Pretzel

March comes to a close, with rain in sun. Spotty bouts of rain all day, dramatic clouds and bright sun, happy garden day.

And tomorrow, beware. Believe nothing you read on the jocular internet on April Fools Day.

Never did get the appeal of practical jokes. Oh, the odd joshing was fine, but the elaborate chain pull, not so much. Anything really potentially harmful, not even close.

Still, I agree on principle with turning assumptions into pretzels. So, let us open our eyes and turn on our skepticism, with a smirk and a sigh.

Salsa

In The Fifth Elephant, Pratchett mentions fatsup, a hearty meal of sausage soup. Akin to my hotdog soup, no doubt. Hotdogs in bouillon, with a dash of cayenne, excellent for a cold or congestion, and no cook available for a sick person taking care of themself. Restorative.

Which is where I get catsoup, catsup being already taken. Although I prefer ketchup as a word. Haven't eaten it for decades, preferring salsa.

Cat Soup is a couple of turkey thighs or legs, dark meat having more taurine and fat, simmered in a crock pot for 3 hours, with an additional hour to cool enough to remove bones and skin. With turmeric, which is good for pain, arthritis, in cats. Once cool enough to handle, add half a can of pumpkin for soluble fiber, and break up enough to satisfy an old cat missing some teeth. Young cat will demand crunchy kibbles, which can be added as "sprinkles."

Heat in microwave for 15 seconds, since this is kept in the fridge, may also add small amount of boiling water from kettle.

In the middle of the night, have cans of wet food available, in case of excessive human sleepiness and inability to cope.


Poor ketchup. The saviour of my early encounters with cheap beef and my mother's meat pies. Dry doesn't begin to describe. Hated meat as a kid, heavy and flavorless with strange fibrous bits of connective tissue randomly encountered. Preferred bread, and when on offer from Aunt Alma, fresh or steamed frozen vegetables. Meat my nemesis. Ketchup made it tolerable.

At some point in my adulthood, I came to love spices, the hotter the better, and salsa my new BFF. I tried to be a vegetarian several times, but failed to maintain enough nutrients. Still love a good vegetarian meal. Takes a lot of energy and planning to be a healthy vegetarian, and I wasn't up to it. So, I try to do sustainable meat, lots of vegetation, and a lot of capsaicinoids. Which is to say, I've largely given up, but make it hot. Even found a local beer that brews with cayenne. Yeah, baby.


No spice in catsoup. Save turmeric. No salsa.

Soaking

Rivers form and flow.
Behemoths show common sense.
Pease sprout, rain falls, growth.


After the recent rains, my pease are sprouting madly. Especially after the 0.7 inches (nearly 2 cm) of rain in about an hour the other night. Dry soil soaking it up all over.

Changes at work, as we get large enough to notice. The unit secretary/payroll person, who organized a lot of parties and pot lucks, left very suddenly. Explained as "family issues," we have our doubts. We all thought her very pushy about our jobs - which was clearly not her job. Our manager and her supervisor* were clearing out quite the haul of office supplies and toys from Secretary's office the next day, and distributing it, letting our staff scrounge it. I got a heavy office tape holder and a bunch of binder clips. (I didn't go there while old manager* was present, as she brings me out in a rash.) When my automatic email to Secretary about my payroll preference got to her before I remembered to delete it, she sent back a very terse reply. So, I rather suspect there was more going on than "family issues." I could be wrong.

Then they decided not to replace her, but to apportion her job to the payroll person for the clinics, and her other duties to our manager. We are not in compliance with the whole system, so we have to begin doing some of our processes differently. Not the surgical aspects, but the admin and some other detail stuff. Our newish manager is feeling a bit overwhelmed, but we are all glad it's her, and not eviljanieval* anymore. She very apologetically had a mandatory meeting this morning to get everyone hearing the same information. I could see it coming, so I was already assuming I'd have to be there this morning. No sweat, had to get out to get turkey for catsoup.

At any rate, bunch of new staff, and plans for expansion. New surgeons coming on, more work, job security. Bring it on.

Cats circling as the catsoup cooked. Going a bit mad, but once I put some down, they ignore it. Maybe it needs to age a little.




*Who never had our backs.

Circling

Both cats circling the kitchen when I got up. Dylan strangely still asleep. Moby watching impatiently as I threw on clothes, then dished out food for both of them. No hesitation from either, they both tucked in. Once I'd made my own tea and cereal, I couldn't quite slide into my own spot without nudging Moby's tail. He didn't seem to notice.

Slow day, off early. These days happen.

Finished watching The Night Manager last night. Everyone in it amazing, the Le Carre story updated and adjusted satisfyingly, tense and complex and disturbing. Hesitated to recommend it until I knew how they resolved it. Much as I liked the book, including the ending, a good book ending and a good filmed ending are usually two very different things.

Raining steadily since last night, often with snow mixed in. Not sticking, so I don't mind. Every bit of moisture good for the garden. May feels a very long way off, yet.

Onions

Out watering listlessly, neighbor who has a tiny garden, and has chatted with me about same, rode by and commented on my purple hair. A few minutes later, he returns with a pile of old seed packets and a small head of indian corn, wishing me a Happy Easter. I thanked him, and insisted he take some green onions, as much as he wanted. He took a nice bunch for his dinner, and we both felt better about life.



I'll have to put the petunias in among the onions, as per the song "I'm a Lonely Little Petunia in an Onion Patch."

I may not like eating onions much, but they are welcome growing nearby, and they seem to like it as well. Alliums are coming along, as the crocuses and tiny irises reach the end of their blooms. I think I have stumbled, imperfectly, into the goal of a garden with plants coming forth over the seasons. Not quite complete, but the idea planted by the Community Gardens classes, although I couldn't do it intentionally nor thoroughly, is beginning to emerge. Very gratifying.



Now, I will also plant some corn, more pease and beans, marigolds and parsley. Old seeds may well not germinate, but we'll give 'em a go. Still need to get some topsoil and compost. I make some, but not quite enough to get started.

Dylan's parents stopped by yesterday while Dylan was getting a much needed nap. I gently refused them, when ordinarily I would welcome unannounced visitors - I'm one of those weirdos who actually likes surprize guests. Not yesterday. And especially since they tend to nudge pretty hard on religious holidays, and we were trying to duck out, avoiding phone calls. But they were in our neighborhood, presumably visiting the Temple*. While talking with them, our lovely Julie from the solar panel company, came by as per an appointment for some final checks and signatures. Slightly awkward, but we sorted it out, and got everyone tended.

Julie brought us nice water bottles, and refused my apologies.



An hour or two later, Dylan's parents stopped by again, to give me a pot of heather. They are nice people, if a little deaf to disagreement or subtlety. Dylan told them we were "unwell and misanthropic" this week, utterly true. I've got the heather re-potted, and it will grow outside in the summer, since it is only perennial to zone 9, this is zone 5. Pretty stuff. I'm very grateful, even as I make sure the inner gates are, regretfully, locked. They mentioned Dylan's brother would be visiting this week, so we immediately offered our house for the gathering, for various reasons. Looking forward to that.

Spent time cleaning this morning, the kitchen is clean and mopped. Got the compost turned as well. Very listless this afternoon, idle and moody.

Skin distresses are mollified, if not healed.





*LDS Women's Conference yesterday. Yup.

Mentor

All the context is stripped from this memory, so bear with me. A show, a very young woman and an older man, two women discussing them, "He want to be her...(lost to memory.)" Reply, "No, worse, he want to be her mentor (teacher.)" They both shudder.

I did not know what that meant at the time, didn't get the problem. I was in that situation, a young woman with a man 15 years older. I would figure out why it was all kinds of wrong.

When anyone older takes on a young lover, and justifies it in terms of teaching them, giving them all the benefit of their greater experience, that is inherently manipulative and exploitative. Anything other than meeting as equals is horrible. I would find this out the hard way.

Had a self described friend, when I was young in college, who saw herself as my mentor. That had the same awful dynamic. She expected only gratitude, since she obviously wasn't getting anything else from me, right? Fuck gratitude. Friends share together, the older and more experienced one is getting something out of it one way or another. Expecting adoration is completely out of line.

So, when Dylan and I got together, (not that I thought about this, but then) I never thought of him as anything other than a capable adult. We learned from each other. Ah. Well. When one finds normal and healthy, the twisted shows clearly. I had no idea what it meant, emerging from a childhood of abnormal. I didn't understand still submerged in a shoddy relationship.

But once the lights come on, so many mysteries are not mysteries at all.


Chatting with my anesthesiologist on Friday, figured out he'd been an intern when I was at my first hospital. And I mentioned my story of the intern in the OR for the first time, doing so well gowning and gloving in good sterile fashion, then standing across from me at the Mayo stand, and adjusting his glasses.

"You are contaminated."

"Why?"

"Did you scrub your glasses?" I ask in the rising pitch of the kindergarten teacher.

"(Head down, steps back) oh." He replies, understanding the problem.

We both agree it was him, although he recalls doing this more than once. I always thought he looked familiar, but then so many young white upper middle class men look alike anyway. About 15 years older now, despite striking eyes, he could be any of a number of them. Lovely to make the connection, especially since he's a good 'un.

Girls in a Band was excellent, btw.

Sere

One of our surgeons is generally seen as dour. I find him reserved in the extreme, but also with a sense of humor so dry any desert would be envious. Another of our surgeons recounts when, as a resident, he tried to start a chatty conversation. Dry surgeon stopped him, saying "I'm comfortable with uncomfortable silences." Which is when I knew I could get along perfectly with Dr. Dry. I'm also comfortable with all sorts of benign silences.

Yesterday he did a meniscal transplant, which we do rarely. And, although it was subtle, I could discern that he was delighted and excited. In the middle of the case, he told how his young son had to listen to American Pie six times in a row, he sang a bit of it, and demanded one of the residents identify what was meant by "the day the music died." When she couldn't he turned to me, and I said "Buddy Holly..." and he added "and the Big Bopper" looking at me and my ipad. So I looked it up and added, "Richie Valens, and of course the pilot who shouldn't have been flying in a snowstorm in the first place." He nearly smiled. Yeah, he was a happy surgeon.

He's also the one who needed an x-ray gown on a clavicle fracture that wasn't going well. He pulled up the front of his gown, and I knelt in front of him to get the lead skirt around him. He didn't milk the situation, but when the scrub asked suggestively "what are you doing down there?" I responded with mock guilt, "Nothing, nothing, what do you think?" He looked away from me, said nothing, but there was a hint of a smirk, maybe.

I have a weird job.


Got new cream for my rosacea, which is A. cheap and B. helping. Face no longer feeling like it will crumble off. Spots of eczema also got their own ointment, and are also responding. Dryness being held back. Took a long bath when I got home, empurpled my hair, centered.

Holy Saturday, Batman!

Hooked

From the neighbor's porch. We pick up their mail today, so I took the opportunity for a better photo. Not entirely hooked up yet, but nearly there. Should be by the first of next month.

Love the gutters. I can step out on the back porch without hunching against the dripping eaves. Very nice. Also next month, the rain barrels.

Cats really do seem to love the cat-soup I make them. Gratifying to be appreciated by cats.

Came across this, and so far, Best Thing Yet.

Zoetrope

Bitter winds, spring snow,
Full moon over struggling soil,
Dawn's cycle leaves marks.




There has always been something about Easter week, even after I stopped trying to believe the liturgy. A sense of threat in the hope, death in life. Growing up in Michigan, it never much felt like warm new life, often cold, wet, and with memorable winds.

I sang in the choir, starting when I was about ten, in large part to distance myself from my father. Also to give myself something to cling to as attendance was mandatory for this weekly event that became increasingly irritating and toxic. Singing helped. I would not have made it through a near decade of masses and the special hell of holy weeks, if I hadn't been able to sing and sit with the choir.

Once there, the Easter vigil service, long as it was, often outside for the lighting of the new fire, which delighted. The endless hymn (Praise we Christ's Immortal Body*) was a melodious old chanting tune, sung once a year, filled every corner until I hummed entire. Connected me back to some ancestral worship of eternal mysteries. The words blurred, meaning erased, only the hum remained.

June remained far away, then. And even June could be wet and chill then, there. Easter often a promise with a long lead time, full of gritty mud and cold feet. Never much liked spring.

Here, it's different. Especially since My Garden. I cheer on every sprout and cotyledon, every drop of rain, love the softness of mud and composting rot. Finally, I can see the cyclic turn of seasons, as they wheel faster for me, even as I grow patience. Reminding myself that May will come, flowers will bloom, fruits will ripen, birds and damsel flies will arrive. And I will invite them all in close.

I never quite believed in resurrection. I am certain of recycling.

Eventually, it all recycles.







*If we'd sung it quite this slowly, our director Mrs. Lancendorfer would have wrung our necks, figuratively. She liked a bit of zip even in the lento. And I really wish we could have sung it in Latin (Pange Lingua), much easier to just listen to the music without tripping over the meaning.

Caged

Iris, crocus, cat.
March mud, raw bones, stacked stones, tough.
Slow clouded sun, dim.

Thumbs

Sometimes one feels all thumbs, and all those thumbs are dry and cracked.

The guys came by last evening. I made tea and baked pasta. Hung out with laptop and declared myself The Researcher. Came in handy. The ostensible subject of the gathering was barely touched on, but no one seemed to mind that the conversation was merely free floating. Quite the opposite. Really enjoyed myself. Eleanor scurried through repeatedly, nearly being friendly, still too nervous, but better.

Moby's gut a bit sluggish, so he's been double dosed with laxative. So far so good, but we worry.

The manager of the low rent apartment at the corner is a bad neighbor. The first summer here, as I painted the front of the house, he accused me of walking through "his" parking lot. I had no idea what he was on about, but apparently about six months before I'd set foot on the driveway to see what the noise was in the house that abuts our back yard, but we can't see into because of the garage. Ever since, he has made snide little comments at me whenever I am out front and he's walking by. A few months ago, he was behind me in the parking lot at the Megamarket down the street. He muttered something at me, and I scurried away. But then he followed me up the escalator, again accusing me of trespassing - apparently still on the same alleged incident from four years before. I got away from him - hurrying into the women's underwear section. In hindsight, I should have gone straight to the security and customer service counter.

Maybe because I've been out front more, he's seen me more often, and always snipes at me, and it feels like he's escalating. I try not to listen, or walk inside, but after the third time in as many weeks, I pulled up my courage and got a pen and paper. He'd gone by (sniping) on his way to Megamarket, so I got ready. On his way back, I asked for his name, his full name. He pretended he didn't see me. I told him I knew he was the manager of the apartment, and he'd be hearing from me. He kept walking. Cowardly little bully.

I couldn't find the owner of the building, but I did write to the police for advice. If I'm ever out there with a camera, I'm recording his stupid face.

I forget that I have this superpower. I hate confrontation, makes my stomach hurt. But when I decide enough is fucking well enough, and I face down the harassment, I can be impressively intimidating. As the adrenaline rushes and I want to vomit. As with all superpowers, there is a price, and my hands are still shaking.

Here, happy.




Addendum:


Old friends, but only so much they can do. I add cayenne power at night, but have to be careful of my eyes.

Vanishing

The waiting is the hardest part. But once there, when it is all, the waiting vanishes from memory.

I waited a long time for real love, for someone kind who finds me wonderful. A long time for someone I love without reservation, in safety and enthusiasm. Looking back, he appeared as soon as I could possibly have been ready for him. And I remember him beside me, even though we had not met yet. There was no time before Dylan (BD?)

Knowing I lived in apartments all my adult life, now after four years, I feel I have always been here. Home is a time machine. Home holds all my life within.

How could we not have had Moby in our lives? Eleanor is eternal.

The good reaches into the past, healing old deficiencies, backfilling. There was no better time, all time is now.

My heart sends the love to all time, and enfolds all my selves into love. The hard bits are simply crunchy bacon in my home/love sandwich.

Stretch

Moods

She does tend to hang out with me. And she loves looking out on the world.

Spending the afternoon with a book, watching out myself. Sunny, but chill, the kind of cold that settles in and stays. I've been out, worked the soil, but I'm reluctant to venture out. It's much prettier from in here. Bright and clear. Not warm, though.

Dylan at work. I'm enjoying the house to myself, time alone. I don't need much time like this, but a few hours a week makes such a difference. Not that I even do anything differently, just... a bit of solitude beyond what Dylan creates for me instinctively when he's here. I can do without it, but it's helpful. Even as I miss his presence, quietly in the other room.

Emollients

Some days are dry. Despite the rain. Yesterday my hands felt of fine grit and my face somewhat the same. Dry and flaky and raw. I slathered myself with lanolin before bed, took an epsom salt bath this morning, and keep adding more oils and emollients.

A day without anything bad, but with little to recommend it. Cranky surgeon who thinks he's a cheerful happy-go-lucky fella. He ain't. Ran long, too.

But I also got to work with my favorite anesthesia resident, who knows "Pop!Pop!" - a weird little side theme from a niche tv series. He's funny and smart, and takes very good care of his patients.

Our 90 gallon yard waste bin is full of water from the downspout, which delivered rain perfectly away from the driveway and sidewalk. In a few weeks, we will get water barrels from the city. Good amount of rain, snow in the mountains, ideal. Frosty down here, but nothing alarming. Got in seed potatoes yesterday. Enjoying the aroma of wet soil and emerging greenery.

Which is largely sunflowers.



Actually, all that green is sprouting sunflower seeds. My gods, what have I done?

Again?



These are from July 2014, when we let the sunflowers form a forest.



I wonder if this would be helpful.




Put in wildflowers and (pc, wait for it... ) scarlet flax. I'll get lettuce in this weekend. And fennel.

Hegira

He's keeping his eye on her, you never know.

Mild, but with dark clouds promising rain. Still fatigued from the past week. Wanting to do, with no energy to do with. Damn time change. Oh, and happy π Day. Not going to have pie, but then, we wouldn't. The appeal of sugary desserts has left this household. With the odd exception of chocolate for me. Breads and cakes and pies, meh, not so much. Funny how it loses it's appeal when not eaten regularly. Never as good as when we were kids.

I think that is the real lesson of Eden. Toyland. Those who had fine childhoods and hard adulthoods want the times back when they were young. My childhood sucked sufficiently that I don't look to the past for joy or comfort. Nostalgia, pain about the past. The past hurts, and I don't miss it. The past wasn't easier, childhood was, so I'm told. Or some people re-tell it so it was an Eden, even if it clearly wasn't.

Still working on this theory.



Reminded by polish chick of our househunting. For those of you who have recently (less than 4 years) visited, this is the start of the process. Labels of House the Home (also see below) link to other posts about our hegira*.

Dylan got snagged to cover an evening shift, to cover a sick colleague. I sat in bed to read, and witnessed Eleanor's workaround to my attempts to stop her getting behind the blinds. I'd noticed the crumpling, but hadn't seen her doing it. I could stop her this time, but what's the point, really?

Ah, cats.






*A word I learned from Shelby Foote, and his books about the American Civil War. As well as the story of Jael and her tent peg.

lbbs

The black capped chickadee.

Springfield

I read here every morning. A few interesting photos, an odd story or three, scraps from the edges of Blogistan. Some parts of it drive me nuts. The tendency to report US counties rather than the state for a start. County names in the US are not indicative of place. There are Washington and Wayne and ... oh, I don't know, innumerable (Ok, maybe 50 at most)identically named counties in the US. The name of the State really starts to identify a place, if a large city is not involved. This is what is behind The Simpson's joke about living in Springfield*.

The other nitpick is the recitation of "the (animal) that thinks s/he's (another animal)!"

Well. No. The cat does not think he's a dog. The cat behaves in the way we stererotypically think of as dog-like. What the cat thinks is not available. The duck that lives amongst moose may think it's a moose, but probably it has simply adapted and imprinted, with it's internal identity thoughts completely unknown to us. What the duck thinks is it's own business.

So often, humans think we can read others minds. Some think they know when others are being bitchy, and no amount of telling them we are simply thinking our own thoughts will convince them. We think we are being judged, when we are in fact not even being noticed.

We really can't read each other's minds. Really. Quit assuming, people. We are mysteries to ourselves, how could we possibly know better about anyone else?

My mother used to tell me she knew me better than I knew myself. What a nerve. Call it gaslighting, that fits.





*
Springfield, Alabama,
Springfield, Arkansas
Springfield, California
Springfield, Colorado
Springfield, Florida
Springfield, Jacksonville
Springfield, Georgia
Springfield, Idaho
Springfield, Illinois, the state capital of Illinois
Springfield, Illinois metropolitan area
Springfield, LaPorte County, Indiana
Springfield, Posey County, Indiana
Springfield, Kansas, a ghost town in Seward County
Springfield, Kentucky
Springfield, Louisiana
Springfield, Maine
Springfield, Massachusetts,
Springfield, Massachusetts metropolitan area
Springfield, Michigan,
Springfield, Minnesota,
Springfield, Missouri,
Springfield, Missouri Metropolitan Area
Springfield, Nebraska
Springfield, New Hampshire
Springfield, Burlington County, New Jersey
Springfield, Union County, New Jersey
Springfield/Belmont, Newark, New Jersey, a neighborhood of Newark
Springfield, New York
Springfield, Ohio
Springfield, Oregon
Springfield, Delaware County, Pennsylvania
Springfield, South Carolina
Springfield, South Dakota
Springfield, Tennessee
Springfield, Texas, Jim Wells County
Springfield, Limestone County, Texas,
Springfield, Vermont
Springfield, Virginia
Springfield, West Virginia
Springfield, Dane County, Wisconsin
Springfield, Jackson County, Wisconsin
Springfield, Marquette County, Wisconsin
Springfield, St. Croix County, Wisconsin
Springfield, Walworth County, Wisconsin

Paneling

Not just not obvious, a bit hard to spot from most angles. I'd have to get up on my neighbor's porch, which I will do with their permission sometime. But not without that.

Not online yet, but should be in a few weeks. Honestly, just the plethora of vents will make a huge difference in how hot it gets in the house this summer.

The gutters look fine, set up to go into the water barrels when we get those, two is the legal limit. Yeah, don't ask me why, I'm just glad water barrels aren't simply illegal in the city anymore.




The downspout in front though? Draining right to the area that always ices over? ***sigh*** We'll be doing something about that before winter. People, wish more of them could actually think.



Not that my brain is working all that well. The past week was a doozie, and I'm sore and tired right down to the cellular level. We walked up to our first yard/moving sale of the season. Dylan found a $100 wah pedal synth for $5, and it works, so he's happy. Needed to walk, but there is also a price to pay. Crossed the faultline, which is a little bit steep for a few blocks.

Also got out and raked more of the leaves on the verge, slaughtered the few weeks poking their nasty wee heads out, and recoiled at the amount of sunflower seedlings. It's going to be a carpet, then a forest, out there this year. Which is good for the soil, maybe I can get other greenery growing on that bit of wasteland next year.

Every year an adventure in gardening.


Another tender tale from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.

And our first daughters looking elegant and sisterly at the same time.

Quietness

Done. Ish. The work is done. City inspection to come, then the RMP* needs to get the new meter on, then turn it on. Solar panels look very nice, nearly disappear into the roof. So many vents in the roof, too. Which will be helpful in the summer heat. Gutters all spiffy. Glad we went for the softer "almond" rather than the stark white, less glaring. All set to have water barrels, when those are available (sometime in April.)

Cats well rattled the last four days, but they will settle as the quiet endures. Put them in the bedroom before I had to leave, Dylan let them out. Eleanor was hidden in the closet, Moby had tipped over the trash and the laundry bin - which he has always done, and was scratching at the door. Didn't want the workmen to have to deal with an escaping cat, nor have a cat escape. Not likely, but that would just be the moment.

Had to cover lunches at work today, so many people sick, or with sick family. It's been a rough week, although everyone has been short hours from last week, so they are there if they can be. My feet hurt, and I'm so tired, with one more full-and-then-some day to go. Screwing up my courage.

Dylan got called in to cover a shift this evening, apparently the only person who could do it. He worked this morning, which is why I wrangled the day (sort of) off.

Car back in garage, it may be happier, too. Hard to tell with cars. I'm happier - walk out and drive off in the morning.

While idling this morning, got in the pease and put up tomato frames, weeded and swept.

Want a very quiet weekend.


This is what happens right after vacations.









*Rocky Mountain Power, local electric utility, evil entity.

Gecko

Gutters going on. They started later than we'd expected, but they seem to be progressing.

Had an inservice by Infection Control on MRSA this morning, what we need to do, what the precautions are and how to make it work. We asked about the 'surprize' ones we hear about right before, or sometime, during a case in the OR. It's happened.

Started our first case, got a call. Patient who needed the precautions, according to protocol. Much readiness, to reduce later clean up, switched out to the spare room for that case, signs went up. A drill, but a real one. Timely.

Going in tomorrow to cover lunches, since it was going to be that kind of day from the gecko*, which is why I never insisted on the switch, only requested it for the sake of being here for the solar panel installation ease. Another person needed the day, on top of another nurse who is sick after a week with a sick baby in the hospital (RSV.)




*Actually 'get-go.' A modern mondegreen riffed on by Dave Gorman. Although not in the clip that links to.

Cinnamon

When I left this morning, having parked in front, this bulk sat between the houses. Our neighbors have been more than gracious about this interruption, so I brought them cinnamon rolls this afternoon. The skip should be gone in the morning. I am working tomorrow, thanks to some juggling by the charge nurses, with Thursday off to be here for the solar panels.

The roof really does look spiffy, with five new vents on each side to moderate temperature inside the attic, and by extension, the house. Gutters tomorrow, then we really hope for rain. May rain tonight, which is just too soon. Ah, well. Getting rain barrels as well, at a good discount, in April.

Had to work with Dr. Chaos today, which always annoys me. He's not a bad* person, he just doesn't plan nor communicate clearly, which leaves me ad libbing, which is NOT my idea of a good day at work. I like to have everything ready before the first case starts, so if anything changes or goes wrong, I focus on the problem, not the problem on top of everything else. Dr. Chaos does not. Which gets right up my nose.


When I got home, they were still stomping and thumping about, compressor running and stuff flying off the roof. Picked up Moby, he settled in. So I sat with him by the front window. Then Eleanor came up and sat on my knee. Becatted was I.

She does like being close to us, as long as we don't grab.



Moby looking much better these days, eating well, feeling more substantial. We watch the turds carefully, and dose him with lactulose if he's not squeezing one out at least once in about 36 hours. He doesn't like the stuff, but gets over it quickly.



"What?!"




* Wouldn't let him operate on me, or anyone I loved. He's not terrible, not even bad, but somewhat slapdash compared to his exceptional colleagues.

Optimism

Eleanor watches me through the window.


All the clouds this week, a smattering of rain this morning, seemed to be coming to nothing much. Predictions of 100% rain looked optimistic.

Then there was thunder, and hail, and powerful wind gusts, a pause, then more rain, more hail, it rains still. Moby just came out from hiding a few minutes ago. Dropped 10˚F in the fifteen minutes between 4 and 4:15.

I can feel my garden soaking it all in joyfully. By tomorrow, there will be a lot more of these.



Looks to rain a few more hours, much needed.

We watched the last of Mythbusters this evening. We've watched from early on, with gaps, but never forgetting how amazing they can be. My favorite moment will always be the bus flipped by the jet engine as though it were a cardboard shell.

Our state legislature is trying to make solar untenable, again. Well, less of a good deal, certainly. Bill not passed yet, but we can't help but worry. Still, likely to be a good decision in the long run. We aren't gamblers, though, so this doesn't rest easy. Needed the roof cared for, and that is getting done because of the solar. Work starts tomorrow. We just have to ride this out, whatever happens. Optimism doesn't come easily to us.

Back to work in the morning. Got a lot done this week, time to myself, time to ourselves. Ending vacation in a welcome rainstorm. We amble along.

I'm ready.


Addendum: More than rain.

Babe

Mostly Cloudy
68°F
20°C
Humidity 17%
Wind Speed S 14 MPH
Barometer 29.83 in
Dewpoint 22°F (-6°C)
Visibility 10.00 mi
Last update 05 Mar 3:20 pm MST

Storm front on the way. Hoping for a good 'un. Strong winds tonight and tomorrow, and hopefully some much needed rain. Roofers on Monday, which looks dry again.

Went to the tattoo convention downtown this afternoon. Very interesting, although I didn't stay very long. Among the various themes and skill levels, from Heavy Metal Shop's booth, melting skulls and egregious tits, to the new age skeletons, roses and hearts and butterflies, piercing booths and tattoo equipment for artists, a few gems. The best of all is a very local artist, as in a five minute walk from here. Right in my own backyard.

I've been thinking of a new tattoo, after a long hiatus. In another year, maybe a bit longer, there will likely be a new bit of art ink. I have a very general idea, nothing specific yet. Having an artist and a placement makes a good start.

No photos, didn't seem quite the thing. But I did see their version of a Booth Babe. He was middle aged, dad bod, wearing shorts, full body tattoo. I found it rather endearing.

Monet's

Finally getting around to a bit more painting to match the older brightening. Figured if I wasn't sick of that color yet, it would do. Front window needed caulking and fresh paint. Forgot how tiring painting is. Good thing I had a supervisor.

Still have to remove the tape on the second day's work. Did a little artsy paint effect on the sill front.

Wednesday evening we went to see An Inspector Calls. A pretty good production for a college, really liked the play, planning to see what a professional production will look like. About half way through, we were afraid it was simply a polemic, which it partly was, but the end twisted satisfyingly into the Twilight Zone. As though Peter Falk had done a good Twilight Zone, not a cheesy Castro imitation.



The color, you ask? Monet's Garden. Not as quietly dull as the other side. More alive, without being too flash.