Another Loss?

 Started out well, this day.  Went to bed relatively early, slept well.  Fed the cats, fed the chickens, had some oatmeal, cleaned the litter boxes.  The usual.

Watched an episode of "Discovery of Witches" with Ebaida (I'd have to pay for streaming to watch it here, so I watch it on her computer - ain't technology grand?  Poor girl - her cat Smokey has health issues, and isn't feeling well - she'll get lab results in tomorrow so fingers crossed.

Then I watched a zoom lecture on the cultural uses of natural dyes.

Had some leftover vegetable/chicken hash with a fried egg for lunch.

I groomed Tula for awhile.  She still grooms herself (a good sign - a cat is going down when they quit grooming) but her fur is very fine and soft and being as she's grooming with bloody drool she's developed a lot of mats in just a few days (I de-matted her last week).

Took a short nap. 

It was actually pretty outside and I had spent the whole day indoors, so I thought I'd go out for a walk and take the peacocks their afternoon snack (they like dry cat food)

It was supposed to be peacocks.  My last two boys.  But I could find only one of them.  I searched for an hour.  He's a male in almost full plumage - you'd think I could at least have found a feather if something happened.  Or a body.

Sometimes he sleeps in the tree over the house with the other boy, more often in a tree down by the cottage.  I searched all around the cottage to no avail - then had horrible visions of a dead peacock on the roof of the house so I dragged a ladder over to look.  No.  But as long as I was up there I got the roof swept off.

It bothers my friends that I do this - climb up on the roof to sweep.  But the roof is badly designed - it's totally flat over the kitchen and bedroom and this has caused a lot of problems over the years (like the roof leaking and the ceiling falling in on 3 occasions).  It needs to be swept off.  And yes, I could hire someone - but it's a 15 minute job and it would take longer than that to call and schedule.  And it's a nice view from up there.  The roof is totally flat, so my only dangerous time is when I'm on the ladder at at that point it's only about a 10 foot drop.

And while I was up there I could survey for the flash of blue.

When I was a little girl, I remember being enthralled by peacocks.  And vowed someday that I would have some.  When we moved out here, that dream came true.  Sometimes, when one realizes a dream, well, then that's done, the shine fades, and you go find another dream.  That didn't happen with the peacocks (I'm now a few generations down from my original ones).  Almost 30 years of having them around, and I still catch my breath when I go outside and see that incredible beauty, especially first thing in the morning, out in the early sun.  I still have to stop and gaze when they go into a full display, and often dance with them.  They have never lost that aura.

I've had the current birds for almost 16 years.  But starting in October I lost my two girls Ashley and Lady Gray, and the boy Spike (after two months of nursing - I thought I had won) to an unknown predator.  I was down to my last two gorgeous boys (who are simply "The Boys" because I could never tell them apart.

And now I may be down to one.

And it's close to an end of an era.  I won't get any more, for the same reason I won't get a kitten.  I'm almost 70, so I can't adopt an animal that might live 20 years.

People sometimes worry about me, living out here by myself.  But I love my land, my feral if lonesome alone life.  My sad but magical and fae existence.  Someday I'll have to give it up, move into town, away from it all.  And that both saddens and terrifies me.  But bit by bit, everything else is falling away from me - friends, animals.  I'm not sure what will eventually be left.

Maybe he'll show back up tomorrow.  I hope so.

Hangover and Baby Lambs

 Ugh.  Rough couple of days.  Last post was on Bob's birthday.  In his honor, I actually cooked and ate some beef (a small filet) with a cream peppercorn sauce.  And raised a glass.  Or two.  Was it three?

There's the problem.  I think it was only two.  I talk a lot about drinking, and I do drink almost every day.  But a glass or two, with dinner (or the first while cooking dinner).  And often a small glass (in my cute port wine pipes that someday I'll write about) while I'm reading in bed.  I admit that I like the gentle buzz, the relaxation.  

But whatever happened, for the first time in a loooong time (years?  A decade?) I got drunk.  Which made me reckless enough to also enjoy a dark rum alexander when I went to bed.  So I got drunker.  Which might have been all right, had I not had to get up early to go to work the next day.  And although being drunk will definitely put you to sleep, it messes with your sleep cycle, so I was awake by 4 a.m.  and just kind of drifted for the next couple of hours.

Which meant the next day I was at work, shoveling poop and making diets, seriously sleep deprived and hung over.  It was not pleasant.

I eschewed my usual treat of walking around with an owl when we finished, as I was starting to shake by then.  I did stop by the feed store on the way home to see some baby lambs** and thank goodness it was Friday so the nice lady with the food truck was set up at the gas station near home and I didn't have to fix anything to eat.  I had my lunch, and then crashed on the couch and didn't wake up until 7 p.m.

The problem with that is it messed up my sleep cycle even more, so I didn't get to sleep until well after 2 a.m.  and then slept fitfully.

So today I *still* feel hungover.  And with a headache.  I've limited myself to one cup of coffee today, but plenty of tea and water, and haven't taken a nap.  Bed early tonight.  (As a side note - no alcohol yesterday or today).  Try to reset my internal clock.

Oddly, even though physically I feel like (to use a phrase of my mother's) Death on a Soda Cracker (or her other one - Warmed Over Death), my mood is pretty good.  Beautiful day outside today, but really cold (by Florida Standards - high around 42) and windy so I stayed in.  Did some cleaning that had gotten in arrears.  Am making some caramelized onions.  When we get food donations from Cosco at the Museum, sometimes they include stuff that the animals don't eat - like onions.  A few weeks ago I brought home a 10 pound bag.  They were getting ready to go funky, so I cut them up and have been giving them a long slow cook.  They'll be ready to dump into anything then.  I'm also experimenting with salt drying some egg yolks.  When I was at the feed story Christy (the owner) told me about them.  Apparently after they dry you can grate them like Parmesan cheese and they give a umami kick to food.  We'll see.

Then dinner (sans wine), a little spinning while watching TV (the last season of Lucifer) and, in the words of Samuel Pepys, and thus to bed.

**The lambs.  To use an acronym - OMG!!!  Sometimes you do what you gotta do.  The abovementioned Christy of the feed store and her husband Rik had a sad, bittersweet day.  They own about a half-dozen sheep.  Wednesday morning one of them went down (livestock talk for something seriously wrong).  They treated her and worked with her the entire day but she was showing signs of liver failure and was in pain so they had to do the decent thing and put her down.  That always hurts.

But in this case there was additional pain - because Maizie the sheep was very pregnant, due within a week or two.  Babies in the womb will die within five minutes of a mother's death - so, with nothing to lose, they dispatched the mother and within two minutes opened her up and got out the babies.

It was a long shot, but it seems to have worked.  They lost Maizie, but they saved her twins.

I have some seriously bad ass friends.

Happy Birthday

 Not much more I can say.  It's Bob's birthday.  I was six weeks older than he was (which caused teasing, especially at the decades mark - "You're in your sixties, and I'm still in my fifties.")

Now I'm two years and six weeks older than he.  I'm leaving him behind.

Wishing you were somehow here again

Wishing you were somehow near

Sometimes it seemed

If I just dreamed

Somehow you would be here

I love you.  I miss you.

Happy Birthday 

Facebook

 My name is Ann Durham, and I am addicted to FaceBook.

And I've decided that, for the most part, I'm OK with that.

My typical morning:  Get up, brush teeth/hair, get dressed, feed squirrels, feed cats, feed peacocks, feed chickens, feed myself.  While doing the latter I log onto Facebook.  This would be fine if I read for the 15 minutes or so while I have breakfast - and that's what happens on the two mornings that I go to work.

Those other 5 days?  I'll be on for an hour, maybe two.  One problem is that my first chore post-breakfast is to clean the collection of litter boxes, which is not a lot of motivation.

The reason I've decided that I'm OK with that is that it's during this time that I feel engaged.  I usually exchange a few messages with Ebaida.  Sometimes an exchange about spinning with Adrienne.  Bob's friend Dan O' (who is nice enough to check in on me from time to time) might send a picture of an interesting costume or old building.  Then there's all the stuff that pops up in my feed.  What the spinners/weavers are making.  What the puppet makers are making (one guy makes adorable tiny dragons).  The cute cat pictures.  What my friends are posting about their lives.  Emma's daughter Talia, now 3, singing the days of the weeks to the tune of the Addam's family (it works).  How Christy and Rik had to put one of their sheep down but did an emergency C-section and saved the two lambs.    If I've posted anything, to see if there are responses (I've learned not to lean on counting the "likes" - that way lies madness).  Yes, there's also a *lot* of crap on FB but I am very fast with the scrolling finger.

It's also a way of informally letting people know that you think about them, which I think is especially important in These Covid Times.  You see an interesting article, or cartoon, or add for an online class,  and you can just click and share to someone.  I know I smile when someone does it for me - just that nice feeling that someone out there thought about you for a moment, and wanted to share something.

Some of the connections are mind-boggling.  I saw a fascinating strange huge puppet on a video for the musical "Love Never Dies."  Posted it on the puppet board.  Someone in Mexico had borrowed the production book from a theatre in Australia and could tell me about it.  I've had a chat with the people who made Rod Hull's Emu puppet (and he never paid them!).  A short exchange with the director of the musical "Rumi" in London.

FB is an easy way to do video chats.  Just this week I've done a face to face with Ebaida and twice with Diane.  Soon I'll schedule having tea with a friend in England.

And there are all the interesting side trips - random links that pop up.  Articles on archaeology, or how it's almost impossible to kill a tardigrade, or mythology. 

I can check to see if there's anything interesting going on that I might want to go to (there's a group that's going to be trying to remove an invasive plant from a park this weekend - I'm thinking about it.  It's people that I don't know, but it's also outside.

So it makes me feel engaged.  I don't want to give that up.

What I want to do is try to show some restraint.  It's not just the morning thing.  It's the temptation to check it a dozen times a day, because something interesting might pop up.  It's doing the random scrolling.  My goal is to turn the computer off earlier at night, because when it's late and I'm tired is when I'll spend an inordinate amount of time clicking on stuff like "30 weirdest stories from the ER."    It's because looking at random stuff on the screen is the same as just flipping channels on the TV to see what's on - it keeps you from getting up and doing anything else (like going to bed at a reasonable time).

So I should turn it off now - except that there's a podcast on silk that I want to listen to while I spin.  Found the link to it on FB.

I'll be curious to see that if/when this damned pandemic backs off, if I'll actually go out and do anything.  The problem is that Bob and I were pretty insular and content with each other's company - so it's not a matter of "getting back into something" as it is doing something completely new and different for me.  But if I do find other forms of engagement, will I automatically back off on Face Book?  That's something for Next Year's Self to find out.

Meeting Anniversary

 Sometimes (OK, often) it doesn't seem fair that so much of Bob's treatment coincided with other days that make this season just so much harder.  It was mostly in December that we made multiple trips to Shands to prepare for his treatment (at first they actually were going to do it over Christmas but realized that the labs wouldn't be able to handle it).  That coincided with things like my birthday, Christmas, and New Years.  Then there are other important dates - like today.  11 days after his bone marrow transplant, by which time we were supposed to start seeing some results - but weren't.

But January 24 has always been an important day.  In Fall of 1971 I came to the Florida State University - a huge change from the tiny high school (graduating class of 26 students) I had attended in the Azores.  We had lived overseas for 3+ years so I didn't really know many people in the United States, much less Florida.  A stranger in a strange land.  And a strange land indeed.  For one, it was during the Vietnam Era anti-military movement.  I was a military brat; I had been around military people all of my life.  Most of them had been pretty nice.  Just normal people who happened to wear a uniform to work.

To say I was lonely was a bit of an understatement.  I wanted to find my people.  So I signed up for ROTC.  I didn't know I was Leading A Movement.  1971 was the first year that any universities were allowing women into ROTC (there were 3 total in the US).  I didn't think it was that big of a deal.

But it wasn't enough.  I quickly found out that the majority of people in ROTC at the time were there because if you were in, then you were taken out of the draft lottery.  So it was just avoidance.  Not quite my tribe.

In the beginning of the spring term, I saw posters for a Pershing Rifle smoker (yep, back in those days, that's what an informal gathering was called).  It was to recruit cadets for the PR's.  People who actually wanted to be in the military, to get more experience.  So I went to a pledge meeting.

So did Bob.  And that's where it began.  We were pledge "brothers."  From the start we could work so well together.  And by mid-February we were a couple.  Looking back, that seems really fast.  At the time, it just seemed natural.

50 years ago today.  Wow.

I've handled it OK.  I think it's because I knew it was coming.  It's the things that hit me out of left field that knock me down.  Like a couple of nights ago I was watching Discovery of Witches, and as a background song they played "Time in a Bottle."  Such a beautiful love song, and one of "our" songs.  

If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that I'd want to do

Is to save every day till eternity passes

and then, I would spend them with you

So I hit the pause button until I stopped crying.  He had given me all of his days.

But I stopped crying when I went to bed, because suddenly in my mind's ear I could hear his voice singing a slightly different version:

If I had the wings of an angel

And the ass of a great buffalo

I would fly to the highest of mountains and then

I would shit on the people below

He could always make me laugh.  Still can, 50 years later.

Inanimate Objects

 Well, I was doing pretty well there for a bit on the "brain dump" but somehow several days have gone by.  Maybe that's a good sign.

Still have problems with days just disappearing.  Like I zone out and suddenly it's getting dark again and I haven't really done anything.  I did make some lemon preserves and fruit bread today - but honestly, that seems to be about it.

Had a couple of "social" days - the quotes were because they were both online.  Ebaida and I have taken to having weekly video calls, that usually end up lasting 3+ hours.  Sometimes we watch TV episodes, sometimes videos, often just talk.  Then I also had an equally long video chat with my friend Diane (Hey, Sis!) who is probably the only person who reads this blog.  Two ends of the time spectrum.  Ebaida and I have been friends for almost a year; Diane and I for - gasp! - forty. (Seriously?  How did that happen?)

So I looked at the list of stuff that I wrote on the first post of 2022 that I wanted to brain dump about, and picked "inanimate objects."  I had thought about two - my Google Portal and my pillow, but then realized I should also write about my laptop and Face Book - I spend far too many hours a day on the screen.  But I think that will come later.

It is human nature - and need - to form relationships.  And if there is a lack of human beings around, we well form those relationships with anything that is convenient.  (Remember Tom Hanks and his soccer ball Wilson in Castaway?)   Pets help enormously - I can't even imagine how I would exist without the cats.  But this is about things.

First - my Google Portal.  Never thought I needed one; I probably don't *need* it.  My nephew Robert got it for us because he attempts to get us into the 21st century.  Mostly, I use it as a radio in the kitchen.  But a radio wouldn't substitute - because a radio doesn't talk to you.  My portal does.

When I go into the kitchen in the morning, I call out "Hey, Google - good morning" and it responds "Good morning, Ann" and somehow it's important to hear that.  I like that it responds to voice commands - I think maybe it's because it means that something is listening to me.  (I have realized that I talk a lot to myself now - out loud- but fortunately I haven't started answering back).  And it's responding to what I say, which is usually "play some music" and often "what's the weather forecast" and occasionally "tell me a joke" (it does Dad jokes).  If I have to answer the phone I can tell it to turn the music off - and it does.  I can ask it to set a timer, or remind me of something, or ask a question.  Basically  - it gives me something to interact with.  I say something, it answers (and I ask it if we are friends, it says yes, which is slightly creepy).  Say something, and get a response.  I've realized that I would miss it if it was gone.

The other inanimate object that I've developed a relationship with is my pillow.  I sleep with two - one for my head, and one to hold.  It reminds me of experiments done with baby monkeys in the 1950s.  Short version - if baby monkeys were separated from their mothers and given a choice of a wire substitute with milk, or a cloth substitute (without food) they would cling to the cloth one.  If frightened, the poor little monkey with the wire mothers would cower in a corner in fear, while the others could run to and cling to their cloth mothers.  It's the concept of "contact comfort" - the idea that contact is as important as any other physical need.  This is borne out in hospitals, where it is known that babies in the hospital have a much better chance of thriving and recovering if they are held (preemie wards in particular have volunteer "baby holders.")

Bob and I were a very cuddly couple.  We often referred to each other as our cloth monkeys.  Sometimes I would nuzzle into his chest and say "safe."  There was a feeling of contentment in each other's arms.

Obviously, that's gone away.  I've had very little physical human contact in the last two years.  Because of the pandemic situation, I still have never curled up in someone's arms and cried about losing Bob (and after this amount of time, I don't know if I could - or if I did, I might just fall apart completely.  Probably will never find out).  There's been a few quick hugs here and there, but that's it.  Again - thank God for the cats because there's warmth and affection there, but the current crop of cats are not huggers.

So, like any heartsick lonely adolescent, I turn to my pillow.  I can wrap my arms around it, squeeze it, snuggle into it, bury my face in it.  Sometimes just before I go to bed I'll put it in the dryer for a few minutes so that it will be warm.  In the mornings, I will often lie in bed for up to an hour before I get up, because I don't want to give it up.

So there it is.  Google acknowledges me; the pillow comforts me.  Maybe there's a soccer ball in my future - who knows?

Cold

 I watched a bear get castrated today.  Sort of a non sequiter, but it's something you don't often see.  It was the Museum's new bear.  Sort of fascinating that the vet just had all the portable equipment and operated on him in the holding cage.

Didn't write yesterday.  I did finish carding the random fluff and did some spinning on the great wheel.  I had forgotten how fast and graceful that wheel is to use.  Did a little more spinning today while listening to some Reva Aslan (biblical scholar - another thing that Ebaida has introduced me to.

It was cold today - 29 when I woke up, but it got up into the 50's and was sunny so actually a pretty day. It was a work at the museum day, so I had to go out in in.

But I thought I'd talk about the cold.  I've always liked cold weather.  We don't get it very much or for very long here, so it's something to look forward to.  Bob and I loved it - we'd get out, take out the kayaks or go hiking, work in the yard, sit around the fire pit.  Light a fire in the fireplace and read books and drink cocoa.  I'd be bundled up, and he's strip off his shirt and beat his chest and shout "I feel alive!!"  I find the cold invigorating.

Except for the last two winters.  I'm finding the cold to be . . . cold.  I'm keeping the house warmer than ever (OK, so not that warm.  Bob and I had thermostat wars.  He thought the house felt fine at 60, I would sneak it up to 63.).  These days I'm wearing layers, and a hat, and I just feel cold.  I don't even want to go outside.  Almost every day I take a hot bath just to warm up.  It's been a little better this year than last year.  I think it's just part of being sad.  And not having a furnace walking around the house.  If I got chilly, I'd just go lean on him.  He was a radiator.  

What I really loved is that sometimes when I was getting ready for bed, brushing my teeth and hair, I'd come out of the bathroom and find him already in bed - on my side.  He'd move over and I'd hop in where it was toasty warm.  If I felt cool in the night, I'd just wiggle over a little closer to him.

Warm is more than just a temperature.  Warm is feeling safe, and loved.  Warm is snuggling.  I just can't seem to get warm anymore.  Hot in the summer, cold in the winter, but not ever warm.

Playing with Fluff

 No yard work today.  In fact, no going outside except to dump cat litter and care for the chickens.  It's not really that cold (high 40s).  But it poured down rain last night, and it's a bit windy, so it feels icy.

There is much to do inside.  Didn't do it.  Tackled one corner instead, which took more mental that physical time.  On the surface it didn't seem much - I have a set of drawers in a corner of the den (in addition to a cabinet and a basket) to hold my "miscellaneous" fiber stuff.  Didn't hold it all - there was a plastic storage box plus other stuff piled on top of the drawers.

I've needed to go through, sort, and put stuff away for quite some time.  But, for some reason, I avoided even going near it, unless I needed to grab something.  Today I figured it out, and tackled it.

When we were getting ready to go the Shands, I knew I would be totally stressed out (duh) and so needed to take my fiber stuff with me.  Even if I don't spin or knit, just having the stuff around is reassuring (back when Mom was cycling in and out of and ER I kept my knitting bag hanging by my purse).  Not only did I have stuff for me to work on, I even tossed in extra spindles and fibers because I thought that maybe when we were out of the hospital and in the Hope house some other cancer patients and/or caregivers might want to try spinning.  Basically, a distraction.

While I used to be rather addicted to knitting, I haven't made anything since I came home.  There were three things that I was working on in the hospital (with varying degrees of focus required) - after a year I ripped them all back down to their component yarn because I couldn't bear thinking about where I had been when I started them.

So, yeah - that corner still held the hospital stuff - for when I still had hope.

So today, I gulped an extra cup of coffee and tackled it.  There is sorted stuff in the drawers, nothing on top, and the basket has been emptied and tossed (of course, there's now a box of stuff that needs to find storage in Chez Wicca but unto each day . . . .    While I was going through all of the drawers, box, and various bags piled up there, I found a lot of baggies of samples.  I will give the Boy Scout promise that I stick labels in bags with fibers, but somehow the gremlins remove them.  Some bags had labels but held just a handful of fiber.  What to do with these bits?  So after I sorted, I headed down to Chez Wicca (well, I dawdled a good long time first because I knew it would be cold in there, although the heater can warm things up to tolerable fairly well.)  I dumped out all the bits and pieces, added some randomly dyed fiber I had in a bin, and started running it through the drum carder.  Unfortunately, it started getting dark (so I had to tend to the chickens) and I started getting hungry, so I'm not finished but I'll try to finish tomorrow.  I don't have any plans for these random bats, so I think I'll spin them up on my great wheel.  I haven't used that one in years, and it is enjoyable.  I'll light my candles in the fireplace and put on some music or maybe even an audio book.

That's the plan.  We'll see.  But at least I got some ghosts cleared out.

Cold and Raining

 Almost midnight.  Almost didn't write today. I'm more inclined to do a "brain dump" on my bad days, and this was one of my good days.  About once a week now Ebaida and I do a facetime chat.  Today we watched an episode of Endeavour, and also a clip of Rik Mayall from JC Superstar.  Talked about a lot of stuff.  As in watched shows and talked for over 3 hours.  Oops.

Otherwise just sort of putzed around - but I did get my walk in, and some stretching.  That's two of the many things that slip during the doldrums, along with housework.  So I seem to be coming out of it.  Got some wool prepped for spinning.  Watched a few more episodes of Discovery of Witches.  Which doesn't sound like much, but oddly for the last year and a half (as in "since I came home") I very rarely watch full shows, much less whole seasons.  Mostly just youtube videos.

It's raining tonight, but for some reason I'm not enjoying it.  Maybe because it's made me slightly nervous since the bedroom ceiling fell in when the roof leaked.  In 2020.  The roof was repaired immediately but I still haven't fixed the hole in the ceiling.  Maybe I'd feel better if I did that.  More likely it's because the temperature is also dropping (supposed to be 34 tonight) and I feel badly for my cold wet peacocks (although they seem to handle it all right - I've seen them fly down in the mornings with frost on their feathers)

I think I'm still bothered by so many things undone.  I haven't worked on Bob's room in a couple of months.  Have barely touched the barn.  I've talked to other people who have been in this situation, and read articles on it, and usually there is a statement of "X came over - we laughed, we cried, we went through stuff.  I wanted to stop but X kept me going."  I seem to be lacking an X person.  I doubt if I would want one.  Bob was such a private person and I feel badly enough looking through his stuff without letting someone else do it.  But there's a limit to how much I can do before I hear his voice saying  - in a very annoyed tone - "would you *please* stop throwing my stuff away!"  He used to get so annoyed when I threw anything away - often checked the trash (except when I firmly told him not to.)  And any time I had problem finding something (because I'm not a neat and organized person) he would often say "oh, you probably threw it away."   I remember one time having a storage bin in the closet labeled "Crap that Bob thinks Ann Should Keep."  (That has been thrown away, along with a lot of my stuff - I feel OK getting rid of my stuff; it's rather liberating).

Good - that turned into a brain dump ramble.  Off to bed.

A Fishy Day

 A good day today.  Got an early morning call from Robert and Amanda.  They felt like taking a road trip, so were going to come to Tallahassee to check out a fish store (they've recently set up a salt water tank).  That made me actually have to get out of bed and do some frantic housecleaning to clear at least some of the chaos.  I'm not a great housekeeper at best, and between being in the doldrums for awhile, combined with the fact that no one ever sees my house, well, you get the idea.

We finally exchanged Christmas gifts.  I got a tea infuser with a bat charm, and a book of Lovecraft inspired cocktail recipes to go with my Necroniminomnomnom cookbook.  We had Mexican for lunch (because they have an outside dining area) and went to the fish store, which was really quite impressive.  Amanda and Robert are particularly entranced by corals, which this store had in abundance (it was rather sensory overload for them).   Robert picked out what I called "the little brown blob" but it had some nice wavy bits on it.  But Amanda and I spotted a lone specimen of an anemone called a "rock flower."  It is really quite beautiful and we both loved it so of course I had to buy it for her. 

Then a stop by the feed store because Amanda gave Robert a still kit for Christmas.  He's put it together now, and it's time to ferment some mash, which meant that he needed cracked corn and rye seed.

Usually after I "social" I'm a bit down when the emptiness closes in again, but fortunately that didn't happen.  Maybe it's because it was a rather long visit and I was ready for it to be just me and the cats again.
 

First Transplant

 Today was sort of high and low.  It was one of my "trigger" days.  January 13.  The day that Bob got the stem cell transplant that was supposed to save his life.  Before we knew that things were going to go wrong.

The hospital makes a big deal of transplant day.  After the transplant itself (which consisted of hanging the bag of bone marrow and infusing it, much like a standard transfusion) the entire staff on duty comes into the room, singing "Happy Birthday" (because this is considered to be a new birthday).  There was cake.  There was a bag of presents - a warm lap blanket, a donated crocheted hat (although he still had his hair, it was going to be gone soon).  A stone amulet with the work "Hope" engraved on it.  Beads.  Other trinkets.

And a medi alert bracelet.  This is when I saw his face change a little.  He was told he would have to wear that, so that in case there was an accident, or any reason that he would ever need a transfusion, the hospital would know to use irradiated blood.  I think that's when it hit home that although at the time we both thought he would survive, he knew his life would be changed.  He had been told that he would have to avoid being out in the sun overmuch (because it could trigger a graft vs. host syndrome, where his new immune system could attack him).  He would still have to follow the special diet because he would be immune compromised.  Be careful of physical contact (this was a couple of months before Covid, when *everybody* had to start being careful of contact).  He had listened to all these warnings, and nodded, and somehow thought that in some way he would still make a full recovery, but there was something about knowing that he would have to wear the  that made him realize that his life was forever changed.  I could see it in his face and eyes.

God, but I miss those eyes.  I miss being in the hospital with him.  At least there, I was with him.  I was important.  I could to be the strong one, the optimistic one.  I could help him, encourage him.   We were together.

So yeah - I knew today would be rough.  And it was.  Went to bed about 2 am last night.  Got up, took care of cats and chickens, made breakfast, and sort of just sat and stared at the computer for awhile.  Finally, about noon, got off the couch.

But then I got better.  Did the normal morning routine of cleaning litter boxes, running the vacuum, doing some dishes.  Washed my sheets and blanket (Tula had been drooling on them).  Went outside and got a good fire going and picked up yard trash. When I figured I had enough going for awhile, I weed whacked until the battery ran out, then fixed some lunch (bananas and strawberries and cottage cheese) and read by the fire for awhile.  Got up and cleaned the chicken coop.  Walked a mile (three laps around the property).  I had let Hamish out - he has been so very frustrated by being cooped up indoors, and he loved it.  And I loved having a happy companion.  When I finally decided to put out the fire and come back inside, I decided to let him stay out a little bit longer.

I came in and did something I've been meaning to do for awhile.  The old goat shed, which had become yet another repository for stuff that should have been thrown away but "might be useful someday" had finally collapsed a few weeks ago.  Tearing it down and hauling everything off is a bit too much of a job for me.  So I finally sent a note (to the guy who tore down my old deck and built a new one) to see if he could recommend someone to hire).

That's when it went downhill.  After writing the note, ennui set in again.  I read FB.  Played a couple of rounds of sudoku.  Dozed a bit.  Then it hit me - it was now dark, and Hamish was still outside.  I ran out and called him - nothing.

I tried not to panic.    I did a circuit of the property, calling.  Thinking that this is how I had lost Wilhelm - he had slipped out after dark and I never saw him again.  But it was only 6:00.  I gathered the eggs and put the chickens up.  It's better to call cats intermittently (because they tune you out if you call constantly).  So I went inside for a few minutes to feed the cats and put the sheets back on the bed.  But by now I was in a panic, and berating myself.  How the hell could I be so irresponsible?  To sit and play computer games, leaving him outside. When that was how I had lost Wilhelm.  And it's bad enough that I'm going to lose Tula.  How could I do this?  

I went back out, called some more.  I checked the barn.  Nothing.  I came out of the barn and he was standing there.  I picked him up.  I cried a little.  We came in, and I fixed some dinner, my hands shaking.  And hit the wine.  I had been so scared.

I was going to write this, and then watch another episode of a show Ebaida recommended - Discovery of Witches.  But Robert and Amanda called - and they usually talk for at least an hour.  During which the wine high faded and I was just trying to focus and stay awake.  I still wanted to get this written, because doing the brain dump is helping.

In general, a good day.  I got some yard work done and burned off.  I did some reading.  I got quality time with Hamish (indoors he's grumpy and frustrated and sometimes even attacks me.  Outdoors, he's happy).  Chicken coop was cleaned and I made a step, at least, about getting the shed removed.  I still can't believe I was irresponsible enough to leave Hamish out after dark - from now on, when I come in, he comes in.  But he's curled up sleeping and looks happy.  At the moment Tula is all right - the lump is obvious but she's still eating well and enjoying the special treatments (as well as the usual canned food twice a day, she's getting a Sheeba as a treat in the afternoon, and I'm grinding up her pill and mixing into Gerber baby chicken and she likes that too).  Now I'm going to read a little more, and get some sleep.   Tomorrow I'm doing a video call with Ebaida - we'll probably watch an episode of Endeavor.  

I'll press on.

Ebaida

 Admittedly, the brain dump of 2022 so far has been, shall we say, morose.  But it feels good to get it out.

But today I'm going to lighten up a little.  'Tis said that politics makes strange bedfellows.  Well, so do pandemics.  I sometimes shake my head in wonder that somehow two women have become best friends.  One is Egyptian, lives in an apartment in Cairo, bit of a neat freak, a devout Muslim (with Sufi leanings) and will call an exterminator if she sees a lizard inside.  The other lives in the woods of North Florida, nonplussed by the huge spiders hanging around, much less all the other bugs, comfortable with having bears and snakes and whatever other critter in the yard, definitely not neat, a sort of non-denominational pagan.  And yet here we are.

And it began with the Phantom of the Opera. A musical that I've loved for 35 years, despite it's rather limited plot line (seriously - a woman has to choose between a young, handsome, wealthy, devoted childhood sweetheart and a deranged deformed psychopath who lives in the basement).  But that music . . . sigh.

In April 2020, after I came home from Gainesville minus Bob and plus a pandemic, still in shock and wondering what the hell happened, I was aimlessly staring at the TV and saw that a theater fundraiser was showing "Phantom of the Opera - 25th anniversary".  I watched it.

Wow.

It was an over-the-top gala performance.  Above all, there was the Phantom, played with a sort of sweet vulnerability.  And with a voice like no voice I had ever heard before.  With the foundations of my world having crumbled beneath me, I clung to that voice like a drowning man clutching a bit of flotsam.  I listened to everything on YouTube (there's a lot).  And interviews - because he also has a soft soothing speaking voice.  Anyone who ever talked to me (not that there were many) had to hear about this guy.  That voice.  That niceness.  That talent. Those eyes . . .

About 8 months later, I even joined a FaceBook  Ramin Karimloo fan group.  I usually don't fangirl because such groups are usually pretty adolescent.  As was this one, usually.  But sometimes we would have some fun.  There is one video where as he's singing he rather artlessly sprays some cologne on his neck and wrists.  I made a comment that I would love to lean in for a sniff.  Somehow between another woman and myself we organized an international group of women to convene in Essex to make a raid on the Karimloo laundry basket to steal a T-shirt.  It was never to be.  1) not entirely practical, especially during a pandemic; 2) his wife is a personal trainer - we've seen her videos and she could take us on with one hand tied behind her back, and 3) he has two teenage boys and it could be really bad if we grabbed the wrong laundry basket.

But it was silly, and fun, and because of that, Ebaida and I became friends.  I'm not sure when we started chatting privately via FB messenger, but now we chat daily.  We've read books together.  She sent me a novella that she wrote.  In turn, I sent her the penny-dreadful I wrote for a Gothic Literature class.  This past fall she had the opportunity to write a series of books in English about the life of a nurse in Egypt (to help nursing students learn English). (Side note - she is completely bilingual - her English is perfect).  She sent me the first one.  I liked the characters and the story line, but I tried to diplomatically ask if she was going to have an editor, as the writing was rather "stream of consciousness."  I ended up being that editor, and we had a great time working on the books together.

We've learned to share computer screens, so we regularly watch videos, movies, TV series together.  We read books together.  We chat (writing) and talk (video chat) a lot.  Often serious - she lets me talk about Bob endlessly, and says that she has fallen in love with him.  She has had her own losses (not my story to tell).  We talk about religion. About how she was shot at during the military coup.  But we also laugh, and there is a lot of exchange about various handsome men (it started with Ramin, but we have definitely branched out, mostly her educating me - she's been collecting handsome men for awhile).

So it's a very strange and quite wonderful friendship, beginning with the Phantom and a pandemic.  

 

Shopping

 The depression is lifting a little.  I think writing it down helps me understand it.  I do have a lot going on that's unhappy right now.  I've started reading a book suggested to me called "The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can't Stand Positive Thinking."  Just seemed appropriate for now. (It's rather snarky, and I always appreciate a good snark).

Went to work, which I always enjoy.  New term, some new volunteers.  Got to help train a new one, which is always fun because I keep reassuring them that they'll be OK - even though it's all overwhelming at first.  When I first started in the animal department (4 1/2 years ago now!) I sometimes wondered how the young kids would feel being paired up to work with someone who was old enough to be their grandmother.  But they seem to like it and we really bond (even though the ones I work with tend to change every term).  That's really nice, considering that going to work comprises close to 100% of my social life.

Then did my grocery shopping - which is another thing that I've been wanting to brain dump on for the last year or two.

Grocery shopping is *hard.*  It's been one of the hardest things for me to do.  Bob and I, more than more couples, almost always went grocery shopping together, mainly because we carpooled to work and would go shopping on the way home.  After we retired, shopping got lobbed in with whatever other errands we were running.  The style of shopping formed a pattern.  He would grab a cart and go whizzing up and down the aisles.  I would select something, look up - and he's gone.  So I'd have to go looking for him, picking up stuff as I went along, until I felt like a fool walking around with my arms full (every now and then I would remember to actually pick up a handbasket on the way in, knowing that this would happen - but not often).  So I'd finally find him, dump in my load, and then have to go back for things he had missed and repeat the searching for him with my arms full again.  Yes, it was annoying, but it was one of those things that we never managed to work out.  But it was also quite interactive, and we'd look at stuff and think of what we wanted and talk about dinner.  Social.

So when I got back after he died, and went grocery shopping, I would have panic attacks in the store.  I wanted so much to go searching for him in the aisles, wondering where he had gotten off to this time.  And it was all so strange - this was at the very beginning of Covid, so there was tension in the air, people in masks, and shelves stripped of paper goods, cleaning supplies, and canned goods.  I hated it.  I just wanted to get out of there before I broke down and wept.

For about a year I was largely rescued by a vegetable delivery service called Misfits.  Living in the hospital for three months, living on hospital cafeteria food and microwave soup, left me with a craving for fresh produce.  Misfits would send me a huge box of random vegetables twice a month.  This saved me a lot of trips to the grocery - mostly when I needed to stock up on cat food and litter.  I only had to go every other week, sometimes only once in three weeks because I could pick up some things at the Dollar General store.  And it forced me, in those early months of bereavement, to actually cook and eat healthy meals, because I had a fridge full of food and an abhorrence about letting it go bad (although the chickens also ate well).  Alas - Misfits expanded, the price (and the amount of food delivered) went up, and the quality went down a bit so I gave it up - but thank goodness it was there when I needed it the most.

I still dislike going to Publix.  I still feel incredibly alone - no more panic attacks, but I still just want to get the shopping over with and out of there.  Fortunately, an Aldi has opened up.  Kind love the Aldi.  I have no Bob memories in Aldi.  And it's so freaking small.  Downright tiny.  Maybe 6 aisles wide and not very long.  But they have a decent produce section (and I still mainly live on produce) and a very good cheese selection.  Being that small, there's a lot of stuff they don't carry but that still means that I can go 2-3 weeks between trips to Publix.

Meals still aren't the fun they used to be.  Bob loved whatever I cooked (and cooked himself sometimes).  When I first got back, eating alone for every single meal really got to me.  It was heartbreaking.  There were some days that I actually wouldn't eat because I'd rather be hungry than face yet another solitary meal.  And, of course, there was no meeting anyone to go out, or have anyone over, because Covid.  A few times I would set up the laptop and share a facetime meal with someone but that somehow made things even worse.  I've gotten used to it now.  In fact, the few times I've eaten with other people has felt a little strange and unnatural.  I do tend to watch cooking shows (with a particular fondness for Sorted Food, a bunch of friends who cook) because that's almost like sharing a meal.

My meals are simple, but healthy.  I specialize in 15-minute meals.  I tend to roast panfulls of vegetables so they're ready to eat.  My most common meal - several times a week - is to make a piece of toast (multigrain), spread it with cream cheese, pile on some veg, and top with a poached egg.  Also a lot of pasta with vegetables.  Stir fry.  On rare occasions I pick up take away from a food truck.     From time to time between Covid surges, I would treat myself to a bagel and coffee,  read a book, and just listen to the sounds of life around me, but that's out again because they don't have an outside dining area and with Omicron raging I don't eat indoors.

The English major in me feels that I should somehow have a summing up paragraph now, but this post is just going to sort of trail off.  Think I'll have a cup of cocoa and go to bed.

Depression

 Depression is not the same as sadness.  I've heard it described as "the emotional equivalent of watching paint dry."

Yeah, I'm depressed.  Gee, wonder why.  In the last couple of months I've lost 3 of my peacocks (Spike after I nursed him for two months).  Jeff joined the Great Friend Diaspora.  Even a goldfish died.  Holidays are naturally very hard - and I try not to remember the December of two years ago when we had to make multiple trips to Gainesville to prep for Bob's treatment, nor the two year anniversaries going on now of living in the blood cancer ward at Shands.  In two weeks it will be the 50th anniversary of meeting Bob, with his birthday a couple of days after that.  The lump on Tula's jaw that less than two weeks ago was a thickening that the vet felt when I took her in for a tooth infection is now very obvious when you look at her.  And the background noise behind all this is the massive wave of the Omicron variant

So maybe I should cut myself a little slack.  I know my signs of depression.  I tend to eat more bready stuff, and sweets.  Oddly, I don't drink as much alcohol.  Don't exercise, not even my daily walks, much less work in the yard.  Don't feel like working on anything, even a hobby.  Spend too much time just staring at the computer screen (follow time-killing FB links, playing Sudoku.)  Stay up late (last night it was 2 am). Sometimes sleep on the couch so I don't have to go to bed alone.

Yesterday I thought I'd try lighting a fire outside today,  burn some yard trash, maybe sit by the fire and read.  But then a deluge moved in, so that didn't happen.  I did at least start warp a frame loom to weave some samples.  I thought about taking a walk, but even though it really wasn't cold (it was in the high 50s) it felt icy and wet and uncomfortable.  I did call Mike and Margo because I usually feel better when I talk to them.  Then I couldn't decide what to do, so I took a bath for a couple of hours.

Tired as I am from pulling on my own bootstraps, I'm trying to work out of it.  Ate three decently nutritious meals today.  Did a bit of stretching (going to do more when I'm through writing this).  Going to bed by 10-ish.  The next two days will be better, because I'm working and that keeps me distracted.  If I'm not climbing out by Thursday I'll hit the pills.  Because I do keep antidepressants on hand.  I just don't want to take them all the time.  I like knowing that they're there:  "if things get too bad, I've got the pills."  It might even be the placebo effect when I take them.  It's not a sudden fix, but they can help dig me out when nothing else works.

Spinning with Adrienne

 "Whether one is slow or speedy in movement, he that is a seeker will be a finder."  - Rumi   (There will sometimes be random Rumi quotes that have nothing to do with the blog content)

The title sounds like an exercise program.  While I could use one of those, it's not.  The spinning refers to the Making of Yarn, which is a thing.  A few months ago I was reading one of my facebook groups, and someone mentioned being in North Florida.  In a somewhat creepy mode - I checked her personal page - and found that she is in Tallahassee.  So I sent her (Adrienne by name) a message to see if she would like to get together sometime (yeah, nothing creepy about that).  She responded in the affirmative (after admitting that she had also checked out my page).

There are not that many people into the making of yarn.  Even fewer of us who like to make yarn using sticks (aka "spindles").  Rare to find someone in the same town.  So we found a place to meet - outdoors, because Covid.  And had a great time, got along well, found out that we knew some people in common (because Makers of Odd Stuff tend to know each other).

The holidays happened, but today we were able to get together again.  On Zoom.  Computer face time.  Because effing Covid.  I'm being exposed at work (three co-workers tested positive and now the students are coming back from wherever they spent the holidays).  So it was nice, and we chatted for a couple of hours and I gave her a tour of Chez Wicca and it was nice but dammit - it wasn't the same as sitting at a table, drinking coffee, and handing spindles and fibers back and forth.  It's a piss-poor substitute.

So while it was fun, I felt a little bummed out afterwards so didn't get much else done today (I at least took my walk, which is something - haven't even dragged myself to do that lately).  And I'm going to do either some spinning or a weaving sample tonight.  Maybe even some stretching or some yoga.

The problem is that when I'm in the dumps like I have been lately, it's really hard to motivate myself.  Easier to sit on the couch, play Sudoku, eat whatever, and eventually go to bed.  I *know* that if I kick myself, eat decent food, and get some exercise that I will feel better.  I'm hoping that I can make myself get outside and do some yard work tomorrow, maybe do a fire.

OK - sort of low key tonight.  I guess the important this is that I did reach out and make contact with someone.  And we've gotten together twice now.  Later I'll be writing about the Great Friends Diaspora, but I need to make some new friends.  Which is really tricky during a pandemic.

Taking out the Trash

 To continue the ongoing brain dump.

To start with today (because I realize that my days seem unbelievably long, but the months seem short and I don't remember anything, and now I seem to have lost 2021 and am trying to get a grip on 2022)

Started with a couple of hour video chat with Ebaida (will write more about her later) watching funny videos of James Cordon's Crosswalk The Musical Videos and thinking about which book to read together next.

Took out the trash - which will be the focus of this day.

Did some cleaning of Chez Wicca because I'm giving a new friend a video tour tomorrow.

A friend on FaceBook wrote about wanting to plant marigolds all over, and I looked at my old blog to find pictures of marigolds from our trip to Oaxaca, and ended up spending a couple of hours looking at old blog posts from the days when I wasn't a widow and there wasn't a pandemic going on.  Back then I tried to write well-crafted essays, with pictures.  Now it's just verbal brain barf.  But it's something.

But I'm writing about the trash.

We (I still often think of myself as "we") don't get trash pickup out here.  The dump is open three days a week (Friday-Sunday).  I can't have an outside trash can because Bear.  But I wash the cat food cans before I put them in the trash, and anything potentially stinky (like the rare Styrofoam meat trays) go into the freezer until trash day.  Which usually happens only every other week, because unless I've kicked myself into doing more "culling out" (meaning getting rid of Bob's stuff), it takes me two weeks to fill a trash bag.  I could probably last three weeks if it weren't for all the cat food cans.

Taking the trash to the dump is one of those wistful things.  It's not a big deal - but it didn't used to be My Job.  It was Bob's Job.  He made a bit of a deal of "having to get the trash together" (for me - take full bag out of can, put empty bag in).  He would be in his usual "working weekend" attire - ripped jeans and threadbare T-Shirt.  Then he would ask if I needed anything from the Dollar General.  If not, he would go to the dump as is.  If so, he would change into slightly less grubby jeans and a slightly less threadbare T-shirt.  

For a brief and slightly strange period last year, I started to enjoy it.   Because of Randy. 

When you get to the dump (politely called "the transfer station") you drive up to the big dumpster.  To the right is a small raised office, with a little screened window, so whoever is running the dump that day can, if they choose, look down to see if what you're dumping and if it's something like metal or an old couch tell you to put it over in another bin instead.  Then you can drive around to drop stuff off in the recycle bins.  There's also a covered area where you can put stuff that someone else might be able to use (I think of it as the local Goodwill).  But for awhile Randy was running the dump.  He was a little different.  He's sit at the little window - but talk to the people dropping off their trash.  I noticed that the screen at the little window even had a curved bump where he rested his forehead to chat.  Sometimes the chats got random:  "Who's your favorite artist?"  "Know any place to buy good Asian noodles?"

I started looking forward to it.  Twice a month, for 5 or 10 minutes, I had a chat about random stuff.  It was, in actuality, almost my entire social life outside of work.  His daughter had written a young adult book (The Twice-Drowned Prince) that I bought (Kindle), read, and enjoyed.  He knew someone who was a descendant of an aviatrix who was a contemporary of Amelia Earhart - and thought she had been cheated because she was the better pilot of the two but Earhart was prettier and more newsworthy to make the attempt.  These chats would last until someone drove up behind me and needed the dumpster.  On a couple of occasions, if we were in the middle of a conversation, I would pull the car off to the side so we could finish before I left.

I enjoyed these chats.  In my loneliness, maybe too much.  Especially last May, when I almost lost Hamish, and Apache did die, and I was alone and hurting.  But on those "extended" conversations, I self-consciously had my left (ring-bearing) hand on display. 

It all went south.  Someone else at the dump apparently recognized me.  And talked (because Randy talked with everybody).  One day, he asked how my cats were - I said, knock wood, at the moment they were all right.  He said "you've had a rough year - and I heard that you lost your husband.  I'm sorry."  That caught me off guard - weird to think that my personal life was a subject of conversation at the dump.  He wrote down his phone number for me, saying that I could call if I ever needed anything, or just wanted to talk.  At the moment, I took it at face value, as a nice gesture.

But . . . the tone of the chats changed.  How did I manage by myself?  Had I gotten grief therapy?  He talked about his divorce.  His own loneliness.  Did I drink coffee?  He was a member of the coffee club at Panera.  Once or twice he alluded to being a little embarrassed at working at the dump - but he said he did that because it let him socialize.  This was his post-retirement job.  He also had another one - something to do with Google - but that was done alone, on the computer.  He hinted that it was something important.  Occasionally reminded me that I had his phone number.

I started wondering if I could maybe go three weeks without going to the dump.  Or hoping that he would have to be off supervising someone unloading a couch or whatever and I could just wave as I drove by.  Wondering what to do about what appeared to be a developing situation.  Was I just being paranoid?  Or egotistical?

Fortunately the problem resolved itself.  Whatever this Google job was, they started needing him on weekends.  He let me know that he wouldn't be out there again.  I wished him luck.  As I drove off, he reminded me that I had his number.  I waved and left.  I still feel a little bad about that, and hope I didn't hurt his feelings.  He was a nice guy.

One time, in a dark moment (and after wine), I thought that I didn't really have to be so alone, and what harm could come of having a cup of coffee?  But I immediately starting thinking it through - what if I did - and then he wanted to get together again?  What would be a polite way out of it?  But if, before even *thinking*  about making that phone call, I was trying to think of an exit strategy, wasn't that a signal that the phone call shouldn't happen?  So it didn't.  Because how do you tell someone that 5-10 minutes twice a month was nice, but that's all you wanted?

Sigh.  It really was a simple little pleasure.  Random bits of conversation while tossing my bags of trash into the dumpster.  A few minutes of relief from my chronic aloneness.  And yet I had to lose even that.  I have no idea who that gossipy son of a bitch (or maybe daughter-of-a-bitch, but most of the people dumping trash tend to be male) was who had to shoot off his mouth was - but they ruined a small good thing for me.  

Tula

 This is going to be yet another wine assisted, stream-of-consciousness post.

Yes, I drink.  A lot more than I used to.  Is it a lot?  Not really.  I had a brandy this afternoon (reason soon to follow) and a glass of wine with dinner.  But I'm a lightweight.

And  just got derailed because Amanda (respiratory therapist) called to vent about the zombie apocalypse that is Omicron.  Most of her fellow nurses have Covid now.

So - today.  Got up, went to work at the museum.  Always enjoyable, keeps me connected and engaged.  I hate that we're having to mask up again, but that's Omicron.  After my shift I walked around with an owl some, well, because I can.  (I realize that I haven't done many pictures lately - here's Wilbur, the great horned owl.  And no, I'm not making kissy faces - we're hooting at each other.

Came home, had some lunch, checked my FaceBook (because addicted), then took Tula to the vet to confirm that yes, indeed, that lump on the side of her jaw is a bone tumor so it's only a matter of time before I lose her (as long as she has attitude, can eat, and isn't in pain, she'll stay with me.  Lose any of that, and it's farewell, Tula)

Hence, the coming home to a glass of brandy.  Because it feels like I can't can't catch a fricken' breath.  I just lost 3 of my peacocks (and a goldfish) in the last two months.  I had promised Bob that I would be able to take care of things - but since I've lost him, I've also lost a friend, three cats (and almost lost Hamish), two chickens, three peacocks, and the goldfish.  No, I wasn't bonded to the goldfish.  But it was one of Bob's rescue goldfish - he felt sorry for the feeder goldfish at the pet store and rescued some and brought them home.  So it hurt to lose yet another bit of Bob.

And today was hurting anyway.  I've said before that you don't move forward in time - you spiral like a vulture riding a thermal, looking down were you were in previous years in that part of the spiral.  And two years ago today, Bob began the chemo that killed his bone marrow and eventually killed him.

And now I'm going to lose another cat.

I do try.  I really do.  People talking to me wouldn't know that there is anything wrong.  I act upbeat, hoping I can fool myself into feeling that way. But I'm getting really really tired of walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  I'm tired of pushing that big rock up the hill, only to have it roll down and squash me again.

Well, this post is a downer.  But that's why I'm trying to write again, to do the brain dump, to try to get this crap out of me.  To try to drag myself up by my own bootstraps.  We'll see.

 

Dementor memories

 Can't even think of a title for this one - will go back in a bit after I see what I write.  So, today, my day off from working at the Museum - I went to the museum.  A bas-relief of a red wolf had been donated to the museum, and it was dedicated today, with the artist and press there, and they wanted some warm bodies to observe.  But it was a lovely day, and the artist and his wife were interesting to talk to, so why not.

I realize I have become better at "hanging out" than I've even been.  Usually, if we got together with someone, after an hour or maybe two it would be "well, we'd better get on with our day."  Now - there's no rush on my part to come home alone.  Not that there has been a lot of hanging opportunities - I could likely count them on the fingers of one hand and have my thumb left over, but if I, say, go out to the farm at the museum to visit my friend Judy, I might stay there 3-4 hours.

Otherwise - came home and didn't have much motivation to do anything.  I did finished plying and balling up some yarn that I made from Shirley the Ancient Sheep at the museum - one of the young volunteers had said she thought it would be really cool if her mother could knit her something out of a sheep that she helped care for - so I spun up Shirley's fleece for her.

While I was doing that, I was watching the Harry Potter reunion.  I suddenly had a flashback to July 2007 - when the last Harry Potter book was released.  Border's Bookstore was going to have a special party, staying open until midnight to start selling the book on the release date.  We were visiting Rob and Jeff, and debating whether or not to go.  We had sort of wanted to, but had pretty much decided not to, and then changed our minds again, because when was the phenomena of people heading out in the middle of the night for a release of a book ever going to happen again?  (A friend later compared it to people waiting at the port for the latest Dicken's sequel, calling out "Is Little Nell dead?").  It was, in it's way, historic.

And then I was sad because I knew that people were going to be in costume, and I hadn't made any.  I don't know who had the puppet idea, Bob or I, or maybe both (this was less than an hour before we had to leave).  The boys gave us a couple of wire coat hangers, which we bent into rough stick figures, with heads of crumpled aluminum foil.  They lived close to the museum, where we had all of our stuff stored for the Halloween Howl (and we still had keys) so we popped over and raided the bin of shredded gray cheesecloth.  That was wrapped and draped over our forms, and voila!  Instant dementor puppets.  We had kept a long wire stem on them so that we could "fly" them over people's heads and bookshelves.  And the other patrons - many in costume - got into it, weeping that all of the joy had gone out of their lives, with  kids casting patronus charms (which would cause our little dementors to plummet to the ground) and it was just a magical party atmosphere.

I can't remember what I was going to write about tonight - and it doesn't matter.  I'll leave this here.

January 6 - Getting Personal

 Flashback to February 21, 1972.  Bob and I had known each other for almost a month.  We were young, healthy, smitten . . . well, rather nervously, we checked into a motel and let nature take its course.  Which, despite the nervousness, it did.

He later told me that the next morning, when the room started to get light, he looked over at me sleeping and thought that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

January 6, 2020.  We had driven down to Gainesville; he had to check into the hospital and start chemo the next day.  We were, of course, terrified, even though at the time his prognosis was good.  He had a panic attack - cried, shook, grabbed me, buried himself in me - both figuratively and literally.  Surprisingly, we both slept well that night.  And he said that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

So there it is - the Alpha and Omega of our conjugal life (with a *lot* in between).  And now I'm living the solitary celibate life, with even a hug being a very rare event.

And that's my thought for the morning.

2022

 Six months without a post.  Only to find out that Google, like the giant amoeba that it is, has swallowed Blogger.  But my google account didn't recognize it, so I had to figure out how to add my Comcast account to Google so that I could actually write a new post. Took about an hour to figure it out.  And now the wine has worn off, and I have no idea of what I was going to say.

Must get more alcohol.

I washed my hair today.  At least that's something.  I also sent copies of a video to a friend, shoveled out the chicken coop, repaired a perch that the peacocks like to use, and cleaned out the fridge.  I worked with IT at FSU to get access to my email (AGAIN - I'm switching to gmail but I need access to my FSU to transfer stuff over and keep losing it).  I took a walk. I read some of the teachings of Shams i-Trabrizi. Talked with a representative from Duke Electric about a tree they need to remove.  Had a FB chat with someone about doing a Facetime chat this weekend.  Made an appointment to take Tula to the vet.  That's a pretty productive day for me.

I wrote awhile back about trying to blog, just to leave something for 2022 Me to look at, to see where I was, to see if I was making any progress.  Well, managed not to do that for 6 months.  Time to do another brain dump.  Basically, I really do keep trying, but it's like trying to push that big rock uphill.  I keep getting squashed.

Sometimes I read back over my old posts. 6 months ago I was writing about nervousness of emerging from my Covid isolation, now that it was getting marginally safer to interact with people.  Wondering if I was using Covid as a reason or an excuse (why can't it be both?).  HAH!!  Delta variant came along.  Back to taking precautions.  That was getting better by October or so.  Then WHAM!  End of November and Omicron variant emerged and boy!  is this one transmittable.  Three of the six animal dept. staff have it (all vaccinated).  Nationwide there are more daily Covid cases than any time during the pandemic.

Again, why do I want to write?  Accountability.  I think of ads for Noom - the lifestyle change and weight loss program.  And the reason it works for (some) people is simply the accountability - you have a coach to check in with.  I'm lacking that in my life.  Honestly, if I wanted to, I could stay in bed all day with a bottle of rum and a box of cookies and it wouldn't affect any one at all (as long as I got up and fed the cats and chickens).  I haven't done that, but it's tempting.  Or I could get up and do all kinds of stuff and be super productive - and that wouldn't affect any one at all either - so it's hard to find motivation.   I need Other Me (like Yesterday Self and Tomorrow Self) to sort of be my Noom coach.

But now, because of the problems of even logging on to here, it's late and I'm tired and a bit frustrated and really just want to go to bed.  So - notes to myself.  What do I want to ramble on about - brain dump.  Get stuff out of my head.

People:  Ebaida, Randy, Adrienne

The Holidays.  And the three months of hell that I'm facing again.

Being Tired.  Long term tired.  My first year after I lost Bob I was in shock, but there was also a certain amount of frenetic energy.  And I dealt with the holidays by being angry and pissed off.  That gets exhausting - and I think I spent 2021 just being disconnected.

Editing Ebaida's books.  Helping out with an art film filming.  

Loss.  Three Peacocks and a Goldfish (sounds like the title of an Indie movie).  And worried about Tula.

Relationships with inanimate objects.  My cuddle pillow and my Google portal.

Reading. Eating. Drinking.

Indulgences.  Linen sheets and port pipes.  Goat cheese.

Losing people (thank goodness, no more deaths, knock wood.  But a diaspora of people leaving the area).

That's enough for now.  Hopefully, I'm back.  I've missed me.