Kin

You know, I have people around me I love, who evidently love me. Genetic kinship has at best no meaning for me, at worst a revulsion. They seem to assume I owe them, when they have made no effort to know me at all.


Got an email from my estranged brother, as mentioned. This guy is in his 60s. Why does he sound like a whiny 15 yr old?

Hi (Z), I know you probably don’t want to hear from me and I have no idea if this will reach you or not, but I just wanted to let you know that Aunt Madalene (sic) passed away yesterday morning. I don’t have all the details and am trying to get through to Aunt Betty to find out more.
Mom is getting by. Whatever you may think of me, I do still care. Not sure what more to say or how else to get in touch beyond this as I don’t know your phone number and am probably still blocked anyway. I hope you’re healthy and getting on well. Your brother, Bill.

Um. Madeline, for a start. This guy was on the honor roll, went to college, catholic school, the whole deal. I was close to neither aunt, to say the least, which he does know. No one contacted me when our father died. (I found out via google search, and came across the obit. Then I contacted them, after a search of less than five minutes.) His "care" is all words, no action, as per for this "family." I said I'd block him, but never did, (and never got an email) after he expressed disbelief that his father was abusive toward me. He can believe what he likes, but not if he wants me to listen to anything he has to say.

But so it was in this circle, saying I love you was enough, even when every action and inaction contradicted that. A massive, kin-wide policy of gaslighting. Don't feel loved? You're crazy, of course we love you, now shut up. When brother assured me he loved me, I told him read this blog, then we'll see. He didn't. After a few more prompts, still nada. I called it, and basta. All innocence, there, not his fault, nothing to do with him. All the right sorts of words, none of the right actions, no real interest, I'm just a prop. Sister shaped icon.

Fuck 'em. I have a family, they ain't them. My family thinks I'm funny. They listen to me, believe me, and take me as a full human being, a real character. My cats treat me better than my close genetic kin.

Scraping

The side of the door that looked like this, I got to this stage today.


The other side... which looked like the first is clear of the grey.




Needs some sanding and turpentine, but it has a certain beauty even now. Not quite within sight of proper refinishing, multiple sanding sessions, stain and lacquer of some sort. Maybe next year. Right now, I have a day once in a while to do as much as I can. When the back porch isn't too hot and I can open all the windows. The doorframes are when I can open all house windows and run the fans, on a day off work, which I won't see until September.

Woke up at 0530 this morning, got up for a short while, then returned to bed. Moby hopped up on the bed, heard him taking a bath, a while later I felt his paws on my calf, and he curled up on my legs. I dozed off, until about 0630, when Eleanor hopped up and stood on my chest. I decided to go with the cats, and dozed off. Eleanor scoots off when D left for work. Just short of 0800, Moby still on my legs, I stretched a bit, and Eleanor jumps back up and lays across my pelvis. I stay there a few minutes, then shove Eleanor off, slide my feet out from under Moby - who gives me a "look" but stays where he is.

For a while, I was seriously becatted.

Kismet

Before even coming to a full understanding, I long ago decided that seeking any kind of revenge was a terrible idea. Eventually, even to imagining harm coming to those who'd harmed me, which tends to simply bounce back on the sender. Largely, though, because life tends to get mean people, who ultimately, have to live with their own mean selves.

Evil Boss, who is still over new down-to-earth boss, was by yesterday and I was stuck with two other nurses at the front desk. I plastered a polite smile on my face and nodded where appropriate. S asked her how the new position was going, and Evil's answer was very uncomfortable, with the best possible spin on it sounding like nails on slate. It's "challenging" said in that tone implying that her new subordinates make our bunch of old OR nurses look like sheep. She opined about missing her old office, and none of us said anything like "oh we miss you too." On the other hand, we also didn't say "Well, you've been here more often since you 'left' than when you were supposed to be running this place." The latter being closer to what we meant.

I restrained my glee with a heavy hand, steeled my face to neutral, but my heart feels softer.

Also got an email from my brother that a much disliked aunt has died. I will answer eventually, when I can send correct, if terse, condolences to him. I do not wish to reestablish any sort of relationship, but a communication thread is tolerable. Form letter sort of idea, here. He was attached to that side of the family. Nor will I express my initial reaction of "finally the old bitch is gone." That would not be politic, nice, or appropriate outside my own home, or this Free Expression Space.


No need to try to hurt anyone, they'll do it all to themselves. When I want to throw hurt around, I become like them.

Doldrums

"I don't mean it's easy or assured, there are the stubborn stumps of shame, grief that remains unsolvable after all the years, a bag of stones that goes with one wherever one goes and however the hour may call for dancing and for light feet. But there is, also, the summoning world, the admirable energies of the world, better than anger, better than bitterness and, because more interesting, more alleviating. And there is the thing that one does, the needle one plies, the work, and within that work a chance to take thoughts that are hot and formless and to place them slowly and with meticulous effort into some shapely heat-retaining form, even as the gods, or nature, or the soundless wheels of time have made forms all across the soft, curved universe - that is to say, having chosen to claim my life, I have made for myself, out of work and love, a handsome life."
- Mary Oliver

Via Whiskey River.


Finding myself easily rattled lately, hesitant to go out, tired when I return. Struggling to take on tasks, losing focus. In no state of mind to get myself out of this state of mind.

Foursome

Just the four of us.

"I'm very comfortable. Howabout you?"

"Zzzzzz..."



When it was just getting dark, we took a stroll around the neighborhood, lots of people out, many families with strollers, one (presumably) drunk chick on a bicycle riding too fast and wobbly, with a bag hanging off the handlebars, that we managed to avoid being hit by. At least one skeevy guy that I kept an eye on, and D said hi to - as a deterrent greeting. Couple of young women screaming at each other. We came home a bit rattled. While out today, we also felt great irritation at people being unpredictable and obstructive. Maybe it's the heat, or the harsh sun, we usually get a lot more of this much sooner in the summer.

Booming evening, second in a row, while fireworks are allowed. Of course, many people push it far past the legally allowed sorts of flash and boom. The official ballpark fireworks, plus the official park shows, made for a loud evening. Went to bed, listening to a streamed emergency scanner as distraction and heads-up. Lots going on, nothing close enough to matter to us directly.

Ultimately, this all worked, and we slept well last night. Off to visit D's parents for lunch. Yardsaled this morning, got a good garden rake, a new game, beeswax candle, and a ball that flashes when you drop it (always up for a good addition to the toy chest.) D got to chat with a couple of guys selling musical gear, not overpriced for what they were, but not ideal range for a yard sale, hopefully they give up and go the ebaycraigslist route. They also had a top hat, which was way too large for me. D says it was flattering, and if it had been a better size he'd have urged me to get it. Well, damn, a hat can always be sized down.


On the way back from lunch, we went the long way to avoid the street by the shelter. The homeless, as a group, are difficult to deal with, particularly because they are unpredictable*. They are not living by the societal rules most of us abide by, some are criminal, some have severe mental health issues, and there is no way to tell which is which, or what any one of them will do. I've nearly run some folks down driving slowly by the street by the Road Home where they congregate. I've been yelled at and threatened - although that is rare it is no less worrisome. This is a huge problem that needs a big solution, individual housing, support services, transitional care, health care - particularly mental health care, drug rehab, employment services. And for people who are widely seen as unproductive, little of it is likely to be done properly.

Cold sores across my upper lip confirm that I've been battling a virus the past week or so. The blisters are usually the last symptom, so I should be back to normal very shortly.

Addendum: Moby caught a mouse, nearly killed it too. Mouse blood all over the place, and I had to do the coup de grace, but he clearly got the idea this time. I presume he learned from Eleanor. He is a professional, after all.




*Unpredictability is what most bothers me about children, as well. One at a time, I can deal. More than that and the panic starts to rise. I don't find it exciting or fun, but worrying and scary.

Ritual

She is resigned to the harness, only takes two or three attempts for her to just roll on her back and let me put it on her. She knows she will get outside, and I can feel her quiet purr as I carry her out. Once we come back in, usually I have to pick her up and carry her back, she then demands a treat, either a few catnip leaves or a greenie.

Rituals.

Entomologists

Tomorrow is Pie&beer day. The alternative to Pioneer Day, Days of '47, the 24th of July, commemorating the Mormons, and their story of their entrance to the Salt Lake Valley - This Is The Place. As so often with religion, and this one in particular, there are the included and the excluded. We, the excluded, snicker at the kitsch of the self-important and entitled smug. A culture of self-imposed martyrdoms. Not everyone, not by a long shot, but this is the whole problem with religious rule. The sense of being told by god what the laws must be, while turning a deaf ear to the actual people, dumping compassion which needs to be at the heart of any spiritual practice.

Reading about the wedding businesses whining that their religion means they can refuse service to gay couples. Well, religion also defended a right to discriminate against interracial couples, and that doesn't wash either. But I've gone off about this issue before, and I'm tired of it. Religion as an excuse for bigotry is vile.

Off to sit outside, get some sun, have a beer and read The Practical Entomologist. I wonder if there will be any word origins in it...

Off

Pouring, pouring, pouring rain. Refilling the 90 gallon yard waste bin with runoff from the eaves. Thunder rolling around, slight lightening flashes.

Before the storm, I sat on the porch, eating cherries, reading, chatting with the scrub jay as she stopped by for peanuts. A flash of iridescent indigo flitted past, lit on the loose end of the prayer flags. Spotted it again and again, finally steadied one end to identify. A wasp certainly, large, and a jewel beauty. I think it was a Great Black Wasp, black like my purple-black irises of spring. It didn't seem to mind my introducing myself, and I didn't bother it unduly.

I may need to take an entomology class. So difficult without any of the vocabulary to even start identifying our many visitors with any kind of consistency. The internet is wonderful, but I have my limitations.

Have decided my stiff sore neck is a virus induced myalgia. Not feeling ill, exactly, certainly not enough to call in to work. Just sorta off, you know? Lymphatic strain. Lots of dreams all night, the last revolving around christmas, in a good way. Aside from cleaning most of the kitchen, I tried to just rest. And with the local holiday this weekend, I'm very glad of a short week, one more day, then Friday off.

Heard a old familiar sound, of street sweepers. As a kid growing up on a narrow street in Detroit, this was a regular occurrence. The signs would go up, half the street would ban all parking, mom made sure to park the car in the garage, a few cars inevitably got tickets, and the machines/trucks would churn through, water spraying, brushes whirling, curbs left (nearly) gleaming, free of tree debris and weedy encrustations and muddy remains. A street so narrow that it was a tight squeeze with cars parked on either side to drive down the center, in Michigan, with all it's maples and horse chestnut trees. I so loved watching the street cleaning machines when I was little.

Here, I've never seen a regular street cleaning, no parking restrictions. I clear the curb myself in front of our† house. The weeds do love it there, where the mud accumulates, and the weeds survive as only weeds can. Today, it was related to some sort of digging up and resurfacing of the street at the northern corner, possibly related to some sort of utility work being done.


Lt Rain Thunder Shwr
69°F
21°C
Humidity 63%
Wind Speed S 24 G 39 MPH
Barometer 29.93 in
Dewpoint 56°F (13°C)
Visibility 8.00 mi
Last update 22 Jul 4:18 pm MDT



†This still amazes me.

Derelict

"I'm the wind, baby."

"Ooooo... you are so cool!"



"Look! Look! It's Chris Pratt!"

"Ugh."




"I am. A TREE."


So, this duplex down the street was empty before we moved in. Owner fixed it just enough to have renters, who (predictably) cooked meth there and made the whole neighborhood unsafe. When the apartment building around the corner under construction burned down (started by a guy on drugs) this place got mopped up as well. (Coincidence?) I can only assume there was a little help for the local police from the FBI team who were here anyway.

Various problems continue, people squatting, despite the health department notices closing one side to occupancy, the other to entry.

This week, this sign went up. The owner apparently wants $175k for this poisoned, decrepit property. And can't even spend $20 on a proper sign, or indicate that it is for a house, that house specifically, assuming anyone would stop their car and try to read the number written in a dried up red marker.




Now, house prices around here are about that, for a place in decent repair. Anyone buying this place would have to spend a boatload on cleaning it, just to start. And then, pretty much gutting it, if not downright demolishing it. Cheaper to buy an empty lot to begin with. This is where eminent domain would be a great thing, owner has to come up with 200k in back taxes and mandatory clean-up, or abandon the property to the city.

My secret desire to toss in a Molotov cocktail is too impractical. Too many nice folks in old houses that would be at risk. Not to mention putting all that crap in the air to breathe. And I really don't want to be arrested for arson.

Spider Correction: Opiliones

Auditions

Fair
74°F
23°C
Humidity 37%
Wind Speed calm
Barometer 30.22 in
Dewpoint 46°F (8°C)
Visibility 10.00 mi
Last update 19 Jul 10:20 am MDT

Easy, pretty, mild and quiet morning. Eleanor out for a while, to roll on the walk and lurk under the grasses. Moby next, spent a long, long time lounging among the flax. Met the old, black, scabby cat I have decided to call Louise. They started, stared a while, then politely sniffed noses, he sat, she ambled on, with a calm gaze at me on her way.

I sit reading The Plover*, laughed and wept in turns. Sitting on the lawn chair on our front walk amid sunflowers. I can smell the bergamot, which is wonderful. I hope some of the lost seeds come up next spring. Or that this single plant will spread all round in it's own good time. Planning to put in more of the purple/black irises in the fall, if only I can find the bulbs again this year.

Got the electro stim on my neck, bolstered by salvaged steri-strips, since the pads don't stick well to neck skin. Makes me a bit vague and easily distracted.


"Oh, bee-bee, beeeeee-bee!"


"Swing, swing, swing, swing, everybody start to swing..."


"Andah one, two, three!"


"I'm a puppy!"




Next.





*Per Pete's "recommendation" if I can call it that. Either way, I'm completely under it's spell.

Toll

Sunflower, I pushed you off the walk last night. This morning you were back here, and I warned you it was dangerous.

"Mind you own business."

And here you are, crushed and broken.

"Harrumph."

I had to pull it, to keep the other unwary from tripping.

The bergamot is alive, but with some mouldy leaves. I'd forgotten to water the leek I'd rooted, but it's doing alright. The other onions are fallen and broken, partly from the night of heavy rain last week, although it may be a way to better disperse seeds. Who am I to judge? Either way, broken. Life takes it's toll.



Some I braced together, and they seem cozy.



Flax is blooming again. Transplanted the old strawberries in the unhappy place in the back, as well as the new plant from the nursery, with lots of chickenshit compost.



Inside, dust and clutter. Not that it would take that long to clear. The sore neck has not eased over the last couple of weeks, waking me this morning to get up and rub and drug up. We went to the Farmers Market this morning. I'd not been thinking of it, but as soon as I saw the chair massage tent, I thought "aha!"

She was very, very good. Excellent pain magnets in her fingers. Neck still very sore, but it's not all referred pain everywhere. Tiger Balm to the rescue. This will take a while, don't untie knots like that in a quarter of an hour.



Work feeling onerous this week, as the slack goes taut.

Cats still sleeping near each other, eating close (no touching!) a momentary peace descends. Neighbor dog Spike (with human Mike) stopped by as I was in the garden. Spike leaned in for a good scritching, in return for dog-comfort.



Poor red face.

Plutonian

We won! Well, I consider anything in the top three that results in prizes to be winning, and we came in 2nd at the library/museum trivia night. We were delighted to be 5th last time. We just showed up, another couple joined us, then we invited over another couple, or as they put it, "absorbed" them, and between the six of us, we were a pretty solid team. Apparently. We called ourselves the Plutonian Dictators. I named us when it was just the two of us, assuming others would just have to deal.

Missed My Moon My Man by Feist, completely, despite knowing the song and liking it a lot. Knew, but none of the names would surface. D couldn't remember Martin Chuzzlewit, but knew. Our teammates were a bit younger, and killed on the pop culture, and saved on sports. We didn't ace anything, but we didn't blank on any whole set either. Very fun folks, nice to feel smart among other smart people. People we've just met getting our jokes! Really amazing to make people laugh.

We have a date for next month, same time, same table.

The whole affair is pretty well run, but with just enough sense of being a bit rinkydink to keep it from being too serious. The two judges are self-professed nerds having fun, having to apologize for the occasional poorly phrased, or completely ungrammatical question. Threatening with SHAME anyone using an electronic cheat sheet.


As for the free stuff, well, promotional swag, what can I say. That's not a complaint, not at all. I'll find a home for the t-shirts.

Updated

Oh, the little victories.

Salt Lake City — (KUTV) Kami and Angie Roe left the U.S. District courthouse in Salt Lake all smiles Wednesday. The women, who are married, had a big court victory against the state which refused to put both their names on their baby's birth certificate.

"I didn't think it would happen," said Angie who was the parent excluded from the birth certificate. Attorneys for the couple thought the judge might rule in their favor, but not on-the-spot. That was a big surprise.

In the courtroom, Parker Douglas, Chief of Staff for the Utah Attorney General's Office, was grilled by Judge Dee Benson who asked him repeatedly to explain why the state was discriminating against a couple that is legally married.

Joshua Block, attorney of the ACLU, which represented the mothers, said Kami and Angie could have avoided a lot of stress and undue trouble, had the state Health Department's Office of Vital records adjusted its birth certificate rules after gay marriage became legal.

State law says in cases where couples use a sperm donor, only a "husband" can be added as a parent on the child's birth certificate. The law has not been changed to include "wife". In cases like Angie and Kami's where both parents are women, the law would have required Angie (Kami gave birth) to petition the court to become a step-parent first. Then, if the step-parent adoption was approved, her name could be added to the birth certificate.

"Many other states have updated their practices on their own without having to be dragged into court kicking and screaming," said Parker noting that Utah has not changed its laws to reflect the Supreme Court decision.

Missy Larsen, spokesperson for the Utah Attorney General's Office said the state would not appeal the judge's decision.

Translation,

"Do not flout the law. Change the word to "Spouse" and shut your fucking pieholes."

I keep getting this sense that judges don't like sex/gender discrimination at all. As a body, most of 'em. Kind of like how librarians are, as a group, big on freedom of thought and speech. Really big on it.

Closer

Laid down between the cats and napped with them. Then pulled out the laptop... Eleanor needed to be closer.

Feeling much better, though.

Aching

Finally decided to clear the lettuce, move the strawberries, add chickenshit compost. What I found was a mass of earwigs having a party. Woo hoo!




Already worn from two long days, the second mostly long because of Dr. Chaos being a jerk to me all day long. Got my teeth cleaned at 8 this morning, and a check on an aching molar (likely from grinding my teeth, intermittent and vague, but I have cards for other dentists to do a root canal/crown if it gets any worse.)

Moby thought about going out, but decided on wet food instead. As I presented it, Eleanor sat in the dining room as usual, Moby sat under the chair right behind her looking away. I put down dishes, looked away for a moment. When I looked back, they were both eating. I don't know what this means, if anything, but it seems good.

"I like it here."



"Hi."



Feeling worn and discouraged, may just need a good lunch and nsaids.

Several stories over the past year of murder of the whole family, father then kills himself. Last one, again, the woman planned to leave. D says, "There are not enough divorces."

Indeed. A good divorce beats a terrible marriage, or mass murder, any day.

Yeah, that sort of mood.

Potatoes

I've been making mashed potatoes since last Thanksgiving, when TJs had golden potatoes. The result so tasty, we've kept preparing them. I used a fork, then a slotted spoon to break them up, and a hand mixer to really whip them, but that took a lot of effort. All I knew for sure was that I did not want my mother's masher, didn't want one like it in the house. I hated the job as a kid, all that milk and margarine, salt and pepper, as well as criticism for any lumps.

So, no and no.



Probably nothing wrong with either, but flashbacks, you know?

Found the one above, and it's sufficiently different, I could use it. Does a rather nice job, straightforward to clean.

And then found the bowl, at the yard sale, which it fits perfectly, especially for the amount I make at a time. Which is the potatoes that fit in a 4 cup pyrex measuring devise that I can nuke for 18 minutes. (A rather good way to boil potatoes - in water, in the microwave.)

When the potatoes are ready, the masher appears*.

Dos

Eleanor has been with us two years now. It's been all ups and downs between the two of them, and early reading of friendship was not accurate. They have their own relationship that we are not a part of, and as humans, just can't understand. None of our business anyway. We still delight in seeing them sleeping near each other, though.

The excessive heat of June has given way to a moderate July. Skimming 90˚F may not seem moderate, but with dewpoints of about 40, it is fine. The transplanted moss is still green, so may well still be alive. I assume it's moss, what do I know? I remember between my parent's house and Mrs. Rizzardi's house were two narrow concrete walkways to the respective backyards, and between that a narrow strip of dirt. Nothing much would grow there, the odd brave weed or blade of hardy grass, and when it was damp, some green velvet. Algae or moss, I assume. So, when I realized the same sort of creature lives in the grimy mud between our house and our neighbor's, I thought - give it a go. I'm watering and pressing it down, and generally hoping.

That narrow space is also where I got the stone that I would stick up my nose, when I was small. My mother denies this, tells me I was indoors when it happened. Perhaps, but I found the stone there, maybe kept it in my hand, in a pocket. It was very smooth, which is why I likely was rubbing it against my face, and lost my grip. I remember it already being in my nose for a while before I told anyone, so I think my memory of the slip happening out there could well be right. I was not a child to immediately report problems, trying my best to draw no attention to myself if at all possible. Sneakiness gave me some small measure of freedom and privacy, which I craved most of all.


We drove past the Anniversary Inn today, it's in the neighborhood. A converted mansion, now a boutique hotel/B&B, where we'd once wanted to stay a night or two. We loved going to hotels, getting out of town for a night or two, watch MTV on cable, live in a place that someone else kept clean for a weekend. Since House, this urge has pretty much evaporated. We love sleeping here, this place is more beautiful to us than any posh hotel. I didn't realize how much I felt this about our apartments while we lived in them, how cramped and how ugly they were. Beige walls and beige carpets, nothing outside that was ours but the car in a parking lot. I never knew what this would mean. Perhaps best that way, like finally finding love. Or a little space with a bit of moss.

Hodge

My hodge-podge of a compost is getting scavenged reinforcements again. Still haven't settled on a design or color scheme. Still just propped together.

"I said a little off the top! What did you do!?"



Yard sale finds today. Who knew both of us would have a thing about hour glasses. It doesn't quite do an hour, something between 30-50 minutes, we are still trying to time it. Also got a nice steel bowl, a bit smaller than the one we have, straight sides.



No, that's a basket I liked. The photo of the bowl was blurry, and I don't feel like taking another one right now.

Eleanor must investigate anything we have to eat or drink.

"What's this?"



"What's that?"



She will accept good cat treats in lieu of human food, even in preference. With the exception of cheese, she must have a bit of whatever cheese we have. The first week here, she stuck her head in D's milk glass and drank her fill. We just giggled, and let her go, and never left that sort of thing out for her again, unless we meant it.

Rather like food left out in an OR lunch room. If you don't want people to eat your food, lock it up, otherwise it's fair game for the piranha we are. Put it out on a tray on the table, and step back quickly. Particularly if it's chocolate, but just about anything, including old potato salad, will eventually vanish.