Intensity

The skeleton lives in the closet most of the year. S/he is out now, looking like bustin' a move. After last night's high winds and intense rain, still unfazed.



The Jack/Jill'o lantern will have an LED later, but for now just looking creepy cute.

Got my hair a la Wednesday Addams, more or less, otherwise un-costumed.


I love costume, but never the work/time/money to put into them, never to be seen. Halloween is always too busy a time of year, even if there is a party to attend, I tend to half-ass it at best. Went as an escapee from a sleep lab once, wore my pjs and attached leads and wires to my head. Kept telling people what a strange dream I was in the middle of. At least I was comfy.

Short day at work, so we ran an errand, unsuccessfully.

Hard

Got bags of chips/crisps, small ones in a large bag, for Halloween. Not sure when the kids in costumes will be by, as it's a Monday this year, but we're ready. We are among the relatively rich* folks in this neighborhood, so it's only right to give out good treats.

Found out about the odd fellow who carries a realistic baby-doll around. Not, as I'd feared, a story of a creep, but a very sad story of a man who lost his wife and baby in a car crash, and was damaged himself, body, head and heart. He's still a bit of a pest and a scrounger, which he likely was before to an extent, but not something more sinister as I'd vaguely feared before.

Chatted with next door Mike & Spike a while, petting Spike into a trance - he didn't even bark at the bicyclist riding past. Mike says I keep him looking more positively on our mixed neighborhood. I'm glad to be of service. He tells me all the gossip, since he's retired and knows all the "low-lifes" as he puts it. It's really not so bad here, and any walkable area is going to be a bit up and down. For me, it beats the fearful snobbery of a gated community or wealthy enclave, even if I could afford such, which we can't. Suburban US is crumbling, urban towns are losing their underpinnings, and inner cities are inundated with crime and drugs and homeless folks. Hard times wherever you go. But then, it always was.





So easy to dip into negativity and despair. Times are not worse than they were. We are not dispassionate observers, life was never simple, although we might have been. Nostalgia comes of having a decent childhood, when everything seemed simpler. It wasn't. My life keeps getting better, one of the advantages of a crappy childhood.

I remember the Detroit riots in 1967, if through the lens of a five year old. The world chaotic and unfair, mean people in charge. Just like at home.

Now, well, it's all cooperation and deep, quiet love. Maybe not everywhere, but here, yes.




*Weird to think of myself that way, growing up pretty poor, and like that most of my adult life. But, yeah, low-middle in an area where we are in the top quarter. Whew. It's nice.

Saved

House centipede

(Scutigera coleoptrata)

Fleet-footed with fifteen pairs of legs, these basement and under-sink dwellers are voracious predators and do people a favor by eating unwanted house pests. Their appearance can be disconcerting as they rush past but, rest assured, they pose no harm to people.

Photo courtesy of Bruce Marlin, www.cirrusimage.com via Natural History Museum.



One of these was in a mug on the table with a bit of tea in the bottom. At first I thought it was drowned, but then it moved a bit, so I set out to rescue it. I got it to the kitchen sill, and offered it a skewer to crawl out on. It scuttled behind the little dish there. I apologized and wished it well. They are unsettling, but they are also very welcome predators of termites, moths, flies and roaches, as well as of their eggs. I have accidentally swatted a couple, reflexively, thinking them roaches, immediately sorry for my rash violence.

Looks are something, but they cannot be how we judge others. Of whatever species.

We've got a shower arachnid, too. Long legs, it keeps us company, far up at the top of the stall.

Black

Got off work Tuesday a bit early. The car battery that I knew was acting oddly, and planned to take in Wednesday morning, whispered then failed. Had my charge nurse call security. I waited in the car, they gave me a jump - all part of the fee I'm charged for parking, so I have no qualms taking advantage of it. Drove directly to our car repair place. They took care of it, as I played sudoku on the pad.

At least I didn't have to do that today. Got the glass recycle out and cleaned the kitchen. We went to the various home repair places for supplies to replace the tub drain, unsuccessfully. Partly. Will be sending away online for what we need. It's all corroded because of a certain cat who prefers a porcelain urinal. Beats using any available rug, so we adjust.

Took Eleanor out today, a car started up, and she bolted out of my hand. A bit of frantic searching, and she'd run around, hunkered by the front door, harness still on, trailing the lead handle (chasing after her!) She rushed inside, with the handle still rattling after her!


Moby stood near the closet with a "What was that?!" look on his face, but I couldn't find Eleanor. And had to let Mike know she was safe inside, so he could stop looking. Found her later in that closet, pressed into the corner, hard to see, still in the harness. I released her, and she seemed no worse for wear. Not taking her out again until Spring.


Dreamed of cats catching mice and meeting dogs. Dreamed that Dylan and I were activated again. Kept focusing on "we're married" so we'd be given quarters together, which was reassuring. Met up with Dylan in the dream, and he had the same thought. We held hands and repeated, "We are Married!"

After 26 years together, I should hope so.

We are planning a Black Friday* party for his work colleagues. A luncheon buffet casual gathering, as an antidote for intense family mandatory festivities or heavy shopping. On the day we have often considered our anniversary. Not that we intend to mention the last part.


*The day after Thanksgiving - November 24 this year, a day off work, and socially a dead day usually.

Pumpkins

Found garbage discarded on the front yard, which I pick up and dispose of. I notice one of my cairns is toppled, not unusual after a bit of rain.

But it is unusual to have three of them down, especially the most stable one, but not all. One of the bits of trash is a large beer can, so I make my assumptions. And then spend a good amount of time happily re-balancing in a different configuration my rocks and stones.

And other items.



I'm planning on cooking the medium one sometime this weekend.


New onions coming up.



I've written before about my father's swearing at me. And I think, this is why only a female presidential candidate could best the Orangeshit. He emasculates every other male in his adolescent bravado pseudo-masculinity. But that all falls flat on a secure woman, rolls off, looks as ugly as it is.




The bully knocks down our balanced pile and runs away. We roll our eyes, and pile it back up, pick up the trash and go on. The whole point of our system is to never let the dreadfuls get too far, which means letting them have their (stupid) say. Let them condemn themselves. And, in check, they do. As they continue to grumble and whine at the unfairness of it all. They don't get to win, boo hoo. What they accuse everyone else of is what they are most ashamed of in themselves. How dare we make them feel guilty for what they are most guilty of? As though we had any power to make them feel anything.

Sooner or later, gonna cut them down. Before they go too far. Don't let them actually win, not really. We've faced worse, and pulled the struts out beneath them.


It's all ephemeral, all illusion. We do make progress, we do learn compassion.

And we rebuilt the trust, the stones, the pumpkins.

Heat getting worse. Took hours to get to sleep last night. Then disturbed several times, sweats and misery. Like lying on heated blankets in an overwarm room on a summer night. Several times today, my arms sweat, the backs of my hands prickle. It's all so irritating and wearing. I'm determined to ride it out non-medically, but it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Punters

Catnip seeds from the plants in front, mixed in with topsoil, spread on the verge. Maybe it'll come up in the spring. Rain barrels in garage. Will get soil and oatgrass seed growing for inside very soon.

Thinking obsessively about the current issues. And the prophesy "No man of woman born" comes to mind. Such a trope.

But I think the rankle comes of the fulminance of the misogyny on parade. And the bigotry. Bring out the lance, let's take care of that putrid boil. I've written here before with dismay at the stalled feminism of this generation. I think this may reawaken the issue for young women. As long as we get past this threat of losing it all.

(looked for a fulminant boil image, decided to not add it. you're welcome)

According to the Princeton Election Consortium, the Irish bookmakers are already settling, I'm reassured. They've apparently already paid out to Clinton To Win punters. Now it's just a matter of points.

Not that I know anything about gambling, except that the house always wins, and your best chance win or lose, is your first one. The odds never get better.


Which is all I remember from my statistics class.

Planning on replacing the tub drain cap. Re-starting work on the workroom, which stalled while I cleaned out the back porch for preparation to re-vamp. Still have to shift everything in the basement away from that corner.

Prior

Mangling Eleanor, to her evident enjoyment. Oh, now she's suckling my robe, as she does. Peace and snuggling in the kingdom.


Met with the gamers last night, and I played along, eventually providing a diversion that freed the other players from the asylum. Don't ask. But it was fun. My character I called Isabella Plethbert. Not a name I paused to think about, making it up on the spot. When I looked up the parts later, it fit better than I could have imagined. Pleth, as in plethora, a sufficiency. And bert is related to bright. So, a plethora of brightness. Isabella is related to Elizabeth, which is a god-oath, god-abundance, but so old it's gotten fuzzy.

Still failing to keep my attention away from the political situation. It's begun to feel like closing my eyes while driving - I know I'd feel better, but it doesn't feel safe. So, I'm allowing myself until we have assurances before I let it go. I want to turn away, I really do. I know it doesn't help. But I don't want to be slapped from behind, keep the devil in front of me.

Mild day, did a fair bit of walking. Still dealing with fatigue and flashes. Got a few tasks done, rain barrel in the garage, tomatoes pulled up, weeds destroyed. Next door neighbor little girl birthday party today, book given, toddlers had audible meltdowns. Inevitable. Dylan and I relieved we will never have to bring one home, so that's alright.

Other neighbor, diagonal, telling me her woes, through the fence. Lots of woes. Still worried about the mess left by their removal of the stink tree in their fence on our side. I reassured her, didn't matter, no sweat, and offered a surgeon's name for her husband. Soap opera people, not all of their own making, only about 75%. Some people really don't know how to live simply, or stay happy. I assume it is a certain lack of prioritization. Some medical conditions make this worse, which I wish I didn't know was part of my neighbor's many issues. She's not a bad person, but she is fucking depressing. Her husband was born without one lower leg. Now he has rotator cuff problems in his shoulders, since he uses crutches and not a prosthetic, even though he has one.

Being me, and an RN, I'm used to a lot of TMI. I can deal with it. But she pushes even my tolerances. Ah, well. PRTTFO*. No, no, I was simply reassuring. Gave her a name, a shoulder surgeon who seems to have all insane, morbidly obese and otherwise strange patients. He's good, and takes all the hard cases, but his patients are nuts. My friend's crazy stepmother wound up with Dr. T, and I didn't even have anything to do with it. Worked with Dr. T yesterday, so I had him fresh in my mind. Really, a good guy, thorough, slow. Oh, so Dr. Slow. Nice to work with, except knowing you'll be late that day. Hands out Christmas cards with cash inside to staff, which is nice.

Cats a huge comfort this week. Eleanor sleeping between us. Moby taking over Dylan. Love hearing him purring so loud. He's chosen the best of us, such a good cat.











*Patient Reassured, told to fuck off.

Beamer

Moby was on Dylan's lap when I opened the blinds, letting in the sunbeam. Moby noticed immediately, jumped down to the floor. Then started looking at the stool, which was still off to the side.

"Ok, sunbeam is good. But I want to be up on the soft, red, wooly thing. Hey! Hey! Why are you picking me... not sure about all this movement! Oh. Oh, well. Alright, maybe. Well. Actually, this is decent service. Well done."


Dylan put Moby up on it, as we shifted it into the sun. After a moment's hesitation, Moby approved, settled down to bask.

Not long after that, Eleanor came in.

"Um?! I want to bask too! Um... well, ok, there is sun here too, I guess. Well, actually, this is nice."

El

eanor.

Trying to hold on to hope.

Not, let's be clear, in a vote for HRC. I am acutely aware of her deficits. But for the SCOTUS.

Having a Dem in the ADMINISTRATIVE elective position, means a liberal, justice-oriented, supreme court for a generation. Whatever she is, is secondary to that. Really. Let's keep an eye on the long game.

Reading Notorious RBG, and our beloved Ruth Bader Ginsberg.



Got proposed to. By a rather flamboyant gay man at the wine store*. I had to disabuse him of my unmarried status, since I've been married ˜25 years. He wanted to marry if we were both 35 and unmarried. I did not add that 35 was long ago for me. Still, nice to be flirted with, even in such an utterly safe manner.

Vote for a progressive Supreme Court, if nothing else. If you can vote in this election. If not, well, some of you, I know, are believers. So, well, I figure prayer certainly can't hurt. I'm looking at some of you Brits and Canadians, as well as Brit ex-pats. Not that I think god has done very well in politics, but give it a go, ok?

Ok, go back and focus on the cute kitty. Or, this.

Podride

via tywkiwdbi



*They also have beer. Which is all I am interested in. I really don't like wine.

Paper

The sari material that has done excellent service as curtain for nearly five years, pulled away this morning. Very faded, dusty, worn through now, I took it down. The film on the windows does a pretty good job of reducing the glare through those windows, but it still looks pretty bare and cold without that still lovely fabric.

Visit to Tabula Rasa, found some pretty (Italian, the owner tells me) paper with dragonflies, damsel flies, to attach to the top. It works, adds warmth, cuts out that high angled light that blinds.

On the way out, I passed a card/novelty shop. Halloween decorations, a line of decorated resin skulls. One had a line of bullets like a mohawk. Triggering a song.

"Listen to some bullet-head
And the madness that he's saying." Which I sang all the way home.


Realized how Nostradamus-like it is for the current shitforbrains 'candidate.' I'm not the first to notice this.




This is where the party ends
I can't stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend

It was the loveliest party that I've ever attended
If anything was broken
I'm sure it could be mended
My head can't tolerate this bobbing and pretending
Listen to some bullet-head
And the madness that he's saying.

Out from the kitchen
To the bedroom to the hallway
Your friend apologizes, he could see it my way
He let the contents of the bottle do the thinking
Can't shake the devil's hand
And say you're only kidding

This is where the party ends
I can't stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend




Anyway, the window turned out well.


Jan, 2012



2015


Today. A very overcast day, so it doesn't quite compare.

Taiko

Sanity in the form of a cat, thanks Maru.

Fatigue

Fatigued with the week, the night sweats and vague sense of my body fighting off a virus. Wondering if the political angst is part of it. Watching shithair bragging then denying, then squirming and blustering, makes my skin crawl.

So, a writer asked on twitter for stories from women of the first time they were groped. An article on cracked sums up the situation.

I was about 10 or 11, my breasts were starting to form, painfully. And my father and uncles - his brothers, began to reach around from behind to hug me around the chest, in a way that is commonly done with very young children, except they'd never done that before. Not like tickling the tummy at the waist. It did not feel innocent to me, and it hurt. I learned to always sit on chairs with backs and keep my arms close to my sides. I evaded contact.

So, when I was 19, working at the main library, and got on the elevator with the security guard, and he cornered and kissed me, I was shocked, but ready to fight. The door opened, he exited, I was furious, but at him. I kept him far away from me, we were never alone on the elevator again. I warned everyone I worked with about him, they were not surprized. Anymore than I was.

While we were in Saudi, warrant officer was cornering young women and kissing them. I'd already spotted him and never let him get near me. I wish I'd talked more to the other women about him, so they would avoid him as well.

So, my creepy male relatives may have done me a backhanded, accidental service - not that I'll thank them for it. By the time the outside threat happened, I was already beginning to harden. I already had the beginnings of a plan.

Got my voting material in the mail. The main bit is filled in, just taking some time on the local issues I haven't read up on yet. By tomorrow, it will be over for me, for good or ill.

Recommended

So, our plumber recommended a contractor who recommended an ... architect, or structural engineer, not sure his exact title, to do the drawings and deal with the city permits. He was rather apologetic about his fee for such a small project, but it would take that amount of time and the fees would be the same. He seemed satisfied with our stated budget, which is not the actual whole of our lump-sum-derived budget.

I'm inclined to follow the professional recommendations as given, professionals like working with other professionals. Getting foundation work done, structural, plumbing, electrical, going cheap is false economy. We have the funds, or will soon, and doing it right is important. Doesn't have to be pretty, I can do pretty later. Our Old Girl deserves the respect of a proper job, good underpinnings.



Ultimately, we can't just let it continue to deteriorate. We can't.

Woke sore and at ends this morning. Despite having a cat pressed into my back. Not getting a lot done, not enough. But the catsoup is cooking, and half the kitchen counters are cleaned. Chatted with Spike&Mike several times, as I kept going outside. Nice to have a friend next door. Two. Three if you count Sebastian Cat, who may not. But if I'm chatting with Mike and petting Spike, Sebastian will sometimes come to me for a light massage as well.

Looking forward to the most recent Christopher Guest - Mascots.

Solid

Solid couple of days at work, which is good.

gods

Wizards don't believe in gods in the same way that most people don't find it necessary to believe in, say, tables. They know they're there, they know they're there for a purpose, they'd probably agree that they have a place in a well-orgainized universe, but they wouldn't see the point of believing, of going around saying, "O great table, without whom we are as naught." Anyway, either the gods are there whether you believe or nor, or exist only as a function of the belief, so either way you might as well ignore the whole business and, as it were, eat off your knees.

-T. Pratchett

Grudging

It really does suggest that our neighbor Mike&Spike and we don't get along. A sort of grudge hedge*. We do, honestly, like each other. Mike&Spike went on extra walks the day Eleanor got out, looking for her. He was nearly as relieved as we were that she came home.

The hedge is just my own personal nemesis. I trimmed it back today, and intend to keep it in check on my side. He likes his hedge, and that's just fine. It can be shaggy on his side as much as he likes. A bit of "Not my circus, not my monkeys" as well. I know where my duties end, and other's begin.

The yellow stripe is mostly so I, or any of our visitors, or our neighbors to the south using that space, won't displace Mike's tenant, who parks there every day. It's just a guideline.

Addendum:


Different sort of pumpkin. I may keep it intact until later, at least roast the seeds, maybe try again to cook the pumpkin. Need to do some research on how best to cook it. Given we now have a slow cooker, that might be the solution.



Also Puer tea in a block. The box will become decoration, along with the previous year's tea boxes. My own small celebration for Chinese New Year.

A woman arrested for driving without a license, verbally abused the police officer arresting her. In her mandated apology, she says "That is not how I normally act, it is totally out of character" which is almost certainly a lie. One I used to tell, which is how I know.

No. How we are under stress, tired, hungry, IS who we are underneath, when not on our best behaviour. I kept hearing myself using that phrase, "that's not how I usually am" until I realized ... yeah, yeah apparently, it is. So, I stopped excusing myself, and worked to change how I acted, and beneath that, how I thought (so it would stick, and grow deep.)

Another public figure used that phrase this week, and all I could think was, "Yes, that is who you are."

When I act badly, I take that as me becoming something I don't like, and I do everything possible to stop. By their fruits shall you know them, sort of thing. How we act is who we are, when the manners slip.

When Dylan came out of anesthesia, he was loving and grateful. I've always known he was solid, the same all the way through.



Also, found a replacement necklace.


May get my old one back once repaired, but this will do. More than do, I think it's gorgeous. From the same woman who made my key earrings, and my teacup earrings (seen).




*Grudge houses are well documented, but I can't find a source link because there is apparently a Japanese horror film popular now with that phrase, and nothing else will come up through that noise.

Shares

Sharing a sunbeam.

Hoody

Dylan watching Luke Cage on his ipad, tells me there are are parts of it I would like, as I'm sure I would, but. I asked if it was rather explody and shouty. He tells me it's more punchy and shooty. Action series do tend to be a bit loud and full of distracting movement. Shame, since I rather like the idea of the story.

Punch and Shooty.


Still getting very hot intermittently. Had to take my hooded sweat-jacket off quickly. A while later, getting cold flashes, I put it back on.

More conveniently.

Then put a bowl of chips in the hood.



Maybe I could start a trend among 50something women.

Ooooo, BAYbeee!

Back to reading The Pigeon Tunnel, John le Carré.




Finished the Awkward Yeti archive. Love the anatomy diagram. It's actually pretty accurate, given.

Tongue (with ice cream cones) eyes, on brain
tooth, red blood cells, esophagus and trachea
lungs, thyroid, heart (and it's butterfly)
liver, kidney, stomach, pancreas, spleen
gall bladder, gut,
bladder.

Steps

Plumber figures we have a good project, suggested two contractors. Have to get drawings done, city inspections and permissions. Concrete footings gonna be expensive.

We are still committed to fixing the wood-into-dirt, slanting, useless space we have, fixing the wreckage that is, and turn it into Useful. Do what we gotta do. Really can't just leave it, because it's only going to degrade further. And our knees ain't getting any better - we need to spare ourselves multiple trips down those basement stairs weekly for laundry. A hospitalization would cost a helluvalot more than the renovation. One fall would do it all.

We could, theoretically, borrow against our equity, but we are neither of us comfortable with that idea. We like paying in full and up front. It's in our natures.

The city has a process, we can talk with a planner. So, next Wednesday, we get more rolling going.

Have to clear that corner of the basement before any work starts. Oh, joy.

Should get the check in early December, so we can start scheduling.

Sofa

Two cats next to us on the sofa. On my robe.

Seemingly comfortable together.

Awkward

Just found Heart and Brain at Awkward Yeti. Had to share.

Conversation

Buddies in communication.

Our elegant cat.

Between

Pearl and jet, alive.
Satin, and velvet, soft fur.
Sitting between cats.


Locksmith came by and worked on door latch. Not, as hoped, a definitive solution, improvement certainly. But his expertise offers a great workaround.

A strange and exotic thing called a ... handle. Han dəl. Hand ell. Handel.



Since the problem is largely that touching the knob turns it enough for it to disengage from the strike plate, leaving the door a jar. Ajar.





As well as suggesting another sweep or two up the jamb.




Instead of insulation tape.

Hangover

Sleeping it all off.

Late morning Sunday, I dug in the garden, Dylan took a walk, and somehow the door didn't latch. Frantic searching, inside and out. Didn't take Moby long to approach me. I picked him up easily and dropped him inside. Got the treats, and walked the neighborhood rattling it and looking. Mike&Spike on the lookout, taking extra walks looking for Eleanor.

Interspecies relationships are difficult to explain. Parents, or would be parents, consider them their children. We consider them friends, but also intimates and our responsibility. We owe them a good home, food, safety, affection, attention. Meeting their needs as cats. Adult cats. We both felt we'd failed her, yesterday. Resisting the urge to blame. Stomping on my own anger reflex, mostly successfully. But then the sadness would overwhelm, and tears would drain.

Moby seemed to want to stay out a long time. As we looked, he seemed to want to as well. Vague collegial concern, since this was clearly unusual. When I wrote the first post last night, he came to sit on me and purr, which he has not done for a long time. He's sitting on the table at my elbow now, another non-recent behaviour. He's always been a good friend.

We went to bed last night with heavy hearts, tears. I thought about families that have lost children, and I had a taste of how desperately hard that must be. Even though I figured Eleanor would be fine, she's lived outside, knows how to fight and hunt, and she's friendly enough to find another house. But to lose her, not to know, a chasm opened in our lives.

I didn't really sleep. Listening to the storm, lots of heavy rain, thunder and lightning, for the first time unable to enjoy it, worrying only that Eleanor had found a dry place to hide.

Then the motion light on the back porch came on. Strange, since neighborhood cats wouldn't be running past it when it was raining so hard. It switched off. Then back on. I got up, opened the door, and a cat bolted toward the front. I tried not to hope this was Eleanor, but it would fit. She knows the front door is an entrance, but may not have figured out that the back door is. I ran to the front.

Not entirely sure it's her, I invite her in. She doesn't hesitate. I run my hand over her back and tail as she hurries in, and I know it's her, know the feel of her. She paws the rug, and I burst into tears, welcoming her home. She lets me pick her up, and I hold her tightly, Dylan joins me. Then we get her food, and go to bed. She knows how to get Home. She considers us Home. Well. Alright then.

She walked over me, then spent the night in the front and back windows, looking on on the storm. She likes watching storms, my little kindred.

Moby seems to be missing his morning irritations and chases.

It's all right now.

Lost

Cats got out yesterday, got Moby who hung about. Eleanor is gone. She may come back. She may not. Doing all we can, she's chipped.

But.

The house has been very quiet.

Please do not offer advice, we're going mad enough.

UPDATE: SHE'S HOME! Wet and hungry and scared, but home. 1145 PM.

Daunting

Cleared all but the doors, folding table, and hedge trimmer, from the back porch. Rugs in the garage. Moby found the mat a poor consolation, but minimally acceptable. Want to keep this as utterly empty as possible.

This is the space we will renovate. It's warped, slanted, rotting and useless as is. Researching ideas, although we will have to depend on the contractor for pricing and best materials/techniques. Want to keep as much light as possible, our only esthetic must. Plumber coming out Wednesday, he'll help us coordinate a general contractor for the rest of the build.

Daunting, but so hopeful.