Amazing how the ivy grows. Bright green leaves stretching out, nonchalantly heading for the foundation buffet. "Oh, don't mind us, we're just... you know... going over... um, there."
No. No you're not.
Massive trim and cull. In goggles and breathing mask. Should have done long sleeves and pants as well, as my exposed skin itches a bit. Hot enough as it was. Cleared back to the edge of the sidewalk, filled a bin with the damn stuff.
Not feeling capable of the ladder, scraping paint up above, today. No sense overdoing. I will paint in time, September, even into October, works well enough.
Took Moby out this morning. Had windows open. Eleanor sat in the back window, watching as we walked the back. Moby saw her, not happy. Seemed to say "That is just wrong. You are freaking me out, man." Almost thought he was going to jump up to the sill. But then he turned to go to the front and in. About half way along the side of the house, without breaking stride, he lets out with a grumbling hissgrowl, foul cat-swear I assume. When Eleanor was waiting for him at the front, he sighed and hurried to the music room before I could get the harness off of him.
This is a rough transition for him. On the other hand, he's playing more. Got into the paper bags this morning. She clearly annoys the hell out of him, but is also doing him a world of good.
As is often the case with life.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
Depleted
Big schedules every day this week. Difficult cases, atypical. Interesting stories, though.
One of our nurses is moving south to run a winery with her family. She's so good hearted, and very intelligent, and completely disorganized, a typical artist. I'll miss her greatly as a person, and not at all for the messes I've cleaned up from her scattered attention. We all hope she will make a success of it.
Often I will say, "When I get tired of picking things up off the floor, or opening things, I really need to find another line of work." That is so much of what I do. Open sterile supplies, as well as other items, and pick up whatever gets dropped. I also mop. Usually, it's simply the job in front of me, to which I ascribe no quality. Today, I am, at least for a short while, tired of all these things. A most welcome long weekend, and I should be fine on Tuesday.
Mostly, the computer interruptions got up my nose most. Just getting to the charting turned into a search and rescue operation. Multiple problems with the network. I'm deeply suspicious of the IT department as they start new crap up for the new semester. That, or the first futballs game of the year overwhelmed the system. Oh, yeah, leaving on Thursday, took me 17 minutes to get through campus, normally five minutes at worst. I'm not a fan. Knew it, but there are no alternative routes. No better ones.
Feeling depleted. Strewn in the gales. Baked in the late August sun slant. Blown and seedy.
Moby gave me a long hug when I got in.
D got me a new clock, because the old one was becoming unreliable. Very thankful that he opened it for me, put in batteries. Old clock makes a great mantle clock. Could have sent it in, gotten a trade in, refurbishment. But we love the old one, and D assures me it's worth it, we can afford it, so I acquiesce with new learned grace. A gift, so.
One of our nurses is moving south to run a winery with her family. She's so good hearted, and very intelligent, and completely disorganized, a typical artist. I'll miss her greatly as a person, and not at all for the messes I've cleaned up from her scattered attention. We all hope she will make a success of it.
Often I will say, "When I get tired of picking things up off the floor, or opening things, I really need to find another line of work." That is so much of what I do. Open sterile supplies, as well as other items, and pick up whatever gets dropped. I also mop. Usually, it's simply the job in front of me, to which I ascribe no quality. Today, I am, at least for a short while, tired of all these things. A most welcome long weekend, and I should be fine on Tuesday.
Mostly, the computer interruptions got up my nose most. Just getting to the charting turned into a search and rescue operation. Multiple problems with the network. I'm deeply suspicious of the IT department as they start new crap up for the new semester. That, or the first futballs game of the year overwhelmed the system. Oh, yeah, leaving on Thursday, took me 17 minutes to get through campus, normally five minutes at worst. I'm not a fan. Knew it, but there are no alternative routes. No better ones.
Feeling depleted. Strewn in the gales. Baked in the late August sun slant. Blown and seedy.
Moby gave me a long hug when I got in.
D got me a new clock, because the old one was becoming unreliable. Very thankful that he opened it for me, put in batteries. Old clock makes a great mantle clock. Could have sent it in, gotten a trade in, refurbishment. But we love the old one, and D assures me it's worth it, we can afford it, so I acquiesce with new learned grace. A gift, so.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
November
November is for N.
Nasty, notorious, nerve wracking November. Nueve, nieve en la noche, el niños, nine in a nook.
Not to induce nervousness in your noodly appendages, but notice the nocturn by the needle stack with a nonce of hay inside.
N is best friends with I and G, hanging out, singing and dancing and flinging normal verbs north in neat lines, noting nouns and naming names, natch.
Nice nieces in nebulous neighborhoods, N in sync with nature, aunts nodding.
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Papa, Oscar, November.
Nasty, notorious, nerve wracking November. Nueve, nieve en la noche, el niños, nine in a nook.
Not to induce nervousness in your noodly appendages, but notice the nocturn by the needle stack with a nonce of hay inside.
N is best friends with I and G, hanging out, singing and dancing and flinging normal verbs north in neat lines, noting nouns and naming names, natch.
Nice nieces in nebulous neighborhoods, N in sync with nature, aunts nodding.
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Papa, Oscar, November.
Simple
Damp garden in the morning, windows open to mild air. Moby went out with me for a while, returned, all without the grumbling that he has expressed consistently over the last two months.
He sits on D's chair a lot more lately, and D adapts.
Last night, fell asleep listening to Eleanor batting a ping-pong ball around. She is creative and persistent, so funny.
The vet told us it can take four months for cats to grow accustomed to each other, and we figure this will be the case. Moby takes about that long to decide he likes anything. That long before he began to sleep on us, that long before he would deign to sit on the new sofa. He's still acutely aware of The Other Cat in His House. Time. And possibly cold weather.
For all her feisty playfulness, she is also what my Aunt Evelyn would call a "snugglebug."
A purr so quiet, I have to lay a hand on her to feel it.
Scrubbed in on hands yesterday, the last case a hardware removal. These are the easiest and hardest cases we do. Most of the time, it's a simple process, relatively superficial, small incision, unscrew, pull out, close up. But when they are not simple, it's a long slog of getting the right screwdriver, or it strips, or the bone has so grown around it, the head of the screw breaks. Or there is so much connective tissue overgrown that they can't get to the head, or not at a good angle. The possibilities for problems dips into the infinite, until they just want to get it to a point of safe.
The vast majority of the time, hardware stays put for future archeologists to find. But sometimes, it's painful, it migrates or starts pushing out, or gets inflamed. Growing kids may need it out because it causes problems with the developing bone. Bones are living cells, inert metal can be shifted out of position, it happens. Usually taking it out is simple. When it isn't, though, we struggle.
Rather like when a surgeon wants to add on "a simple little I&D." Irrigation and debridement, there is an area of inflammation, or a hematoma, that needs to be washed out. Sounds as easy as removing a single little screw, right? And certainly, it can be. Sometimes, in wildly unpredictable ways, those cases turn into a nightmare, made worse because no one planned ahead and got proper supplies and instruments.
Going in for a couple of hours, get folks out for lunches. It's not a bad gig, one gets to be the hero, everyone so grateful on a day when they expected an NFL* day.
*No Fucking Lunch.
He sits on D's chair a lot more lately, and D adapts.
Last night, fell asleep listening to Eleanor batting a ping-pong ball around. She is creative and persistent, so funny.
The vet told us it can take four months for cats to grow accustomed to each other, and we figure this will be the case. Moby takes about that long to decide he likes anything. That long before he began to sleep on us, that long before he would deign to sit on the new sofa. He's still acutely aware of The Other Cat in His House. Time. And possibly cold weather.
For all her feisty playfulness, she is also what my Aunt Evelyn would call a "snugglebug."
A purr so quiet, I have to lay a hand on her to feel it.
Scrubbed in on hands yesterday, the last case a hardware removal. These are the easiest and hardest cases we do. Most of the time, it's a simple process, relatively superficial, small incision, unscrew, pull out, close up. But when they are not simple, it's a long slog of getting the right screwdriver, or it strips, or the bone has so grown around it, the head of the screw breaks. Or there is so much connective tissue overgrown that they can't get to the head, or not at a good angle. The possibilities for problems dips into the infinite, until they just want to get it to a point of safe.
The vast majority of the time, hardware stays put for future archeologists to find. But sometimes, it's painful, it migrates or starts pushing out, or gets inflamed. Growing kids may need it out because it causes problems with the developing bone. Bones are living cells, inert metal can be shifted out of position, it happens. Usually taking it out is simple. When it isn't, though, we struggle.
Rather like when a surgeon wants to add on "a simple little I&D." Irrigation and debridement, there is an area of inflammation, or a hematoma, that needs to be washed out. Sounds as easy as removing a single little screw, right? And certainly, it can be. Sometimes, in wildly unpredictable ways, those cases turn into a nightmare, made worse because no one planned ahead and got proper supplies and instruments.
Going in for a couple of hours, get folks out for lunches. It's not a bad gig, one gets to be the hero, everyone so grateful on a day when they expected an NFL* day.
*No Fucking Lunch.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
George
George be damned, there is not just one way to make tea.
For instance, this.
Which is very much like my efforts to have a nice, hot cup of tea the week we moved into the house. I would get the water boiling several times before pouring it over the tea. Then forget and over-steep to undrinkability. If I managed to actually get it to the cup in good time, I'd get busy and find it cold. Oh, I'd drink it cold, but all I wanted was a hot cuppa, and my own brain tripped me up, over and over. Got me in tears a few times, sheer frustration at my ineptitude.
When in Saudi, I was glad to have reasonably decent tea and an immersion heater to make it with. Nice to have an electric kettle, but also a gas stove when the power goes out. At work, the water is not quite boiling, but hot enough for cheap oolong bags. Tea can take many forms, adapt to numerous rituals, and remain a comfort. Bags are fine, loose is fine, mugs or delicate cups and saucers work well. It doesn't take a lot of fuss to make good tea, just a little intention and preparation, with a touch of appreciation. Some origins with a tea tree, as well.
Nothing wrong with a re-brew in the evening, so I can sleep.
For instance, this.
Which is very much like my efforts to have a nice, hot cup of tea the week we moved into the house. I would get the water boiling several times before pouring it over the tea. Then forget and over-steep to undrinkability. If I managed to actually get it to the cup in good time, I'd get busy and find it cold. Oh, I'd drink it cold, but all I wanted was a hot cuppa, and my own brain tripped me up, over and over. Got me in tears a few times, sheer frustration at my ineptitude.
When in Saudi, I was glad to have reasonably decent tea and an immersion heater to make it with. Nice to have an electric kettle, but also a gas stove when the power goes out. At work, the water is not quite boiling, but hot enough for cheap oolong bags. Tea can take many forms, adapt to numerous rituals, and remain a comfort. Bags are fine, loose is fine, mugs or delicate cups and saucers work well. It doesn't take a lot of fuss to make good tea, just a little intention and preparation, with a touch of appreciation. Some origins with a tea tree, as well.
Nothing wrong with a re-brew in the evening, so I can sleep.
Bok Choy
A question came up in the comments about why I planted in the front. For those of you who've read along for years, skip ahead. But with a number of more recent friends, lemme 'splain.
The back garden was dirt with a paved walkway around the central bed. Evidently used at some points as a vegetable garden. Maybe off and on for the last century.
Surrounded by garages, since there is a half street at 90˚ from ours. We abut five other properties. Trees, particularly stink trees, had taken over the edges. The last owners seemed to only use the back for their dogs, as that door was borked, but with a small doggie door, and solid fences. Found a lot of trash out back, and dog toys. Not to mention a quantity of fireplace ash and turds.
After clearing away a lot of the trees, digging the soil and amending, mulching and watering, the garden grew pretty well considering. A lot to do over years, to get it all well and green, but not thirsty plain lawn. The front yard gets a lot more light, but is harder to water. There is a broken sprinkler system that I will ignore. Living in a desert, I consider it only right to grow low water tolerant plants out there anyway. A green lawn is of no interest to us.
Figuring out what will grow, and what we like, guides our choices. The soil in front is hard clay, but loosened up, that means nutrients. A good place to grow some of our own food, and provide a haven for biodiversity in the city. The sunflowers were intended as a bio-fence, and have worked perfectly, keeping us cooler from the late afternoon glare as well.
There is also a verge, where we spread the wood chips from the extracted trees. But the weeds didn't seem to mind at all. Within the next few years, I hope to put in raised beds and decent soil, to grow something other than weeds out there.
The bok choy is sprouting nicely out front.
The back garden was dirt with a paved walkway around the central bed. Evidently used at some points as a vegetable garden. Maybe off and on for the last century.
Surrounded by garages, since there is a half street at 90˚ from ours. We abut five other properties. Trees, particularly stink trees, had taken over the edges. The last owners seemed to only use the back for their dogs, as that door was borked, but with a small doggie door, and solid fences. Found a lot of trash out back, and dog toys. Not to mention a quantity of fireplace ash and turds.
After clearing away a lot of the trees, digging the soil and amending, mulching and watering, the garden grew pretty well considering. A lot to do over years, to get it all well and green, but not thirsty plain lawn. The front yard gets a lot more light, but is harder to water. There is a broken sprinkler system that I will ignore. Living in a desert, I consider it only right to grow low water tolerant plants out there anyway. A green lawn is of no interest to us.
Figuring out what will grow, and what we like, guides our choices. The soil in front is hard clay, but loosened up, that means nutrients. A good place to grow some of our own food, and provide a haven for biodiversity in the city. The sunflowers were intended as a bio-fence, and have worked perfectly, keeping us cooler from the late afternoon glare as well.
There is also a verge, where we spread the wood chips from the extracted trees. But the weeds didn't seem to mind at all. Within the next few years, I hope to put in raised beds and decent soil, to grow something other than weeds out there.
The bok choy is sprouting nicely out front.
Turning
Another charity run down our street Saturday morning. And a cloudburst in the middle. Another later, nothing impressive. Thick clouds all day, not past 90˚F all day. All day. Evening, and the clouds shattered utterly, pouring, misting, driving rain. Welcome moisture in this dry land. The iron grip of August has been snapped. Not over, but the worst is over. A slackening, an easing. Falling toward Autumn.
Collected sunflower heads, seeds for next year. Left some for the birds. May roast some as well. The summer ends, or begins to trail off. I'm ready for the turning. Ready to finish the summer chores, and dig holes for next spring, to sit fallow for the winter. Gather leaves to feed worms. Not quite to act, but to prepare, to plan.
Eleanor Cat, skittish as she is, seems unbothered by lightening and thunder - which sends Moby for a good Under to Hide. She really, really, really wants to hang out with Moby and play with him. Moby wants to be left the fuck alone. One introvert to three introverts, she's good for us though. Not easy for an old, loner of a cat to adapt. "Hasn't that other cat gone yet?" He does not see complacency as the enemy, but he really was bored, lonely, pulling out his fur - which he does not do now. He's annoyed, but engaged.
Unlike Moby, Eleanor is strongly food motivated. All our food must be sniffed and examined. Treats are heaven. She has decidedly gained weight. Having to watch this so she stays healthy, but she was so painfully thin when we got her. Could feel her pelvic bones easily. Not anymore. On the other hand, she does not scarf all food to the bottom of the dish first go. We'll watch, but won't go nuts.
Chores to be done, tarp over the back porch, paint on the front. Holes to be dug.
Two nights not needing AC just to sleep. Windows open, fresh air, louder street noises.
Collected sunflower heads, seeds for next year. Left some for the birds. May roast some as well. The summer ends, or begins to trail off. I'm ready for the turning. Ready to finish the summer chores, and dig holes for next spring, to sit fallow for the winter. Gather leaves to feed worms. Not quite to act, but to prepare, to plan.
Eleanor Cat, skittish as she is, seems unbothered by lightening and thunder - which sends Moby for a good Under to Hide. She really, really, really wants to hang out with Moby and play with him. Moby wants to be left the fuck alone. One introvert to three introverts, she's good for us though. Not easy for an old, loner of a cat to adapt. "Hasn't that other cat gone yet?" He does not see complacency as the enemy, but he really was bored, lonely, pulling out his fur - which he does not do now. He's annoyed, but engaged.
Unlike Moby, Eleanor is strongly food motivated. All our food must be sniffed and examined. Treats are heaven. She has decidedly gained weight. Having to watch this so she stays healthy, but she was so painfully thin when we got her. Could feel her pelvic bones easily. Not anymore. On the other hand, she does not scarf all food to the bottom of the dish first go. We'll watch, but won't go nuts.
Chores to be done, tarp over the back porch, paint on the front. Holes to be dug.
Two nights not needing AC just to sleep. Windows open, fresh air, louder street noises.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Observing
She watches us as we sit outside with Moby. Maybe in the Spring, we'll get her on a harness and take her out as well.
"Excuse me, is there something on my chin?"
They have such personalities, differences.
The late, north side ones are HUGE.
Rain. It rained. May rain some more.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Oscar
Oscar is for O.
Oscar the Award, Oscar the Grouch, an uncle of mine is an Oscar. Oscar may mean a deer friend. Or a deerly beloved?
Otters and Ottomans start with O.
As a vowel, O tends to sit inside words. Ordinary words, occult words, Occidental words. Moving oars and rowing open boats on oceans of molten and porous over-pouring pools.
O will stand by itself as an exclamation, though prefers to Oh! with an H beside it.
Ornate and opulent, O loves opals and oranges and ostentation.
Oh! for a muse of wooden rapid Oxydization!
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Romeo, Papa, Oscar.
Oscar the Award, Oscar the Grouch, an uncle of mine is an Oscar. Oscar may mean a deer friend. Or a deerly beloved?
Otters and Ottomans start with O.
As a vowel, O tends to sit inside words. Ordinary words, occult words, Occidental words. Moving oars and rowing open boats on oceans of molten and porous over-pouring pools.
O will stand by itself as an exclamation, though prefers to Oh! with an H beside it.
Ornate and opulent, O loves opals and oranges and ostentation.
Oh! for a muse of wooden rapid Oxydization!
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Romeo, Papa, Oscar.
Sheepdogs
Dogs. Going to the dogs on Labor Day. I don't know if we've ever done something fun on that (non) holiday, but this year, we break with tradition. A sheepdog competition is certainly a novel idea for us. We thought about it last year, but perhaps found out late. This is typical of our local press, they make a big deal out of events that have already happened, not mentioning anything still to come.
We've never done much for any holiday, D being a huge grump about them. (Yes, he does read here.) I only ever liked Christmas and Halloween anyway, so no biggie. Any day off is good enough for me to consider it a holiday. This might be enjoyable. We will go early. D says he'll be awake, so that's fine. Usually, he's up by 5. I often am awake before the alarm chimes, at 0545.
So, dogs. Yeah, it'll be a nice change. Cats are not interested in going. They think we are crazy, but then, they always do.
We've never done much for any holiday, D being a huge grump about them. (Yes, he does read here.) I only ever liked Christmas and Halloween anyway, so no biggie. Any day off is good enough for me to consider it a holiday. This might be enjoyable. We will go early. D says he'll be awake, so that's fine. Usually, he's up by 5. I often am awake before the alarm chimes, at 0545.
So, dogs. Yeah, it'll be a nice change. Cats are not interested in going. They think we are crazy, but then, they always do.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Duo
No one feeling well here. Nothing critical, GI symptoms in the cats, malaise and queasiness in the humans. Nothing a bit of rain and brisk air won't cure, I expect. Moby likely getting over the drugs, perhaps picked up a gut bacteria at the vet, passed to Eleanor.
They are starting to re-approach, more slowly, Moby more assured. Eleanor less "boppy." They definitely had a set-back. The tree is a point of contention, at least for Moby, who would prefer to always have it all to himself to get to the top. And down again. This has been a source of some anxiety for him.
Got some grass growing for both of them. Going to try some yoghurt as well. I know Eleanor will eat it, she's not picky. She's chasing around a toy mouse with great enthusiasm at the moment. She's got a very funny bunny hop, our furry comedian.
And we have more tomatoes. Just a few this time.
Still awaiting rain.
They are starting to re-approach, more slowly, Moby more assured. Eleanor less "boppy." They definitely had a set-back. The tree is a point of contention, at least for Moby, who would prefer to always have it all to himself to get to the top. And down again. This has been a source of some anxiety for him.
Got some grass growing for both of them. Going to try some yoghurt as well. I know Eleanor will eat it, she's not picky. She's chasing around a toy mouse with great enthusiasm at the moment. She's got a very funny bunny hop, our furry comedian.
And we have more tomatoes. Just a few this time.
Still awaiting rain.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Papa
Papa is for P.
As in Oh, My Papa. Although usually with the emphasis reversed.
P peppers and peoples the popping peninsula perpetually, being a plosive.
P pisses down, plopping and pulsing, pouring pleasantly, persistently.
P, with Greek ancestry, also pretends to be F, philosophically phoning in phony physics, covered in pheromones.
P, proximally is happy and sappy and dapper.
Papa's got a brand new pink thang.
Or, was that a purple thing?
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Papa.
As in Oh, My Papa. Although usually with the emphasis reversed.
P peppers and peoples the popping peninsula perpetually, being a plosive.
P pisses down, plopping and pulsing, pouring pleasantly, persistently.
P, with Greek ancestry, also pretends to be F, philosophically phoning in phony physics, covered in pheromones.
P, proximally is happy and sappy and dapper.
Papa's got a brand new pink thang.
Or, was that a purple thing?
Zulu, Yankee, X-ray, Whiskey, Victor, Uniform, Tango, Sierra, Romeo, Quebec, Papa.
Evidently
We watched a documentary about John Cooper Clarke. I'd never heard of him before, and it took me a while to get what they were all raving about. As I started to hear, as I began to get the dark humor, the brilliance seeped through. Amazingly witty mind, took me a little while to catch up to him. Every time he made me laugh, I warmed to him, listened harder. All very impressive.
Summer flowers mostly blown. More dead sunflowers than blooming, one or two still to open. Tomatoes may have one more wave, but none ripe now. The lull of summer, a sort of dead zone. Perhaps next year, I will plant pumpkins, for this crisping time.
Need to beat back the entropy, yesterday was not the day for it. Today must be.
Summer flowers mostly blown. More dead sunflowers than blooming, one or two still to open. Tomatoes may have one more wave, but none ripe now. The lull of summer, a sort of dead zone. Perhaps next year, I will plant pumpkins, for this crisping time.
Need to beat back the entropy, yesterday was not the day for it. Today must be.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Anemic
Feeling anemic and hormonal. Pale and woozy. Sympathizing with cat.
After anesthesia, he looked like how I feel when I've had too many, wanting only to be still and near the porcelain.
He sat by the water kettle, rubbing his head against the spout, getting head and throat wet, then sitting up and very still. I brushed out the massive amount of dandruff and loose fur, which seemed to help him feel a bit better. Eventually, he settled on the mud room rug. We put down the wool army blankets there in a nest roll. He spent most of Friday in them, slowly recovering from his involuntary bender.
Today, everyone subdued, but fine. Eleanor on the sofa, Moby found where I put the wool blankets in the back room. Eleanor is a funny cat, Moby much more serious. He likes his privacy, his solitude. He has a deep, dark gravitas. But both of them, one on each side, snuggled up to me last night after work, offering comfort.
D says, "Not feeling well? Apply cats bilaterally."
Had the distinct impression that Eleanor knew this was part of her job, and glad to be useful, as only a cat can be. Really did make me feel better, cat armrests.
Nearly won* last place last night. Patient with an old, complex injury, she and surgeon decided at the last moment to add a procedure. Consent adjusted, surgery proceeded. Nearing the end, I knew he hadn't done the additional step, and I seriously considered not saying anything, perhaps he'd looked at the area and decided to omit it. But when he said "ok, we're done" I knew I had to at least ask.
"I hate to say this, late on a Friday, but... weren't you going to do (this bit)?"
He closed his eyes a moment, nodded, "What I meant was, I'm done with this part of the surgery, now I will do (this bit)."
Really didn't take that long, even with Dr. Slow. There really was never a doubt that I would question, just a matter of how and when. It only felt like should or shouldn't in my Friday afternoon head.
We cleaned the room, shut everything down, went to check on the winning* room, and they'd taken their x-ray gowns off. Well, that could only mean one thing. I worked on getting all the equipment out of their room, we had them nearly cleaned up before they took the patient out. All left together.
*Winning, meaning to run latest. Call it sarcasm.
After anesthesia, he looked like how I feel when I've had too many, wanting only to be still and near the porcelain.
He sat by the water kettle, rubbing his head against the spout, getting head and throat wet, then sitting up and very still. I brushed out the massive amount of dandruff and loose fur, which seemed to help him feel a bit better. Eventually, he settled on the mud room rug. We put down the wool army blankets there in a nest roll. He spent most of Friday in them, slowly recovering from his involuntary bender.
Today, everyone subdued, but fine. Eleanor on the sofa, Moby found where I put the wool blankets in the back room. Eleanor is a funny cat, Moby much more serious. He likes his privacy, his solitude. He has a deep, dark gravitas. But both of them, one on each side, snuggled up to me last night after work, offering comfort.
D says, "Not feeling well? Apply cats bilaterally."
Had the distinct impression that Eleanor knew this was part of her job, and glad to be useful, as only a cat can be. Really did make me feel better, cat armrests.
Nearly won* last place last night. Patient with an old, complex injury, she and surgeon decided at the last moment to add a procedure. Consent adjusted, surgery proceeded. Nearing the end, I knew he hadn't done the additional step, and I seriously considered not saying anything, perhaps he'd looked at the area and decided to omit it. But when he said "ok, we're done" I knew I had to at least ask.
"I hate to say this, late on a Friday, but... weren't you going to do (this bit)?"
He closed his eyes a moment, nodded, "What I meant was, I'm done with this part of the surgery, now I will do (this bit)."
Really didn't take that long, even with Dr. Slow. There really was never a doubt that I would question, just a matter of how and when. It only felt like should or shouldn't in my Friday afternoon head.
We cleaned the room, shut everything down, went to check on the winning* room, and they'd taken their x-ray gowns off. Well, that could only mean one thing. I worked on getting all the equipment out of their room, we had them nearly cleaned up before they took the patient out. All left together.
*Winning, meaning to run latest. Call it sarcasm.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Tartar
Moby is fine. A hunk of tartar on that tooth, but sound beneath. No need for an extraction. So, he's home, dopey, walking funny, but not in pain. Eagerly sucked up gooshy food.
Eleanor nosed him gently, "Dude, howya doing?"
Looking at me, "whoah."
Last night, he spent hours trying to get us to give him food. Very frustrated at our human density. "Get up. Get me food. What is so hard about that? You do it all the time!" None of us slept much. Got into a bad state of mind. But today went very well, and all's well.
Eleanor nosed him gently, "Dude, howya doing?"
Looking at me, "whoah."
Last night, he spent hours trying to get us to give him food. Very frustrated at our human density. "Get up. Get me food. What is so hard about that? You do it all the time!" None of us slept much. Got into a bad state of mind. But today went very well, and all's well.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Oranges
The done and the undone.
Birds seen, thanks to the flowers. We have a pair of hummingbirds as well. Some other tiny bird with a melodious voice, spotted briefly, too slow with the camera.
Moby in the orange light of the afternoon fires.
Birds seen, thanks to the flowers. We have a pair of hummingbirds as well. Some other tiny bird with a melodious voice, spotted briefly, too slow with the camera.
Moby in the orange light of the afternoon fires.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Inherit
I'm not sure how old I was, maybe 10, when Granny went from her own elder apartment to a nursing home. Her health and mentation had deteriorated to the point that she needed more than a daily visit from meals-on-wheels, and adult kids taking her to shop and to the bank. The room in the community home was small, and she had a roommate, but the communal areas were clean, pleasantly furnished, she attended mass daily at the church next door. All in all, not so bad.
But with so much less space, her children had to apportion out many of her modest possessions. I was there, with my mother, on the day. I knew enough to only ask her quietly if I could have some item. She shushed me, and had me watch as her SIL and nieces descended like locusts. "You only really know anyone once you've shared an inheritance with them."
In the end, most of it went to her oldest son to hold, due to an older daughter's force of character. What happened to the stash after is a mystery to me. But my mother's message was clear, they weren't my things, not to want, not to have. I took it as a point of pride I would never pick over the treasured items of anyone else as my right. In the end, I was given a footstool, a silk robe, and a favorite blanket, which I treasured as gifts for many years.
That my mother, the last time I spoke to her, dangled an inheritance up to me, offended this sense of my own integrity. How could she think that would entice me to emotional closeness? She taught me this lesson!
That D's parents suggested he establish a phone relationship with his distant, elderly grandmother, because otherwise she'd leave everything to his brother, insulted him in the same way.
We have no right to someone else's stuff, or money. Nor can we be bought with it. There either is or is not a relationship already there, and may or may not be a gift, but those are independent variables.
I'd always assumed there would be nothing left when my parents died. There was little enough when I lived there. I still don't know that there will be anything. I don't care.
But with so much less space, her children had to apportion out many of her modest possessions. I was there, with my mother, on the day. I knew enough to only ask her quietly if I could have some item. She shushed me, and had me watch as her SIL and nieces descended like locusts. "You only really know anyone once you've shared an inheritance with them."
In the end, most of it went to her oldest son to hold, due to an older daughter's force of character. What happened to the stash after is a mystery to me. But my mother's message was clear, they weren't my things, not to want, not to have. I took it as a point of pride I would never pick over the treasured items of anyone else as my right. In the end, I was given a footstool, a silk robe, and a favorite blanket, which I treasured as gifts for many years.
That my mother, the last time I spoke to her, dangled an inheritance up to me, offended this sense of my own integrity. How could she think that would entice me to emotional closeness? She taught me this lesson!
That D's parents suggested he establish a phone relationship with his distant, elderly grandmother, because otherwise she'd leave everything to his brother, insulted him in the same way.
We have no right to someone else's stuff, or money. Nor can we be bought with it. There either is or is not a relationship already there, and may or may not be a gift, but those are independent variables.
I'd always assumed there would be nothing left when my parents died. There was little enough when I lived there. I still don't know that there will be anything. I don't care.
Backslide
Bad dreams, heavy sleep. Cat play got too intense last evening, fur flew. No one hurt, but bad feelings all around. A setback. Knowing this was inevitable didn't make it easier.
Dreaming of being out with Moby at a park. He had a fuchsia ribbon, claws painted the same color, not my doing. He did not want to leave, and ran off, trailing the lead. Eventually got him to stop, as I put him in the bag he became a young man who was also Moby. Put the bag on a lawnmower to get home, but as I drove it up the driveway, snow fell so fast and thick, I had to abandon all. Two feet of snow so quickly.
A later dream, cooking a complex meal for D's family. Had it all laid out, and let everyone know to come eat. When I went to the room with the table, everyone had just taken the food and eaten elsewhere, nothing left for me to eat. D trying to explain, console, but I was so hungry, and he'd told me not to cook the extra, and I started screaming, banging the countertop, losing all control. Glad to wake a bit and break the distress. Although it occurred to me, if I really lost my mind in a rage, the next thing I'd remember would be waking up in a bed, tied to it, having been taken to a psych ward.
Called off today, one room running.
Dreaming of being out with Moby at a park. He had a fuchsia ribbon, claws painted the same color, not my doing. He did not want to leave, and ran off, trailing the lead. Eventually got him to stop, as I put him in the bag he became a young man who was also Moby. Put the bag on a lawnmower to get home, but as I drove it up the driveway, snow fell so fast and thick, I had to abandon all. Two feet of snow so quickly.
A later dream, cooking a complex meal for D's family. Had it all laid out, and let everyone know to come eat. When I went to the room with the table, everyone had just taken the food and eaten elsewhere, nothing left for me to eat. D trying to explain, console, but I was so hungry, and he'd told me not to cook the extra, and I started screaming, banging the countertop, losing all control. Glad to wake a bit and break the distress. Although it occurred to me, if I really lost my mind in a rage, the next thing I'd remember would be waking up in a bed, tied to it, having been taken to a psych ward.
Called off today, one room running.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Nine
Nine years ago today, D brought Moby home, in a cardboard carrier, and a bag of food from the Boston Animal Rescue League, on the train. Moby mewed the whole way, but we didn't hear him vocalize again for many months, and rarely after that for many years.
He hid under the sofa, the sink cabinet, the bed, for a solid week, only coming out after we'd gone to bed, playing with a little ball, his jingling tags the only evidence of a new roommate.
The rug, and the cat, really pulled the room together.
Later, he became D's advisor and editor.
He hid under the sofa, the sink cabinet, the bed, for a solid week, only coming out after we'd gone to bed, playing with a little ball, his jingling tags the only evidence of a new roommate.
The rug, and the cat, really pulled the room together.
Later, he became D's advisor and editor.
Reserves
We gaze on the world.
A reflection gazes back
Watching as we watch.
World gazes at us,
Admiring the reflection,
Small sunlit mirrors.
I see in Moby my own dark reserve. In his hesitance to jump, to throw himself in before he's done all the calculations, made a few trial feints. His wariness balanced out with sometimes uncanny nervelessness. My own black hair when he came to us. As well as his kinship to D, his loyalty, distractible affection, constant gentleness. Both giving poor first impressions, that shield kind, consistent integrity.
In Eleanor, another side. The tendency to be very sociable on the surface, hiding a reserve of one's real self. Her sensuousness and love of touch, and anxious attitude to touch when not on her specific terms. Her persistence at friendship, then misstepping and irritating. My hair now and her fur have much the same color. She has D's ability to just do the right thing, reach out a paw, give a hug, when I would have withheld myself.
I do get D to play more.
A reflection gazes back
Watching as we watch.
World gazes at us,
Admiring the reflection,
Small sunlit mirrors.
I see in Moby my own dark reserve. In his hesitance to jump, to throw himself in before he's done all the calculations, made a few trial feints. His wariness balanced out with sometimes uncanny nervelessness. My own black hair when he came to us. As well as his kinship to D, his loyalty, distractible affection, constant gentleness. Both giving poor first impressions, that shield kind, consistent integrity.
In Eleanor, another side. The tendency to be very sociable on the surface, hiding a reserve of one's real self. Her sensuousness and love of touch, and anxious attitude to touch when not on her specific terms. Her persistence at friendship, then misstepping and irritating. My hair now and her fur have much the same color. She has D's ability to just do the right thing, reach out a paw, give a hug, when I would have withheld myself.
I do get D to play more.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Where
Where are the cats?
One in the mudroom, no reason why.
One on the rug, all rumpled.
What'd I do?
What is she doing?
The play fights are becoming more obvious play, less fight. She licked his ear a bit, and he let her, a little. Then hissed, but not upset. Getting much funnier watching them, discernible rules they have worked out, trust forming. Mirrored movements. Not quite ease, not yet.
He seems to enjoy watching her, fascinated.
One in the mudroom, no reason why.
One on the rug, all rumpled.
What'd I do?
What is she doing?
The play fights are becoming more obvious play, less fight. She licked his ear a bit, and he let her, a little. Then hissed, but not upset. Getting much funnier watching them, discernible rules they have worked out, trust forming. Mirrored movements. Not quite ease, not yet.
He seems to enjoy watching her, fascinated.
August
A distant promise
of eventual autumn.
August withering.
Only two sunflowers broken off, but I understand why. Try to pick one by hand, and they fight back. Gotta respect such a sunny, cheerful badass flower. A lesson there.
One of our attending anesthesiologists who floats through occasionally, lost his shit at my circulating nurse as I was scrubbed in. He'd been a constipated asshole all day, which is to say, crappy and slow. Painful slow for a six case hand day, so many turnovers. Even our lovely calm hand surgeon* lost her patience with him.
He eventually caught a whiff of our collective frustration at him, didn't like feeling guilty, so he attacked the one person who couldn't fight back. And the patient was still awake, although fairly sedated. Because it was all our fault, and we obviously wanted him to give poor care† to his patients! Reminds me of an insane general surgeon who, when frustrated with anything he could blame on anyone else would shout "YOU'RE KILLING MY PATIENT!"
I kept setting up, but felt like I'd been punched in the stomach, my head tight and sore. When I got home, hours later, D met me at the car and hugged me. Not knowing the situation, only that I'd had a long day, he knew I needed a big hug.
Friday ran much better, and D had chili going. Amazing Chili®. Not as hot as some, but a gorgeous dark red colour and intense flavor to match. With our own-grown tomatoes. I felt my energy flowing back, tackling several neglected chores. Like tying up the plastic under bumper with velcro, watering the lettuce seeds, clearing out the old leftovers in the fridge.
This morning, climbed up to scrape the lower front porch facing, D close by. Goggles, gloves, very careful not to stretch far. Going much faster than I feared. Should be painted before first snow. I did say Amazing Chili®.
*The one I send D to see, as he has hand issues stemming from the elbow shatter years ago.
†We don't even take very sick patients at our day surgery. They get sent up to the main hospital that has ICUs and cardiac teams and such. We can keep people a few nights, mostly after total joints or if they have sleep apnea, for pain control. None of the patients this day had health issues at all.
of eventual autumn.
August withering.
Only two sunflowers broken off, but I understand why. Try to pick one by hand, and they fight back. Gotta respect such a sunny, cheerful badass flower. A lesson there.
One of our attending anesthesiologists who floats through occasionally, lost his shit at my circulating nurse as I was scrubbed in. He'd been a constipated asshole all day, which is to say, crappy and slow. Painful slow for a six case hand day, so many turnovers. Even our lovely calm hand surgeon* lost her patience with him.
He eventually caught a whiff of our collective frustration at him, didn't like feeling guilty, so he attacked the one person who couldn't fight back. And the patient was still awake, although fairly sedated. Because it was all our fault, and we obviously wanted him to give poor care† to his patients! Reminds me of an insane general surgeon who, when frustrated with anything he could blame on anyone else would shout "YOU'RE KILLING MY PATIENT!"
I kept setting up, but felt like I'd been punched in the stomach, my head tight and sore. When I got home, hours later, D met me at the car and hugged me. Not knowing the situation, only that I'd had a long day, he knew I needed a big hug.
Friday ran much better, and D had chili going. Amazing Chili®. Not as hot as some, but a gorgeous dark red colour and intense flavor to match. With our own-grown tomatoes. I felt my energy flowing back, tackling several neglected chores. Like tying up the plastic under bumper with velcro, watering the lettuce seeds, clearing out the old leftovers in the fridge.
"Leftovers make you feel good twice. First, when you put it away, you feel thrifty and intelligent: 'I'm saving food!' Then a month later when blue hair is growing out of the ham, and you throw it away, you feel really intelligent: 'I'm saving my life!'"- George Carlin
This morning, climbed up to scrape the lower front porch facing, D close by. Goggles, gloves, very careful not to stretch far. Going much faster than I feared. Should be painted before first snow. I did say Amazing Chili®.
*The one I send D to see, as he has hand issues stemming from the elbow shatter years ago.
†We don't even take very sick patients at our day surgery. They get sent up to the main hospital that has ICUs and cardiac teams and such. We can keep people a few nights, mostly after total joints or if they have sleep apnea, for pain control. None of the patients this day had health issues at all.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Spar
Moby has a hell of a stare.
"People don't do what we want, things don't happen quickly enough, the weather doesn't cooperate, our bodies don't cooperate. Why are these moments so painful? Because our minds are focused on a static, unchanging, me-centric picture while the dynamic unfolding of a broader life continues around us. There is nothing wrong with expectations per se, as it's appropriate to set goals and work, properly, towards their fruition. But the instant we feel pain over life not going "my way," our expectations have clearly taken an improper turn. Any moment you feel resistance or pain, look for the hidden expectation. Practice giving yourself over to what "you" don't want. Let the line at the store be long. Let the other person interrupt you. Let the nervousness make you shake. Be where your body is, not where your mind is trying to take you."
- Guy Finley
From Whiskey River, of course.
Driving home last night, one of those squarish vehicles with CA plates tailgated the going-a-bit slow driver in front of him. Close enough, that, once I could, I moved to the next lane - even though the wrong one for me. Front car drifting out of her lane, then I noticed she had a dog in her lap, licking her face. Got further over the wrong way, finally back around another slow driver - not rushing, willing to go around the block later. Wound up next to Square CA, and he was on his phone, laughing, talking animatedly, not much paying attention. Able to get away from him within the next block. Dog woman further back passed me as I sat in the left turn lane at the light.
I always keep a good distance, and even more from drivers apparently not paying attention. It's not that I'm technically that good a driver, but I am not bad at watching for odd behavior. Give them room, never crowd. And if I wind up in the wrong lane, proceed as if the mistake were already done, and move from there. And be especially wary of anyone with too many stickers on their car.
She notices the camera a lot. Moby ignores me.
Sunday, August 04, 2013
Heart
My job is details, disconnected and disparate. Takes a mental glue to string them together and keep them all in the air. Hard to learn, easy to do once learned, habits formed. I really can spot a Jakes from a Mosquito at a distance. A tonsil clamp from a pean. Small differences, all for different purposes. I know the difference between an SH and an X-1 needle on a 2-0 vicryl, undyed. Know which are monofilament, which braided, and which is useful for what, and how short to cut each, which absorbable, which not, swedged on or pop-off. Automatic, hardly have to bother my brain about, the reflexes know. Seventeen years in the OR, and I damn well better have this by heart.
Just as I handle bottles when I visit Epic Brewing, as the potter I once was. I know when something breakable is secure, and when not. As I once slung books with confidence. Muscle memory, balance, assurance.
Scraped loose paint on the front porch facing this morning, will need some wood putty before I paint. So careful getting up on the ladder, slow, plodding. Not so high up as to be a danger to myself, still soft and steady. Only in the morning, only when D can come sit with me, his balance and arm in far worse shape. Soon enough, the bright, Caribbean blue.
Eleanor on the sofa as I sit beside her, she reaches out a paw to touch me. We go slowly, time and more time and plenty of time. Trust must be layered on, decoupage-like, patiently. As D earned my wary trust, as we earned Moby's, so we must do for Eleanor. Or Aliénor. Another mystery. No hurry. Eternal now.
Just as I handle bottles when I visit Epic Brewing, as the potter I once was. I know when something breakable is secure, and when not. As I once slung books with confidence. Muscle memory, balance, assurance.
Scraped loose paint on the front porch facing this morning, will need some wood putty before I paint. So careful getting up on the ladder, slow, plodding. Not so high up as to be a danger to myself, still soft and steady. Only in the morning, only when D can come sit with me, his balance and arm in far worse shape. Soon enough, the bright, Caribbean blue.
Eleanor on the sofa as I sit beside her, she reaches out a paw to touch me. We go slowly, time and more time and plenty of time. Trust must be layered on, decoupage-like, patiently. As D earned my wary trust, as we earned Moby's, so we must do for Eleanor. Or Aliénor. Another mystery. No hurry. Eternal now.
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