Lonely? Old Coffee Grinder, "New" Computer

 I had a dentist appointment yesterday (thank goodness, just for cleaning this time).  There is a Spirit Halloween open near to the office, so I planned on going there as well.
As I was driving, I was have the thought that is always on the back of my mind, that I used to be a passenger, chatting with Bob, rather than driving alone.  The random thought came to me:  Am I lonely?  Yes, of course.  But no, not really.  I am lonely specifically for Bob; I miss him desperately.  But I'm not "generically" lonely.  If I can't have Bob, I'm OK on my own.

It's taken me time to get to this point of acceptance.   Take Spirit Halloween.  The first year after I lost Bob I wanted to go, but couldn't face the idea of going alone.  I invited a friend of Bob's went with me.  In 2021, I asked another friend to go with me.  In 2022 the kids were in town, and we went.  2023, 2024, 2025, and yesterday?  I didn't even think about asking anyone.  And when I got there, after my appointment, I realized that I was getting hungry, and there was a Mexican restaurant next door, an unfamiliar one.  And I didn't care, and I don't mind at all going in and eating by myself.  4-5 years ago I would have been looking around at all the other tables, with couples and group, and holding back tears.  Now it doesn't matter.

Just an odd thought.  Today I'm writing about taking care of a couple of things, sort of polar opposites.  One is my coffee grinder that I've written about before: my100 years old cast iron one (that I still use to grind my coffee).  I've been thinking that I should do something about the rust on it.  I'm not interested in a "restoration" (making it look brand new) but I did want to arrest the rust.  So I took some time with a soft brass brush and fine steel wool to remove the loose rust without harming the paint.  To protect it, I melted beeswax into mineral oil, brushed it on, and buffed it.  It now looks cleaner, with a patina but no active rust.  With a little care, it should be good for another 100 years of grinding coffee beans.

At the other extreme, I finally deal with my old desktop computer, which is about 85 years younger.  I replaced it with a laptop about 5 years ago, because it had become glacial.  I can't remember when we got it - at least 15 years ago, and it was on sale because it was being discontinued.  It's old enough that it was proud of being an all-in-one instead of having a separate tower.   I tried setting it up in the cottage for those times that I want to watch a how-to video while I work, but I had to plan in advance, because it took at least 20 minutes to warm up and load a video.  Some time last year I replaced it with a small TV, and the poor old computer has been sitting on the floor, waiting for me to deal with it.  The problem is that I don't understand technology.  Even though I erased everything on it, I have heard that people who understand such things can still somehow get the information off of it (and I had financial information on there, and my tax returns).   The safest thing to do would be to remove the hard drive and destroy it.
Destruction is not in my system.  I keep things until they fall apart.  And somehow I thought that someone, somewhere, might be able to use this computer.  Someone who might know how to upgrade it (replace the mother board, possibly?)  But I had to admit that it was now a piece of junk.  And taking out the hard drive wasn't as easy as it seemed - there were no screws, or any visible way of opening it up.  I finally just worked a screwdriver into a seam, popped it open, and then literally tore it apart with my hands (oddly satisfying).  The hard drive turned out to be a pretty solid thing, but a couple of blows with a pickax gave it a reprogramming that it will never forget.

So there was the yin-and-yang of my afternoon.  Cleaning and caring for something that was working decades before I was born, and will continue to function perfectly long after I'm gone.  And then destroying something because it no longer served its purpose.

Swing, Cardboard Box, Chickens, August

Swing 

Here's a picture of my front yard swing after I remade it two years ago.

I could have taken a fresh picture, but it looks exactly the same today.  After I remade it AGAIN.  That cloth is very expensive water repellent SunBrella (I paid almost as much for the fabric as we did for the original entire swing 30 years ago)).  A few weeks ago I looked out and notice that it was sagging oddly.  Somehow water had gotten into the seat - and not gotten out.  So I had to rip open the main cover seam and pull the sodden insides out.  There's a thick foam inner layer, a thick layer of batting, and then a plastic cover.  It all had to be disassembled, spread out to dry, and all put back together again, mostly by handsewing because it's too bulky to maneuver at my machine.  I debated just chucking it and buying a wooden swing - but this padded sling swing is just sooooo comfortable.  I have sat outside many a time to read and ended up lying down and taking a nap.

So I put it all back together.  I really wanted to mount it to the swing and call this project done.  The heat index was 112.  I could try to wait until it was cooler - but that might be November.  So somehow I did it.  Satisfied, I sat in it for a bit to celebrate, but after a few minutes I decided that no matter how comfortable it was, sitting outside in 112 degrees just isn't the best thing.   But at least it's done (and I've waxed the seams this time).

Box

I am mourning the loss of a cardboard box today.  It was (once upon a time) a very sturdy fruit box.  Some 10-15 years ago, when Bob and I were helping out in the animal kitchen at the museum over Christmas, some fruit/vegetables for the animals came in this box.  Bob asked if he could have it;  he thought the cats would like it.  Strange how memories work - why would I have such a clear memory of him asking for a box - where he stood, the sound of his voice, the person he was talking to (Shelby).  He was right - the cats loved that box.  Lying on top of it, taking naps inside, hiding to pounce out on passers-by - especially when the girls were kittens.  It has stayed in the hallway for all of those years.

But I finally admitted that it had been loved (and scratched) to death.  Collapsing.  Mostly gone.  So today it went to the recycling bin at the dump.  But you don't have something around for a decade plus without it seeming awfully empty without it.

Chickens

I was thinking about my chickens the other day.  People think I have chickens for the eggs; this is sort of true, but to be honest, the eggs are the excuse and not the reason.  I buy them the best possible food - for the cost of that, I could buy all the eggs I need and then some.  Any chicken owner will tell you that you have chickens because you like having chickens

They're good for me.  Any number of articles will tell you that it's good for your health to get natural daylight first thing in the morning, and even to take a short walk.  But without the chickens, would I actually get up and walk around outside before breakfast?  As it is - I have to let them out of the coop and feed them first thing in the morning (well, second thing- the cats get fed first).  Rain, shine, storm, heat, cold - I'm outside. And while I'm out, I look at the sky and the trees and the slanting light and listen to the birds.  And at night, when it gets dark, I have to lock them up again - while listening to the frogs and the whip-poor-wills and seeing the last of the sunlight low and purple through the trees.

And I just like them.  I like their contented little brrk brrk brrk sounds. And the excited "look look look an egg!" brag.  I like the way they come running when they see me because maybe I have a treat.  A couple of them (Frollo and Ginger) like to be scratched.  They're basically happy birds, and they're good for me.  The eggs are a bonus.

August

And now it be August.  July has, once again, been survived, which is all I ask of July.  August is when I start to sense a change, that the seasons are turning - even if day after day our heat indices are topping 110 degrees. Maybe it's the angle of light. Maybe it's the days getting just a wee bit shorter.  Maybe it's all the stores putting out their Halloween displays.  It's just a feeling.

My mood is swinging back and forth between hyper and despair.  Bob and I got engaged in August.  We got married in August.  It was in August that we started spending our days in the oncology clinic, and driving back and forth to Gainesville for so many tests.  I think it will always bother me that I don't remember our last anniversary.  I think we were too distracted to really think about it.  Neither of us thought that it might be our last; maybe it was perfect denial, but it never occurred to either of us that he wouldn't survive.  

I've been feeling homesick.  I'll have that feeling of "I just want to go home" - except that I'm sitting on my own couch.  But if I close my eyes and picture the place that I'm longing for - it's Shands. The hospital.  The last place we lived together.  In the mornings I'd got o the snack area and make tea and we'd look out the big window at the sunrise over Payne's Prairie in the distance.  Snuggling in the bed together to watch Jeopardy in the evenings.  I'd take a break to go out to feed the turtles in the holding pond or take treats to the cat colony I found, then come back to tell him about it. We were together.  I was still married.  That was our last home.  I'm homesick.  Maybe someday I'll go back there, just to walk around, stand outside the ward.   I remember Bob taking me to visit our first apartment before the buildings were torn down,  looking at it, remember our first home.  It would be like that; Alpha and Omega.

I continue.  I rebuilt my swing.  Today I got wild impulse and shampooed the carpets.  Next week I have a trip to the dentist (just a cleaning this time, thank goodness) and I'll go check out Spirit Halloween and maybe the local produce store that just opened.  Jeff will be in town next week.  I found out that there's an oddities store in town and I want to go see it.   I'm playing with ideas for the next puppet (Wendigo).
The seasons are moving forward, and so must I.

Spinning - no Crickets!!

 I have written ad nauseam about the sound of crickets.
That sound I hear whenever I heed the advice (online articles) that one shouldn't spend too much time alone, that one should  "reach out."
So I put the word out - would anyone like to go with me to the theater, to a play, to the Ren Faire, to the comic con, etc. etc. etc.   And what I get back is the sound of crickets.

Still, I do try from time to time.  Mostly just to tell myself "well, I tried."  So recently I sent an email to the Weaver's Guild group and asked if anyone would like to get together to do spinning.

Darned if I didn't get a couple of responses!  Enough that we set up a time and place (a small cafe that welcomes groups).  Double darned if two people didn't show up!  And we had a really nice time - the two of them also had been hunting for someone to do crafting with.

There was even a bonus.  One of the women pulled out her knitting to show us - and a woman in a group at another table come over to look.  She had a Hispanic accent - as did the other woman in our group.  Apparently the group at the next table was some sort of Hispanic meetup, so they all had to come over to say hi, and one of the men pulled out his tablet to show us pictures of his collection of Bolivian and Peruvian textiles (which were amazing).

It was a sort of community connection that you just don't see much anymore.  If I ever go out to eat or for a coffee, everyone seems to have their faces in their phones, even if they are sitting together.  So to have a couple of tables of people actually talking to each other, sharing, was a true delight.

We liked it enough that we even set a date and time to do it again next month.  (That was me - as said to them "If we say we should do this again sometime, we might never get around to it.  How about setting a date?")

Really nice to have conversation instead of crickets.

Spinning Wheel, Cats and Random Stuff

 My new spinning wheel came in, and it is a beast.  A seriously solid piece of machinery.  And yes - it does fit into the 12" x 8" box when it's folded.

This the big sister to my wee Nano. 

I will never stop being charmed by my little one, but it's a bit limited as to what it can spin (only fine yarns).  The new one is much more powerful and versatile, but I got it mainly for one thing - plying.  When you take two or more strands and twist them together.  Spinning you can do in bits and pieces over time, but when it's time to ply, you're sort of tied to it until your finished.  The Nano isn't strong enough to ply, so I use one of my treadle wheels.  The problem is my tendency for fine yarns, which take a lot of twist, so I'll be stuck there, treadling as fast as I can, for at least an hour, or an hour and a half.  Spinning is meditative, with the pleasure of the feel of the fibers slipping through your fingers.  Plying is simply tedious.  But the new Beast has a speedometer, and can hit 2000 rpm, so turn it on and let it rip -20 minutes later, job done.

It does seem like a bit of an extravagance, getting a new wheel mostly for one job, but it occurred to me that I got the Nano some eight years ago, and I don't think I've bought a new spinning tool since then (fiber, yes, but no tools).

That made me think about something else we used to get on a regular basis, but I haven't in eight years:  Cats.

I was originally the cat person.  I had one when I was a kid, but he was killed by a car when he was about four and my Dad didn't like cats and never let me have another one.  I always thought about the day that I would grow up and be able to have a cat.  Then Bob thought he didn't like cats and didn't want one - until about two years into our marriage (our first apartment didn't allow pets).  I was looking at kittens in a pet store one day, and thinking - as I had for the last 10 years or so - "someday when I grow up .. ."  That evening I told Bob we were getting a kitten, and that weekend we went to a cat rescue and got little Algernon.  And Bob was smitten.

Other kittens followed.  Ptarmigan, running away from kids (who were trying to help her) and hid under a bush in the snow, but came out to Bob's warm hands (and into his shirt and heart).  Cheechako, who Bob saw at the edge of some woods when he was driving home from work.  Cats picked up on campus. Cats who just showed up in our yard (Pookha, Apache, Nazgul, Hamish).  Most of the time we kept the balance at six- but eventually seven, then we got Della's three cats after Hurricane Michael, and another cat just showed up (but we found him a home).

Hamish showed up in January 2018 and wouldn't take no for an answer.  We got Della's cats in October of that year.

And that's been it.  No new cats in eight years.  Partly that's choice- I could get all the kittens that I want, but I've made the decision not to because cats can live 20 years and I don't know if I'll be around that long.  But no cats just showing up and deciding that they're mine.  There have been two.  One was right after Bob died - a young coal black one that I, with little imagination, called Midnight, because of his color, and the odd fact that I only saw him if I ever stepped outside at midnight.  He was very friendly, but not interested in food, and I never saw him except at midnight.   There was a tuxedo cat that I saw in the barn from time to time, but he'd take off if he saw me.  I put out food for awhile, but only raccoons got it.  I only saw him a few times.

In all the years we were together, I never fully realized that the person who attracted the cats was Bob, not me.

Odd experience yesterday.  I had a meeting with my financial advisor.  As I was leaving, we were talking about how unhelpful "help" desks were.  And he mentioned that often you end up talking with someone in the Philippines.  I exclaimed that the Philippines were the best - they really want to try to help, and they never put you on hold and then disappear.  "And when my husband was alive, I'd hand the phone over to him - he used to live in the Philippines and they would talk like homies."
I had a weird disconnect - the outer me was glibly making this statement.  At the same time, my inner lonely wolf was pointing her nose to the sky and howling in pain.

On a more exciting note, I saw a gopher tortoise in the yard yesterday.  I suspected that I had one, because I spotted the characteristic dome-shaped burrow.  Gophers are just on the cusp between threatened and endangered, so I'm happy that this one has found a safe place to live.  I hope it sticks around.

Anticipation

 I wrote a few posts ago about anticipation.  About how expecting something (or fearing it) is more exciting than the thing itself.

Tomorrow my new spinning wheel should be arriving.  It's been a wait - I signed onto the Kickstarter in October 2024, so 21 months.

Do I need another spinning wheel?  Of course not. I have three traditional treadle wheels, an antique great wheel, a charkha, a wee Nano Electric Eel Wheel, plus a bunch of handspindles.   Do I even feel a little guilty about the spinning tools I have that haven't been used for months or years.  Yes.

Am I excited to be getting this one (honestly, it's my first new spinning tool in at least 8 years).  Yep!  It's made by the same guy who made my Nano, a tiny wheel that's only 4" x 6" by 4" tall, and definitely not a toy; I've spun many miles on it.  But this new one, called the Fold, is a marvel of engineering (it even has a speedometer).  And it gets its name because it all folds up to a compact package.  It will hold twice as much yarn as my Nano (or my favorite treadle wheel) but it folds up to 5" x 7" x 3.5" tall.

Thursday I had to do some running around town, primarily to get the stitches taken out of my mouth (thank goodness -they were coming loose so I had dangling threads, most annoying).  I went to Michaels, because the Halloween decorations were already out.  While I was there, I spotted a wooden box that looks like a vintage suitcase.

At 11" x 7" by 5", it will be plenty big to hold the wheel, extra bobbins, any accessories, and some fiber.  Which just amazes me.   So after the wheel comes in (maybe tomorrow) I'll take some time to fabricate some internal compartments.

And then, alas - the anticipation will be over.  I'll enjoy having it - but will it be as much fun as *thinking* about it???

Summer Skin and Music

 This is a shout-out to 2027 self, in case I've forgotten how to deal with Summer Skin.
Every summer, I get summer skin.  It starts with the bug bites - mosquitoes, biting flies, and all those damned ticks.  You get a bite, you get a welt, it itches, you scratch, you sweat, it all turns to rashes.  Slather on cortisone cream by the bucket load, and can't sleep for the itching.  Some years I've had scarring that takes months to clear up.
This year, I'm finally keeping it under control - so here you go.

1)  after you're bitten, hit it with a bit of hand sanitizer, followed by benedryl gel.
2)  Inspect yourself, a lot.  Never trust an itch - check it out.  Those damned seed ticks are almost too tiny to see.  Do a good all-over visual before bed (and yes, this means using a mirror to check body parts you'd really rather not see).  Be a good contortionist and go to town with those pointy tweezers.  If it's at a spot you just can't get with the tweezers - that's what fingernails are for.  Gouge that sucker out if you have to - you'll heal.
3) Do more than a visual inspection.  Again - those seed ticks are near invisible, but they can be felt.  Run your hands everywhere you can reach - between the toes, behind the knees, give yourself a scalp massage.
4)  When you shower, don't just lather and rinse.  Give yourself a good scrubdown.
5) a few times a week, soak in a tub of tepid water with a cup or so of baking soda.
6) Sleep in the buff.  Which now feels weird.  For 48 years, Bob and I both slept in the all together, cherishing that skin to skin contact.  After he died, I felt somehow vulnerable and stopped doing that.  Pajamas in the winter, usually a tank top and undies in the summer.  But the skin needs as little stuff touching it as possible, so strip down.
7)  Old fashioned calamine lotion for the itch

It's a lot, but it works.

Music

For the past few weeks, I've been feeling a sense of deep loss.  Of course - I always feel that; it's just part of my everyday life.  But his has been more so - a grieving for a life gone by.  I bury my face in cuddle pillow at night, and mourn.

What would bring this on?  I realized that it was music.  Last month I wrote about getting a new smart speaker, an Alexa instead of my vintage Google Portal - and then finding out that it couldn't play my YouTube playlists.  I decided that was OK - I usually just have music on in the background while I do dishes or other chores.  My usual command has always been just a simple "Play music" and it played something from my liked lists, or something similar.

When I asked the Alexa to "play music" Amazon must have checked my profile, noted my age, and put on music from the 60s and 70s.   Which was a pleasant surprise - music I haven't listened to in ages.  Joan Baez and Judy Collins, Peter, Paul, and Mary.  Cat Stevens, Gordon Lightfoot.  Al Stewart.

Music can really take you back - it's almost as evocative as a scent.  The Moody Blues- listening in my bedroom, in that beginning-of-my-life time just before graduation and leaving for college.  The Who - snuggling with Bob in the dorm.  Al Stewart's "Road to Moscow" - laughing at it suddenly being Christmas morning 1976, when I gave Bob the record of that  album- then opened my gift of the 8-track tape of the same album.
Al Stewart's "Year of the Cat" - the song we danced to in the hospital.

I find myself curled up at night, remembering.  When I had most of my life ahead of me, rather than behind me

"Ubi sunt qui antes nos fuerunt?" 

Which roughly translates into "where are they now, who were here before?"

I don't remember the names of my high school classmates.  I only remember a few of the names (if I really think about it) of my fellow Pershing Riflemen, once closer than brothers.  Where are the people I used to frolic with in the Creative Anachronism group (at least I still know a couple of them)
It's been 6 1/2 years since I lost Bob.

OK, then.  Nostalgia is fun, but you can't live there.  I'm slowly training Alexa on now-Ann-music.  Stuff I've started listening to in the last 6 years:  Geoff Castellucci, Ramin Karimloo, VoicePlay, the Bass Gang, 2Cellos, Colm McGuiness, Chase Noseworthy.

Because I'm still alive, in the here and now.  My life is quieter, but there is a richness to it, to noticing tiny purple flowers, stepping outside at sunset, hearing the frog songs change with the seasons from spring peepers to the summer chorus of tree frogs.  My favorite hour of the day, tea time, when I sit on the back deck (bundled up in winter, with a fan on in summer) to drink tea and read, with a stack of peanuts for the squirrel, and RiverSong with me, and often the hummingbird.  The light always changing through the trees, and the sound of the wind in the leaves (susurration, a lovely word).  This afternoon I watched a storm roll in (although I've learned to come back inside if the thunder starts after I saw lightening hit a tree uncomfortably close).  I have my cats and chickens to care for.  I have my museum work, which gives me an identity and a place to be.  I have my little cottage, a place devoted to creativity.

And to end on a cute note, our new little owl (unfortunately he did not keep the name Quasi and has been rechristened Pippen).  Owls often enjoy it if you give them a shower with the hose while you're cleaning the habitat.  With his little fuzzy head feathers plastered down, his big eye discs and wonky crossed beak make him look like a surprised nerd.

Rambling

 I had a weird thought the other day.
I've often thought about the "bereavement in isolation"that I had to go through because Bob died just as the Covid shutdowns started.  All of the things that you're told - "don't retreat, don't isolate, spend time with your friends, don't huddle at home, go out " -well, those weren't options.

But it occurred to me that it also helped in the opposite direction, a different way of not feeling so alone.  What you hear/read about all the time is how hard it is after you've gone through the trauma of having your live irrevocably changed - somehow everyone else's life seems to just settle back to normal.  Everything is new and different and frightening for you - you don't even know who you really are.  The rest of the world?  Fine.

So maybe it helped that in that sense I wasn't alone.  Restaurants and stores closed.  People furtive and frightened.  Try to figure out how to go to work, how to school the kids, how to deal with a new and strange life.  It wasn't just me.

I was thinking some more about the fun I had at the con with Rocky and people's reactions to him.  Part of it was that I somehow made the transition from "person with a puppet" to "a puppeteer."   When I finished it, and was practicing, I was practicing the mechanics- how low to the ground to hold it, how the secondary motion of his back three legs were working, how to tilt the body, how to operate the front two arms.  But at the con, it was simply "Rocky is excited, or curious, or nervous" and let his actions show that.  At one point, a couple of girls offered me a trinket (little gifts given to people that you think have really good costumes) of an elastic bracelet.  Before I could say anything, Rocky was reaching his arm up and waving it around, and then danced happily after they put it on him.

I watched an interview with James Ortiz (the real Rocky) who said it's not that hard to learn the mechanics of a puppet.  After that, it's acting - just through a different medium.  So it seems fitting that it looks like he's going to get nominated for an Oscar not for special effects, but as an actor.

Monday, I just sort of collapsed.  There is a thing called "anticipatory stress" and I had both last week - dreading the surgery, and hoping things would go well at the con.  With both of those behind me, and nothing external to motivate me (beyond feeding the critters) Monday was just a zero-energy day.  But now this week I'm tackling stuff.  Sometimes I just get an uncomfortable feeling that there's something I've left undone, things I should tend to.  That's when the to-do list gets written and (hopefully) slowly checked off.  There's always the feeling (probably most people do this) that everyone else has their life in order, and mine is just a chaos of things undone.   On the other hand, my lists probably have stuff that most others don't.  There's the usual "set out ant traps" or "refill the soap dispenser" or "replant the hydroponic herb garden."

But there's also things like "rebuild the front swing."  "Try to get the regulator on Bob's compressor to adjust."  "Grab the chain saw and deal with that tree (another one!) that came down across the upper drive."  One of my guardian gargoyles on a post on the driveway fell off.  He's dangling from his chain, so I have to get the right wrench to free him, and then take him to the barn (he's heavy, so I have put him in the car to drive it to the barn, but that downed tree is in the way) and see if I can repair his broken wing.

I'll churn my way through all that, and hopefully by the the creative gears will start turning again.  Because I really loved getting into the flow again.  It's when I feel the most me.