Candy

You know, cats.

Attack

Of the killer sunflowers!




What a difference from last year.


Fly and flax flower.


Cosmos, geranium, ravenna grass, mingling.


Eleanor snuggles in.

Romeo

Romeo is for R.



Ruddy, ruminating, rambunctious Romeo, reveling in ribaldry, resident of Rome,


romantic, redolent of roses, rusticating in Romanian.




R makes an action a person, a maker, an actor, thinker reactor.


R changes vowels round, turning a hard word, purring a smart remark, swirling and smirking.




R is rich in friends, brothers, creatures, druids, great Mr. Proust,

Sri Trout, writers strong, raunchy or ridiculous.

R will now R&R.

Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo.

Fracture

Young man with an unusual fracture. Broken in a simple fall, I told him he had to tell a better story than that. He says he wants to claim he was snowboarding. I laugh, and encourage him in this conceit. Marvelously absurd. Today is his birthday. As he laid, awaiting anesthesia, other RN and I sang "Happy Birthday" to him, as he grinned. In recovery, he remembers being sung to.

Cats seem to continue in their getting to know each other. Not entirely friends yet. That's fine, these things take time. Best friendships grow gradually.

Took a score of ripe tomatoes into work, among the locusts. Any food left in the staff room vanishes, whoosh, poof. Apparently, I have the first ripe tomatoes this year. So, in a small way, I win! D made salsa, we've had salads, cut up a mass and froze them for chili or sauce later. Not like I'm going to start canning. That'll be the day. Take up knitting first. Right after tatting and tole painting.

Ready for rains to come.

Strew

Sand strewn on the roof.
Errant wind or giant hand?
We remain tiny.

Asthma

Over five decades, I've had as many episodes of asthma. Never serious, mild, still frightening. Triggers a deep fear, that inability to take a deep breath.

The first time, in 9th grade of high school, joined the track team. Lovely heavy grey sweat pants and jacket. Had to run to the nearby public high school's track, tasked with carrying the too-heavy shot put, since the lighter women's one got lost. Cold air, the extra weight, and I began wheezing. Wound up going home - even closer than between the schools. Frightening.

Second time having to do a PT test up at the armory after we got back from Saudi. Chilly morning, higher altitude, began to wheeze. Brought into the office, surrounded by people telling me to calm down*. The panic in this case a result of not being able to breathe, not the cause. Thankfully in a medical unit, someone got me something to help. I don't remember what. Eventually able to come down from this.

Another time when the air was terrible, I had a week of being right on the edge, OTC drugs sufficient to keep me from full on attack. This may have happened twice, since returning from Boston. Not in Boston, there is sufficient oxygen there.

Then, yesterday. Out of the blue, no idea what might have triggered my airways. No good drugs available, I did a little research, took what I could, (being a good nurse, I have a decent assortment of legal drugs) had a miserable night. Hormones, perhaps, since I had terrible chills, and (as I expected) woke to a profound hot flash. Sat up for a while, beside Moby on my right on the sofa, Eleanor hopped up shortly after on the left. Gradually improved.

Not sick any of these times, so it's not viral. I did use peat to start the seeds for the greens in the back porch - that dust is fine. Coughing as we left the Farmer's Market - perhaps something in the park. Sat outside - wheezing coming in - the neighbor's cigarette? If it was Eleanor, surely I'd have had something earlier than two full weeks.

Eleanor a great comfort, she snuggles in, picking up the slack from Moby. He really did need a minion, just too much to do getting older, as a one-cat house-god.

Should see my doc about this, but it's so scarce, what would he do? Haven't even had a real migraine in several years. Self treat and ride it out. Not like I can do much else. Not going to treat the hot flashes, either. They are more weird and interesting than life disruptive.




*An experience that does produce great anxiety, though. Proof that emotions are a variety of intelligence, information. Heart attack produces denial, asthma anxiety and fear, fainting a sense of embarrassment even shame, pulmonary thrombosis - a sense of impending doom. I'm sure there are more, if looked at clearly. The emotion is a clue, not something to be denied or dismissed as mere "emotion." We are bio-chemical entities, it's not all going express in eloquent verbal language.

Silhouettes

Much chasing, all morning, no hissing. Here, watching birds. Moby tried to suggest to Eleanor that he'd like a spot at the open window, but she was not interested, so he watched out the other one. They seem to have found a balance, a concurrence on the rules of engagement.


Eleanor extremely feisty all morning. Chasing everything, had to be petted and brushed, more attacking. I had my foot at the end of the bed, and felt a paw on my toes. Guess where she was. No claws, though.

So, while Moby naps on the bed, I gave her a small dose of catnip, which seems to have mellowed her out a bit.




Also, spotted a Cassin's Finch, feeding a fledgling. Color on our local birds is rare enough, I tend to notice.

Ideal

Reading Cracked, a photoplasty about toys.

Some of the updates are obvious fantasy, a flying sit&spin, or radio flyer wagon. But some could actually happen, with a bit of corporate cooperati.... oh, nevermind.

I never had a Lite Bright, but someone did that I occasionally got to play with, friend, or cousin. The meager amount of pegs was sad. The difficulty of creating a smooth curve on the Etch-a-sketch seemed so solvable, perhaps a third wheel. Surely a competent engineer could develop this on a long weekend? For all the money that goes into kids toys, why are so many clearly inadequate? The last one is, although not funny, my far and away favorite. Action figures on the same scale, like model trains. Dolls that fit dollhouses.

But it's all hot dogs in an eight pack and buns in six. Or the other way around, it's been a long time since I've had hot dogs.

The house is dusty and gritty. Must sweep and vacuum. Moby has been a remarkably neat cat, and Eleanor, well, perhaps a bit less so. Or maybe just having two means hitting a critical level of chaos. After two weeks, I realize I have to step it all up a bit. At least they are both happy with the litter.

Starting the cool weather greens in the back porch. And some wheat grass for the indoor only cat. Lettuce, bok choy, spinach. Will transplant sprouts once the heat fades.

Anyway, no toy could be better than my shovel. Beats the hell out of the iron.

Tomatoes

Even more tomatoes ripe. We must have salad. We must make salsa. I knew a dozen plants were going to overwhelm us. I was right.

And this on the feline front,



I really don't see how it could be better in so short a time. Right after this, he walked by her, she batted at him, and he just kept going as if to say, "Eh, not now." Or, perhaps that last moment was, "Wanna play some more?" "Naw, I'm done, thanks." All very calm. They'd been chasing around shortly before, so I think Moby was tired. She'd sat on the mat by the door, he'd stalked and ran at her, she batted and ran off. Then she did it again, same result. Then a third time. Moby sat that one out.


Gone from having a black cat that is difficult to photograph, to a cat who never stops moving, making it difficult to get a non-blurry photo.

Heliotropism

In case of sunflower, a common misconception is that sunflower heads track the Sun across the sky. The uniform alignment of the flowers does result from heliotropism in an earlier development stage, the bud stage, before the appearance of flower heads. The buds are heliotropic until the end of the bud stage, and finally face East. That is why blooming (and faded) flowers of the sunflower growing at the open space, are living compasses (but not too exact): west is behind, north to the left, and south to the right.

The cosmos are finally blooming.



The tomatoes are ripening faster than we can eat them.




Continued steps toward peace and friendship.

Numbers

Granny had a knitted afghan, multi-colored fans, complicated and lacy, fine gauge wool. The only thing she ever knitted. She bullied her eldest daughter into teaching her, not to mention getting her through this intricate project, as a beginning knitter. Which according to Aunt Evelyn, could only be described as a trial.

Aunt Evelyn and Granny had a complex relationship, often antagonistic, but neither could disengage.

I learned basic knitting as a kid, but had no real interest. I crocheted an afghan for my oldest niece when she was born, simple squares stitched together. I even made a patchwork quilt in high school, again, I went for simple squares, and knew my limitations. Keeping in mind, always, that story of Granny, and Aunt Evelyn. All a bit hard on my neck anyway. Although I could manage it as a utilitarian craft, it never struck me as a creative outlet, not for me. Never thought I'd ever get past the basics. Too much arithmetic.

My mother told of knitting socks as a young girl, but never being able to turn the heel properly.

This is all a little strange, since I am deeply drawn to textures, soft fabrics, wools and silks and linens. Maybe it's like sausages, better to enjoy them than to make them.

Yarn bombing fascinates me. A talent I admire, without the ability to participate. Appreciate the geometry, knowing I would mess up the numbers.

Tried to use my debit card, and the PIN had evaporated completely. I knew the composite numerals, but the order completely scrambled. Sending for it, so I can change it.

Cloudy

The local holiday has rolled around again. We walked to the end of the parade just as the head got there. Wandered the park admiring the dogs and browsing the tatty stands of cheap color. Then the food stands, including a serious Hawaiian BBQ stand. Saw a couple of floats and heard the bagpipes, so we were contented.



A heavy, humid morning, cooler, cloudy, much more tolerable than the beating sun, but wearing.

And more of Eleanor. She makes me smile, she exudes a sparkling energy that has us charmed. Easier to get a decent photo of a lighter colored cat. Moby is never easy. He's always worth it.

Shifting

One of those weird days, as the schedule shifted beneath our feet. Surgeries coming in under time, what looked like a gap closed without warning. Turnovers that needed an extra set of hands. I was to give scrubs lunches, in four rooms with two surgeons, so - gaps. Except that nothing went as planned, two cancellations, suddenly a 30 minute minimum, probable hour, became 20 minutes. I kept scrambling, and helping with opening other cases.

Confusing day.

Moby and Eleanor chasing around, Moby so into the idea of this as play that I think he takes it too far. Like guys with too little social skills. No harm in them, but in need of correction. Better than him being put off and afraid of her. An overcorrection, but not a bad one. Something between play and an argument, not to the level of a fight. Moby a little TOO interested, stalking and pushing. But she keeps coming back and hanging near. We don't really understand, since it's all in Cat.

I honestly think at this point, we just have to let them work it out themselves.


More tomatoes. Watered, because this is the hottest summer since 1948. Plants distressed, but so much stronger than last year, better now. Hoping for moisture.

Tomorrow, the Pioneer Day parade. Not going, too hot, to much of a muchness. Another day off. Rest of the week uneven.

Continuing to enjoy the Craig Johnson books. Smart, funny, sparkling writing, a joy.

Paint

There is a point, in a burgeoning friendship, when it all seems like a bad idea. One wonders if this was a good idea, if this is a deal breaker, if you can stand this revelation. When you find out they actually like J.D. Salinger, or Ender's Game. And you haven't found out yet that they were only 13 when they read them, or considered them the best of a bad mandatory school assignment lot.

When you misread, or fear you are reading accurately, hints. When the flags look red, but that might just be the angle of the sun.

When you've had bad relationships, trusted too much when the doubts were whispering, and your fear is coloring the clues - but you can't tell if you are reading too much into little things, or seeing the same damn things.

Or that point in a new job when you think you'd like to quit, but you know that is a mistake - or maybe it's not. Apply to any big change, any major decision, a move, a new house, whatever.

I think Moby and Eleanor are there. And they didn't choose themselves. Not a certainty, just a flavor of regret, doubt, a sliding back to reassess. Exasperation.

You have no way of knowing that around the corner is compassion, understanding, explanation, affection. Instead, there is only the terror of making the same damn mistake.

When we chose Eleanor, sitting there in the room with a dozen cats and a half dozen people. She has her paws on my bare knee, and a four year old SCREAMS! at the top of her lungs. Eleanor does not startle, does not sink claws into flesh, she flicks her ears. I have to trust that moment.

Just as I had to trust the moment when I first held Moby, and he wriggled to get out of my arms, but put out no claws, no teeth, and once on the floor looked up at us as if to say, "Look, I'm not going to suck up to you, but can you get me outta here?"


Brain came and painted the upper two sections of the triangle of the front roof edge. The paint in poor shape, didn't want to leave it another winter as it was. The bottom edge I can get myself. He was up on the roof, reaching over. Upper 90's most the time, and him baking up on the shingles. Very nice, bright color. Can't wait for the cooler temps, and I will get the last bit.


Addendum: They played, chased and played. Moby finally "got" the chasing play. He is a smart cat, after all. There will be further setbacks, but we do progress.

Tails

Amazing how, with openness and patience, life can be generous. Surgery is closed Monday, after no cases were scheduled. Chatting at the front desk, I asked if we were overstaffed on Friday. We were, but she hesitated to call anyone off - not wanting to short them hours. I raised my hand, "Actually... "

Four days off in a lump. An impromptu holiday. A welcome respite. Time to spend home in these early days of our new Two Cat Life.

Don't know why I've been feeling so brittle lately, easily depleted. Simple lack of days to myself, heat, bad air, bothersome back flaring up a little. Nothing really much, too moody in response. Not getting hot flashes, inasmuch as one can tell in this heat. Likely hormonal, in part.

We toured the new Public Safety Building this morning. Police, Fire and Emergency Management in one rather well thought out, and not ugly, new building. The old building was grossly obsolete, that was never really a question, although not well publicized. A bond for a $192 million project went down in roaring flames. One day, our glorious mayor, announces, after zero public meetings, that the new PSB would be $125 million, and would be put on that useless green space on Library Square. That space was only wasted on the Arts Festival and was only a (huge) part of the (much loved) plans for the new Library - that had widespread support - the bond for The City Library building approved by a large margin.

After an offended city objected, the more modest, plan was put forward, to go on the next block from Library Square. Oh, he backpedaled fast, and said it was just a step in the planning process, but that was not the way it was announced. Big jerk. By then, more information had been forthcoming concerning the decrepit state of the former home of these agencies, and the bond passed readily.

We feared it would be a hideous box. Instead, it's not a bad accompaniment to the sweeping architecture of the Library. We went on a tour though this morning, in the weeks before the staff move in. It all seems very well organized, energy efficient, bright, good flow. And the officers giving the tours, almost pathetically grateful not to be in the pokey, leaky old pile. Kind of like us comparing the house to some of our dreary apartments. "Oh, look! Lights! Working restrooms! Actual break rooms! With enough microwaves! We can keep the victims/witnesses away from the suspects!"

Unfortunately, all the solvent and adhesives, and no doubt my mild latex allergy meeting all the rubber carpet matting - especially the fitness center mats, left me with a nasty headache. We had to leave before we went through the lower level. Which included the bomb squad, carpool, K9 and armory sections. No bombs, dogs nor weaponry yet, but more fumes certainly. I've smelled armories before, not terribly fond of the odor of gun oil. By the time they actually move in, August, much of that will have settled down and aired out.


As for the feline family, all going astonishingly well. They both napped on the bed while we were gone. When Eleanor nosed the end of Moby's tail, he hissed a "Leave my fucking tail alone, you." Emphatic negotiation, not hostility. As she batted the air in front of him when he did the same with her tail. Two cats of good will, and we think compatible temperaments, they are growing comfortable with each other. We step back, and let them iron out the details.

Tails can be sensitive issues, apparently.

Responses

Pete has a photo with specks of birds, and ponders the use, and misuse of words around visual art. This is one of Brookline cherry blossoms - with bee, in a kind of response.




And for Rou, I remembered this as a spoon, but it was a fork on the Shaw Memorial in Boston Common, and an NPR story about it. The names of the 54th inscribed there include D's family name, which makes him wince a bit. They would not have been his ancestors or kin, but their owners no doubt were.

Further warming on the feline front. Moby even played near her a bit last night. They are learning each other. Hopeful signs.

She's an excellent jumper, and has found the mantle.

Sere

Partly Cloudy
101°F
38°C
Humidity9%
Wind SpeedWNW 14 G 18 MPH
Barometer29.98 in (1008.5 mb)
Dewpoint31°F (-1°C)


The rains are done.

Détente

Calmest day so far. Moby watched Eleanor chasing a toy mouse, interested but not glaring, even approaching her with curiosity. No hissing at all, no moaning. Took him outside last evening, and Sebastian sat among the flax. Moby approached him, got hissed at, retreated. Perhaps a moment of insight. Very reluctant to come inside, so probably not exactly that. This morning, less of the hesitation to cross the threshold.

Let her have run of the house for the first time overnight. She mostly slept on me. Until Moby stomped up at 0400 to get D up for food. She exited, he returned and slept on me the rest of the night. Which he hasn't done for months - but then he often doesn't sleep on us in the summer. After I got up, at some point she hopped back up on the bed, with D and Moby.

She is a much smaller cat. Perhaps seven to his ten pounds. But when the blender frightened her, and she hid, then kneaded the sheepskin, I gave her a bit of catnip. Moby fascinated, so he approached her. She batted at him, to his consternation. No harm, but we have to remember she spent as much time in the shelter as he did, and has her own damage.

We can all understand this.

More time, all the time needed.

Timing

This morning, as we left for work, Eleanor sat at the window sill, and Moby not two feet away on the lower level of his tree. The intense tension had ebbed to minimal. He's not eating well, but then, he often doesn't. Eleanor is an eager eater, already not as painfully boney as when we brought her home. This may become an issue, but we'll deal with it after she's more settled.




Moby still not happy, wary, complaining. But he's becoming resigned to the new reality. There are still issues to be worked out, further negotiations to be conducted. It's like the garden, I knew the time necessary, but it seems to be taking SOOOOOOoooooo long. It isn't, really. Not even a week yet. Just as I knew it would take five years before the garden was what I hoped for. Took less than a year to be half way there. Looking back, very short. In the middle, endless. Watching an hour hand move.

Patience is largely a matter of practice. Knowing that impatience causes misery, and has no function. Waiting for busses, or trains, or plants to grow. Or friendships.

Had the chance for a four day weekend, and accepted gratefully. It works out, because of the state holiday on my scheduled day off next week. I can use an impromptu holiday. Nothing specific, but a sense of wear and seediness. A preference for time away, lived at my own pace. Or that of two cats who have not found a balance yet.


Dig a hole. Tomorrow, I will dig a hole. That always helps. Now, and next year.

These things take time.

Snails

Early, day off, awake. I could sleep in, but apparently, I can't.


Both cats have run of the house. Moby watches her, still and waiting. She wanders, all bright and curious. Did this yesterday afternoon, letting them orbit each other, meeting in their own time, in their own way. Moby still baffled and wary, Eleanor blithe alternating with skittish. Kept her in the back room overnight, let out after breakfast.

The tension decreases every time. We figure Moby has worked out that she isn't a threat, merely a difficult puzzle he'd rather not deal with. Spraying Feliway to keep the tension down. Keeping them from getting too riled in the first place. Seems to help. Better living through chemistry!

Eleanor is chasing the ping pong ball, and Moby distracted watching the scrub jay.

Rained heavily through the night. Garden is happy, if snail infested. The north side of the front garden probably is suffering because they've been munching clover, as I found a plethora of them on that side in the damp morning. Picked them up, sloshed in some vinegar, they shall become compost, as we all will in our own times. Sprinkled down more diatomaceous earth, because it doesn't harm the soil.

One cosmos flower is open, the rest on the verge. They've sprung up and budded just in the last few days. Rain does wonders.

Update: Not friendship, but moving toward that possibility. She certainly likes Him.

Futzing

Futzing around in the front garden, and a guy comments that I have a green thumb. Inordinately pleased by this, I thank him. And I hear my mother say that my grandma - my father's mother, could put a dead stick in the ground, and it would grow. But my mother claimed she could kill any plant, and had a black thumb. She struggled to keep roses from grandma's cuttings alive, but my father was careless with the lawnmower - repeatedly.

Grandma is a vague presence in my life. She predominately spoke French, with only a certain amount of broken English. This didn't bother me, so much as her always calling me June. She was not well, although she was the slowest dying person I've ever known. Every year, the family anticipated her imminent death, that she wouldn't last the winter, then the summer, then the next winter... . She was 96 when she did finally cash in.

I have an image of her, tall, large, loud, with her second husband who kept an aquarium full of marbles I deeply coveted. I was perhaps two or three years old. At some point, husband died, and she had a gall bladder operation, and her daughter moved in with her and took over. I only know this from whispered, disgusted, overheard stories. That she was too old for surgery, and never the same again. Maybe a hip broke as well. But Aunt Madeline horsed her around, got her up to the chair, then back to bed, fed her on medications mostly. "Cancer drugs" often. Strange, since there was no story of what kind of cancer she may, or more likely, didn't have. Aunt Madeline and her husband, Herbie*, lived in that old family farmhouse for many years.

They moved to a trailer at some point, Herbie died. Grandma stayed in bed more, in the back room of a trailer, the bed against the wall, so that she refused to turn over and not see out, so she developed a deformed ear on the right side. A new doctor discarded almost all the drugs, which is when the "never was any cancer" hints emerged.

I never knew grandma's cooking, or her growing magic. Never knew her as anything much more than a sick and bullied old body. But, maybe, some small part of her seeded in one of her two granddaughters. And is starting to bloom.





*A matched set of unlikable people. At least by me.

Spoonerisms

Spoon!






A late reply to a recent thing.




Today's meeting did not go as well. Moby in a bad mood, a hissy mood. They touched noses, he hissed, she walked (not slunk, or skittered) away, though. Another brief try tomorrow. The plan is a week, perhaps a second week, but really, whatever it takes. Going to bring out the throw rug she sits on and eats from to put under Moby's breakfast tomorrow. See how that goes.

Baby steps.

Weirdest conversation ever. Nurse at work, pregnant, overdue as expected, sitting at the front desk waiting for the last two rooms to end, being urged by several other nurses who have had children, to get checked because she is in early labor. She is the opposite of a worrier, and is reassuring everyone one "I'm fine, I'll be fine!" So Prn tells her to have Hrn check her, since Hrn used to be an OBGYNrn. H says "Well, it's been a long time, but I could... ." Pregnantrn demurred, but only because she is the opposite of a worrier. Only nurses would consider it acceptable to suggest one woman check another woman's cervix, and at work. Pregnantrn had me rub her poor, contracting abdomen. And I was fine with that. We really are a weird bunch.

Speaking of which, Eleanor has pooped and peed in the litter box, eaten better, and is seeming more relaxed. The catnip last night may have helped. She is definitely a reactor.

Meetings

The sunflowers keep blooming.



They do like to face the house, presumably because they bloom in the morning, and then stay facing that way.


Eleanor got out this morning. This was not the plan.

Instead of making a fuss, we just watched. She is bold and curious, fearless. Moby watched, approached. They touched noses, but he backed off and slunk away. He took to the top of his tree. We separated them, but decided that was a decent meeting, and just kept watching. She kept wandering around, when she got too close, he moaned his unhappy moan of mild complaint. We moved her away. They sat near, with Moby up, and her in the window. When she moved to get on the tree, he moaned again, and we put her in the back room and firmly shut the door. Try again tomorrow, let poor old Moby regain his equilibrium. All in all, if not how we planned, not a bad first meeting. Moby is sniffing and pondering and assessing. We took him out for quite a long time to sit among the flowers and the neighbor's long grasses. He's shaken, but not too badly.

She's pretty nerveless about the whole thing.