fit*. We were glad, but less surprized, we've got a lot back there before. I did mention that I loved our car, as well as thanked them profusely. After reading Not Always Right, I've been much more careful to be one of those customers that makes the crap worth the poor paycheck. (When the guy at Pepboys found and replaced my back windshield wiper blade for me, I made sure he knew how grateful I was.) The less someone is likely to be paid, the more kind and forgiving I try to be.
Anyway, I got chairs and table together, with some help from D to start, and the table turned right side up at the end. I wanted to do it myself, as a slow, organized meditative process. And he felt tense from having lunch with his parents, so I shooed him away, and got on putting four chairs together. Then the table. He helped again to get the felt pads on. He also got the motion sensor light on the front porch, since it's been a trial for him to lock the door in the dark in the morning. I'm hoping it will also freak out the trick-or-treaters later this month. (I am getting candy from Costco via a cow-orker, there are a good number of kids in this neighborhood.) My hand pronators will ache tomorrow, but so it goes.
The small round table is fine for us, but hopeless since we want to do holidays. More than two guests, and we're sitting on the floor. Even two tables, although both fairly small, don't make a dent in the size of this underused room. I sit at the table now, and gaze out as I write. Yeah, this will be worthwhile. We were also short of chairs, which we are not anymore. Everyone gets to sit! Nice chairs, as well, comfortable shape. Perhaps pads will be made.
Next, draft excluders made of old socks. I've done it before.
Really looked at Aunt Evelyn's funeral card. How it is I never noticed before that her birthdate is 1-9-19? Or that her date of death was 7-27-97? A woman to be reckoned with, certainly. She wouldn't necessarily approve of all my choices, but she would never complain of them, absolutely never to me. She'd smile, and know it was all me, so alright.
As I put chairs together, I heard my mother asking why I wouldn't just forgive her. And I had to ask, well - what are you, specifically, sorry for? I can't imagine what her answer might be. Since she doesn't seem to realize why I just don't like her, and cannot admire her for anything. She has my thanks for sending me to a good school, and being better to me than her husband, but I begin to wonder if her negativity and judgement aren't more pervasive, if surely less abusive.
Nevermind. Life is good, once one gets a chance.
*
(Not ours, just an image off the interwebs. Great space inside, once the seats fold down.)
Brought D over to see if he agreed one the table, and we picked it up this afternoon. We don't make $200 decisions unilaterally.
Guys who got it to the car amazed that the whole flatpack box fit in the Fit*. We were glad, but less surprized, we've got a lot back there before. I did mention that I loved our car, as well as thanked them profusely. After reading Not Always Right, I've been much more careful to be one of those customers that makes the crap worth the poor paycheck. (When the guy at Pepboys found and replaced my back windshield wiper blade for me, I made sure he knew how grateful I was.) The less someone is likely to be paid, the more kind and forgiving I try to be.
Anyway, I got chairs and table together, with some help from D to start, and the table turned right side up at the end. I wanted to do it myself, as a slow, organized meditative process. And he felt tense from having lunch with his parents, so I shooed him away, and got on putting four chairs together. Then the table. He helped again to get the felt pads on. He also got the motion sensor light on the front porch, since it's been a trial for him to lock the door in the dark in the morning. I'm hoping it will also freak out the trick-or-treaters later this month. (I am getting candy from Costco via a cow-orker, there are a good number of kids in this neighborhood.) My hand pronators will ache tomorrow, but so it goes.
The small round table is fine for us, but hopeless since we want to do holidays. More than two guests, and we're sitting on the floor. Even two tables, although both fairly small, don't make a dent in the size of this underused room. I sit at the table now, and gaze out as I write. Yeah, this will be worthwhile. We were also short of chairs, which we are not anymore. Everyone gets to sit! Nice chairs, as well, comfortable shape. Perhaps pads will be made.
Next, draft excluders made of old socks. I've done it before.
Really looked at Aunt Evelyn's funeral card. How it is I never noticed before that her birthdate is 1-9-19? Or that her date of death was 7-27-97? A woman to be reckoned with, certainly. She wouldn't necessarily approve of all my choices, but she would never complain of them, absolutely never to me. She'd smile, and know it was all me, so alright.
As I put chairs together, I heard my mother asking why I wouldn't just forgive her. And I had to ask, well - what are you, specifically, sorry for? I can't imagine what her answer might be. Since she doesn't seem to realize why I just don't like her, and cannot admire her for anything. She has my thanks for sending me to a good school, and being better to me than her husband, but I begin to wonder if her negativity and judgement aren't more pervasive, if surely less abusive.
Nevermind. Life is good, once one gets a chance.
*
(Not ours, just an image off the interwebs. Great space inside, once the seats fold down.)
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Kat
I have mentioned my new-found love of Krazy Kat. D found that a jazz ballet was written for the Kat, and sent it to me. I do hope it gets produced. It's lovely music.
- Jonah Zark.
Talking a cow-orker down today. Morale is shaky, admittedly, in no small part because of the one Problem Scrub, who has not been fired, and everyone is tired of complaining about her. She thinks she's WONDERFUL! Drives me nuts as well. I forgot to tell fellow serious nurse, "Yes, those people are the problem. But the solution is in your hands." I struggle with it every day, staying calm, in the moment, not letting anyone else have power over my mood or sanity. They just don't matter that much.
More proof of the glory of existence, aurora.
- Jonah Zark.
Talking a cow-orker down today. Morale is shaky, admittedly, in no small part because of the one Problem Scrub, who has not been fired, and everyone is tired of complaining about her. She thinks she's WONDERFUL! Drives me nuts as well. I forgot to tell fellow serious nurse, "Yes, those people are the problem. But the solution is in your hands." I struggle with it every day, staying calm, in the moment, not letting anyone else have power over my mood or sanity. They just don't matter that much.
More proof of the glory of existence, aurora.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Monday, October 08, 2012
Hydrogen
Imperceptible gases violently explode the universe,
Water wears away granite,
Neutrinos go everywhere.
Do less, be small, everything will happen.
Teach by your life, use few words,
A few will comprehend.
Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963. p. 638.
Water wears away granite,
Neutrinos go everywhere.
Do less, be small, everything will happen.
Teach by your life, use few words,
A few will comprehend.
Nephew. (Fr. neveu; Lat, nepos). Both in Latin and in archaic English the word means a grandchild, or descendant. Hence, in the Authorized Version of I Tim, v,4 we read -- "If a widow have children or nephews," but in the Revised "grandchildren." Propertius has it, Me inter seros laudabit Roma nepotes(posterity).
Niece (Lat.neptis) also means a granddaughter or female descendant. See NEPOTISM.
Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963. p. 638.
Sunday, October 07, 2012
Friendly
On the way to my car in a large parking lot, two high school, possibly young college aged women approach me, bouncily. Clipboards in hand, smiles plastered on well colored faces, they burble with assurance, "We're doing a survey! Are you a friendly person?!"
Despite my automatic repulsion against being accosted in public, and deep resistance to bubbly salesmanship, I take a moment to consider the question.
"No." I say, and get in to the car. It was meant to dissuade them, answering truthfully the question they asked, although certainly not the one they intended. Mostly I just wanted to be left alone. I popped their bubbles of pretty assurance, also satisfying. I've told this story before, and we should listen carefully to the stories we tell repeatedly, they are the resonant ones. This happened years ago. And I think it means exactly what I said. I don't value "friendliness." I care about hard work, attentiveness, intelligence, kindness, compassion. I think shallow friendliness isn't necessarily bad, just neglectfully inadequate.
Those two elements, my own preference not to be messed about - (happy enough in solitude,) and a real inability to be sociable without a great deal of intention, means I have not made, nor kept, many friends. I'm blunt, offputtingly so to those I trust - because I expect to be understood and accepted by those who choose to be close to me, and I expect the same of them. I highly value the bare truth coming from those who see me clearly - or indeed anyone with a claim to clarity. I've looked deep into my soul, radically changed my behaviour, several times, based on such truths told to me. Rare and precious gifts, which I figure any friend of mine has a right to as well. Yes, well, we can all see how that would go, don't we? So do I these days. I would still prefer to be told, and I think a bit less of those who would prefer their comfortable lies. I like to be respected as a capable adult, and will take a bit of rough treatment as the reasonable price of that.
My desire to protect myself is at least as strong as my need for attachment. The veto, as these thing do, tends to decide. When I feel neglected, or used, I retreat. When I see what I deem a serious character deficit, I cut and run., considering it a gap in that person's character. But I also tend to want to trust too easily, share too much all at once - an urge I have stifled, which doesn't help in another way. I liked having a circle of friends, but all I really need is one or two. Since I have that, right here at home, more is a preference, not a need.
I've come to realize that much of the love I gave my mother and brothers grew out of my mother's stories of how much I was loved by them and by her. Wishful thinking on her part -given to me as gospel. Perhaps she was creating for me what she wanted to have with her own older brothers - who she adored, but one died aged 17, the other came back from the war married. She said she wrote to him every day while he was gone. Now, I am not in contact with her. She is abandoned again. The pattern repeats. I perpetuate it. It echoes in my life, but at least I do not pass it on to more children. I had to ask D again for "permission" not to call her again. He gives it, patient with my distress. I don't like being the sort of person who abandons her family, no matter the provocation.
I had a lot of imaginary love, fantasized relationships with people around me who barely noticed me. Eloquent conversations and gentle kisses with a boy in grade seven - when we actually spoke it was terribly awkward, dull, and he never did get around to kissing at all. I wanted to love and be loved, I wanted friends and trust and companionship. Mostly what came to me took a lot more than they gave. I cheered on fangirls, and had to conform to their opinions. Any loss of supportive enthusiasm of their pop culture focus meant the end of the friendship, any interest of my own brushed aside as irrelevant. Still, I often took what I could get, since there was hardly a line to seek out my company. I accepted idle companionship, since there was nothing else on offer, at any cost. Eventually, the cost escalated, and I never wanted to pay it again.
Today, when I enjoy talking with someone, my wariness of any expectation that I will stay in "audience" mode keeps me reserved. Holding back myself as I applaud and smile, not letting their drama touch me, only amuse me. After being the person who always does the calling, the suggestions to meet, putting in the effort to make time, and when I stop the friendship ends - I am watchful for neglect. I don't want to put in all the attention, only to be discarded and unappreciated, ever again. That uber-sensitivity doesn't really help, surely it comes off as judgmental and cold. I don't have another tactic. I'm out of languages.
I keep people at arm's length, open to closeness but never expecting it. Shallow friendships don't interest me. I can be pleasant and behave in a friendly fashion (for me) at work, be kind and compassionate, but know these are not real friends, not by my definition. I've stopped yearning for that, since I have one real friend who knows me utterly - and genuinely likes me for exactly who I am.
Would be nice, though. On par with winning the lottery. Neither is gonna happen. And that's alright. It really is. I'm exactly the kind of friend I would like to have. That's all that is on offer. It's all I have and everything I could need.
Playing the hand dealt as well as I can. At least I have a ace in my sleeve.
Despite my automatic repulsion against being accosted in public, and deep resistance to bubbly salesmanship, I take a moment to consider the question.
"No." I say, and get in to the car. It was meant to dissuade them, answering truthfully the question they asked, although certainly not the one they intended. Mostly I just wanted to be left alone. I popped their bubbles of pretty assurance, also satisfying. I've told this story before, and we should listen carefully to the stories we tell repeatedly, they are the resonant ones. This happened years ago. And I think it means exactly what I said. I don't value "friendliness." I care about hard work, attentiveness, intelligence, kindness, compassion. I think shallow friendliness isn't necessarily bad, just neglectfully inadequate.
Those two elements, my own preference not to be messed about - (happy enough in solitude,) and a real inability to be sociable without a great deal of intention, means I have not made, nor kept, many friends. I'm blunt, offputtingly so to those I trust - because I expect to be understood and accepted by those who choose to be close to me, and I expect the same of them. I highly value the bare truth coming from those who see me clearly - or indeed anyone with a claim to clarity. I've looked deep into my soul, radically changed my behaviour, several times, based on such truths told to me. Rare and precious gifts, which I figure any friend of mine has a right to as well. Yes, well, we can all see how that would go, don't we? So do I these days. I would still prefer to be told, and I think a bit less of those who would prefer their comfortable lies. I like to be respected as a capable adult, and will take a bit of rough treatment as the reasonable price of that.
My desire to protect myself is at least as strong as my need for attachment. The veto, as these thing do, tends to decide. When I feel neglected, or used, I retreat. When I see what I deem a serious character deficit, I cut and run., considering it a gap in that person's character. But I also tend to want to trust too easily, share too much all at once - an urge I have stifled, which doesn't help in another way. I liked having a circle of friends, but all I really need is one or two. Since I have that, right here at home, more is a preference, not a need.
I've come to realize that much of the love I gave my mother and brothers grew out of my mother's stories of how much I was loved by them and by her. Wishful thinking on her part -given to me as gospel. Perhaps she was creating for me what she wanted to have with her own older brothers - who she adored, but one died aged 17, the other came back from the war married. She said she wrote to him every day while he was gone. Now, I am not in contact with her. She is abandoned again. The pattern repeats. I perpetuate it. It echoes in my life, but at least I do not pass it on to more children. I had to ask D again for "permission" not to call her again. He gives it, patient with my distress. I don't like being the sort of person who abandons her family, no matter the provocation.
I had a lot of imaginary love, fantasized relationships with people around me who barely noticed me. Eloquent conversations and gentle kisses with a boy in grade seven - when we actually spoke it was terribly awkward, dull, and he never did get around to kissing at all. I wanted to love and be loved, I wanted friends and trust and companionship. Mostly what came to me took a lot more than they gave. I cheered on fangirls, and had to conform to their opinions. Any loss of supportive enthusiasm of their pop culture focus meant the end of the friendship, any interest of my own brushed aside as irrelevant. Still, I often took what I could get, since there was hardly a line to seek out my company. I accepted idle companionship, since there was nothing else on offer, at any cost. Eventually, the cost escalated, and I never wanted to pay it again.
Today, when I enjoy talking with someone, my wariness of any expectation that I will stay in "audience" mode keeps me reserved. Holding back myself as I applaud and smile, not letting their drama touch me, only amuse me. After being the person who always does the calling, the suggestions to meet, putting in the effort to make time, and when I stop the friendship ends - I am watchful for neglect. I don't want to put in all the attention, only to be discarded and unappreciated, ever again. That uber-sensitivity doesn't really help, surely it comes off as judgmental and cold. I don't have another tactic. I'm out of languages.
I keep people at arm's length, open to closeness but never expecting it. Shallow friendships don't interest me. I can be pleasant and behave in a friendly fashion (for me) at work, be kind and compassionate, but know these are not real friends, not by my definition. I've stopped yearning for that, since I have one real friend who knows me utterly - and genuinely likes me for exactly who I am.
Would be nice, though. On par with winning the lottery. Neither is gonna happen. And that's alright. It really is. I'm exactly the kind of friend I would like to have. That's all that is on offer. It's all I have and everything I could need.
Playing the hand dealt as well as I can. At least I have a ace in my sleeve.
Agenda
Moby has his own agenda, and when it's a lap he wants, it's a lap he gets.
Well, no harm, much more love, let it be.
Pepperoncini - not ripe, but a bit of sun might resolve that.
Same for the late tomatoes.
Frost warnings up, so I finished up the garden, and will start planning for spring in a while. Next the putting away. Drain the hose and put up window sealers, get the light in the garage. Put up the curtains to keep the warm in smaller cells, space heater at the ready, bed warmer on the bed.
Not much of a basker, but warm is good. The weather is cooler, if still damn sere.
Got to see friends yesterday. Youngest son charms me, the light of intelligence in his eyes, my friend's genes expressing. He's a good kid, and I feel a strange closeness. We all went to a mini Maker Faire, which was more interesting than I expected, I have a soft spot for junkbots and greenscreens. Dave*'s son, and so very like him.
Moby joins me in the sunbeam, until he sees the reflection on the wall. The treadmill has been a no-go area, but as it's the only way to the bright light, well, it's no hinderance at all, now.
Having dreams about smokers, dropping butts on gardens, stinking up the place.99998
Moby sat on the keyboard for a minute. Apparently thinking numerically. He's been very chasy the last day or so. Now, he's taking a bath on the treadmill. D's been so faithful in taking his hard walk every day, and when he goes to put on jeans, after a summer in shorts (he works out of the public eye, and can wear shorts at work) he can tell he's rather smaller. I'm just glad he's healthier.
Looking at a tough week ahead. On hold until it's over.
*see previous notes on names and preponderance of Daves.
Well, no harm, much more love, let it be.
Pepperoncini - not ripe, but a bit of sun might resolve that.
Same for the late tomatoes.
Frost warnings up, so I finished up the garden, and will start planning for spring in a while. Next the putting away. Drain the hose and put up window sealers, get the light in the garage. Put up the curtains to keep the warm in smaller cells, space heater at the ready, bed warmer on the bed.
Not much of a basker, but warm is good. The weather is cooler, if still damn sere.
Got to see friends yesterday. Youngest son charms me, the light of intelligence in his eyes, my friend's genes expressing. He's a good kid, and I feel a strange closeness. We all went to a mini Maker Faire, which was more interesting than I expected, I have a soft spot for junkbots and greenscreens. Dave*'s son, and so very like him.
Moby joins me in the sunbeam, until he sees the reflection on the wall. The treadmill has been a no-go area, but as it's the only way to the bright light, well, it's no hinderance at all, now.
Having dreams about smokers, dropping butts on gardens, stinking up the place.99998
Moby sat on the keyboard for a minute. Apparently thinking numerically. He's been very chasy the last day or so. Now, he's taking a bath on the treadmill. D's been so faithful in taking his hard walk every day, and when he goes to put on jeans, after a summer in shorts (he works out of the public eye, and can wear shorts at work) he can tell he's rather smaller. I'm just glad he's healthier.
Looking at a tough week ahead. On hold until it's over.
*see previous notes on names and preponderance of Daves.
Friday, October 05, 2012
Muttering
On my way home after a long day, and the traffic has stopped. Trains turning, probably several, too far back to see, so I cut the engine and waited, listening to NPR with Mandy Potenkin talking about The Princess Bride, watching the deer in the cemetery across the way. Tired, open to the cooling evening, glare of autumnal sun. Better than the day before, clogged in "game" snarl. I do detest football, and all it's evil works, and all it's empty promises.
Listened to a surgeon amazed at a player, obviously getting a concussion, returning to play within ten minutes, amid all the head injury awareness that is obviously not having any effect at all.
Reading the discussion over at the Hax Friday, a woman with a father like mine, conflicted over her need to act during and after his death. A compassionate response from the lead, and I had to stop and breathe deeply. Imagine your childhood bully, grown up, with a daughter for whom he felt nothing but contempt.
Potpourri day wasn't supposed to be, but there it is. Three cases, three surgeons, three different bed/room configurations. First one very demanding, but if demands are met, perfectly pleasant. Second fast, but after a very long delay, too early to get lunch though. Another wait, not as long. Last surgeon a Master Mumbler. Soft tissues? (Mutteryesmutter.) Wound up needing a drill. Need a splint? a sling? "Mutterslingmutter." Oh, need a mini-C-arm, nearly at the end? Sure, takes a few minutes, need to get a number to save it... at least he doesn't get mad about the delays for things he hasn't asked for, still it's a lot of work. Oh, and yes, they are going to need a plaster splint.
After I'm done, I get another nurse a break, then get out the one who came in sick - helping out a very new-to-us RN on a complex case with my very demanding, but if demands are met, perfectly pleasant surgeon. He likes having several in his entourage, but gets unreasonably irritated with just a circulator, especially a new face. So, I stayed until we had her almost all cleared away as they closed incisions, and they had little but the endgame, and I asked her if she would mind if I left. "Oh, no, I thought (sick, first nurse) should have left, but she wouldn't."
Over the past year or so, we have been stripping copper from the bipolar cords used in hand cases, and got $75 from a recycling center for the 30 lbs. They had the party this evening after work. But the Drama Queen would be there, and not only do I never want her in my house, I don't want to socialize with her under any circumstances. I'm also certain that as much as I want to pop her ridiculous nose, D would feel the same within five minutes. I got my own damn beer, and snuggled in next to Moby and D to watch the David Mitchell Soapbox, and the Richard E. Grant safari show.
Thinking about former friend, and a gift from years ago that was completely wrong - from her. And I'm just as glad it all ended. Some friendships are just not really what we think they are, and are best finished off.
But then, I expect so much from friends, something most don't even hope for from a spouse. I begin to realize how much I expect, and how incredibly fortunate I am to have found someone who takes me as I am, whole and unadorned. Words for another day.
Listened to a surgeon amazed at a player, obviously getting a concussion, returning to play within ten minutes, amid all the head injury awareness that is obviously not having any effect at all.
Reading the discussion over at the Hax Friday, a woman with a father like mine, conflicted over her need to act during and after his death. A compassionate response from the lead, and I had to stop and breathe deeply. Imagine your childhood bully, grown up, with a daughter for whom he felt nothing but contempt.
Potpourri day wasn't supposed to be, but there it is. Three cases, three surgeons, three different bed/room configurations. First one very demanding, but if demands are met, perfectly pleasant. Second fast, but after a very long delay, too early to get lunch though. Another wait, not as long. Last surgeon a Master Mumbler. Soft tissues? (Mutteryesmutter.) Wound up needing a drill. Need a splint? a sling? "Mutterslingmutter." Oh, need a mini-C-arm, nearly at the end? Sure, takes a few minutes, need to get a number to save it... at least he doesn't get mad about the delays for things he hasn't asked for, still it's a lot of work. Oh, and yes, they are going to need a plaster splint.
After I'm done, I get another nurse a break, then get out the one who came in sick - helping out a very new-to-us RN on a complex case with my very demanding, but if demands are met, perfectly pleasant surgeon. He likes having several in his entourage, but gets unreasonably irritated with just a circulator, especially a new face. So, I stayed until we had her almost all cleared away as they closed incisions, and they had little but the endgame, and I asked her if she would mind if I left. "Oh, no, I thought (sick, first nurse) should have left, but she wouldn't."
Over the past year or so, we have been stripping copper from the bipolar cords used in hand cases, and got $75 from a recycling center for the 30 lbs. They had the party this evening after work. But the Drama Queen would be there, and not only do I never want her in my house, I don't want to socialize with her under any circumstances. I'm also certain that as much as I want to pop her ridiculous nose, D would feel the same within five minutes. I got my own damn beer, and snuggled in next to Moby and D to watch the David Mitchell Soapbox, and the Richard E. Grant safari show.
Thinking about former friend, and a gift from years ago that was completely wrong - from her. And I'm just as glad it all ended. Some friendships are just not really what we think they are, and are best finished off.
But then, I expect so much from friends, something most don't even hope for from a spouse. I begin to realize how much I expect, and how incredibly fortunate I am to have found someone who takes me as I am, whole and unadorned. Words for another day.
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