Farewell to 2023

 And thus ends another year.

I've sent it out quietly.  After I did the butterfly garden I spent hours yesterday burning yard waste.  It was my plan to do more today (hit while the weather permits) but Ebaida coerced me into watching Phantom of the Opera together instead (we put the movie on at the same time and then FB chat during it).  Afterwards we had a video call.  So basically I never bothered to get out of my pajamas.  Have to admit, both my back and my psyche appreciated the break.

I've spent quite a bit of time reviewing the 90 blog entries I made this year.  If you ask me if I ever do anything, I would say not much.  But it adds up.

I can't help but think how strange Bob would find it here after being gone only 3 1/2 years.  Mostly things gone.  The old Honda. The butterfly garden, the old goat shed, the damaged release cage.  Rob and Jeff moved, Mischa gone.  So much from his room and the barn.  Half the cats, all of the peacocks, and all of the chickens that he knew.  No wonder things seem a little empty.

I look at my last year's intentions (which I do instead of resolutions).  It was "try to have fun."

I did try, but I think I was a bit too dogged and determined about it.  2020 and 2021 I huddled (Covid was first a reason, and then a reasonable excuse).  So I was going to get out there - and get out there I did.  Looking at those posts, there's a lot.

A couple of the weaver's guild meetings (which I stopped after the day I was supposed to meet with several wannabe spinners, none of whom showed up)

My "gal pal" trip to Universal Studios (in which I discovered that I don't think I'm a "gal pal" sort of person.  I never have been before, but I'm still figuring out who I am now)

My Roads Scholar trip - which I enjoyed, but realized that I'm also not a tour sort of person - it was too regimented and structured - like a field trip for old people.  The best part was before it officially started when Marty and I got to hang out on the greenway together.

My second Harry Potter trip, with my brother this time.  I am better at one-on-one than groups.  Especially with a fellow nerd.

I went to four circuses, one concert, the Comic Con, the haunted house.  I went to an SCA fighter practice and an art/craft gathering.  There were three museum parties, and Shelby's Rocky Horror Birthday party.  I took the dragon to entertain at Goodwood Plantation for Halloween.  I did a two-day spinning demo and wool waulking for the Highland games. Did an escape room with Jeff.  I got to play the part of an escaped panther.  I took a wood working class.

And I have to say that after awhile it felt a little dogged.  I wasn't so much enjoying myself as pushing to get out because I thought I should.  I finally hit a stopping point and skipped the Manheim Steamroller concert even though I had bought my ticket because I was just done.  I've actually been in a good mood since coming home from Harry Potter because I feel like I've been there, done that, and can just relax now.

There was other stuff too that sort of wore me down.  Our 50th wedding anniversary.  Hurricane Idalia, which veered off only at the last minute.  I was prepped and tried to convince myself not to worry and just deal with whatever happened, but it was nerve-wracking.  Losing my chickens (I'm down to just Rock, who is living on the back deck).  That eventually broke me, because I would think that I had the coop/scratch yard secure, and go a month or six weeks without incident, then have another attack just as I started to relax.  Especially after I got that beautiful rooster because I thought things were safe now, and then lost him.  And because I would push myself go "go out and have fun" and then come home to deal with the butchery (that happened three times)

So what are my 2024 intentions?  

I think I'm going to back off, and not try so hard. All this pushing myself didn't really result in anything except feeling tired.  I've looked back over the blog for those moments that I truly did enjoy.  It seems strange to try to figure that out - I mean, I'm 71 years old and should know by now.  But I laughed when Rob and Jeff were visiting, and Rob was doing some mansplaining to me about his mother.  He lost his father several years ago, and was telling me that his mother Rose was so invested in his father that she was just trying now to learn who Rose is.  Yeah, Rob - sort of know how that is.

So what do I like?  Being outdoors, working in the yard.  Working at the museum.  Sometimes getting the "safe thrill" (sort of like you get on a roller coaster) when an eagle thumps me or an owl grabs my ankle.  I've liked doing my Conquest walking challenge; there's something satisfying about entering my daily mileage.  I think I might do a Middle Earth one next (I'm curious what equivalent to Google Earth they would have).  I love sitting out on the back deck, sipping tea and reading.

Be open to the happy things.  Little flowers.  My turtle showing up for a snack.  Laughing at my "poltergeist".  Co-reading with Ebaida (we're starting Frankenstein).

I have said I will demo at the Highland games again this year - but limited to a waulking demo and some spindle spinning, for one day.  Not setting up a display table and being stuck there for both days.  This time I'll be able to watch the games and admire Men In Kilts.

Be better about making stuff.  I haven't done much this year, but that's when I feel most like me.  I did sew two poets shirts, one 18th century skirt (which I then got hopelessly stained), wove the fabric for the waulking demo, made the griffin puppet and the Mari Lwyd, and knit a lace shawl.  Not bad, but not much.

So that's my thought for 2024.  2020 was strictly reactive - so much stuff going wrong even after I lost Bob - and I was in shock.  2021 was the year that I lost - I simply don't remember it.  2023 was the year that I really pushed myself.

2024 I think I will try to relax.  Not be a recluse, but not push to do stuff because I think I "should."  Spend more time in my cottage.  Make stuff.  Work in the yard.  Read.  Just be.

Owlish Interlude

 Sometimes you just have to laugh at coincidences.

I was driving home from work yesterday, listening to NPR Science Friday.  Ira Flatow was interviewing a woman who wrote a book on owls. [Side note - it sounded interesting so I just ordered it}

What made me laugh is when Flatow made the comment that it must have been so wonderful for the author when she was researching the book to be able to see an owl, for real, up close.

And I had to wonder if he would have felt the same had he been in my position a couple of hours before, when I got to see and owl, for real, up close, while she was latched onto my ankle.

After Christmas the museum is given leftover trees from a tree lot, and we  put them out for the animals, just to give them something different to play with.  And for the cute factor.

I thought that Topaz, a great horned owl, looked cute sitting puffed up next to her tree, so I snapped a picture.  I didn't like the glare of the sun, so I was moving to the side to get a better angle.  she decided that she had enough of the paparazzi,  jumped down, and grabbed my ankle.

And no, I don't have a picture of that, because I was sort of trying to get her off, and I didn't want to piss her off any more.  But yeah, Ira - it's really neat to see one up close and personal.

Butterfly Fence

 The weather finally cooperated the last two days.  Not hot.  Not cold (just beautifully cool).  Not raining, yet not too crunchy dry as to make having a fire dangerous (I don't want to be that person whose random flying ember causes a forest fire).

I tackled the butterfly garden fence.  I can't remember if I've written about it - but in 2010 we put in a butterfly garden in the front yard.  It never really took off properly - too much shade - but there is now a lovely gardenia tree and an American beauty bush and I do get some native milkweed, along with some random wild flowers.

In order to keep the peacocks from destroying everything, we put up a fence around it, using picket fence panels.  From time to time, one would rot out, and have to be replaced.  But along came Hurricane Michael (5 years ago now) and damaged the fence.  That was the least of our worries - we had downed trees to deal with, and all the former tree canopy that was now knee deep on all the property.  By the time we got that cleaned up, Bob got diagnosed - and the fence just wasn't a high priority.

Three years ago I got Rob to take me to Home Depot and picked up a few panels to replace some rotted ones.  But since then most of the others started to fail, which gave me two options.  Talk him into coming and helping me buy and get home another 14 panels (to the tune of some $800) so that I could tear down and rebuild the fence . . . or just tear it down.  There are no peacocks to worry about any more, alas.

The old butterfly garden was depressing me.  It was, in a word, ugly and decrepit.  An eyesore.  Right there, first thing to see walking out of the door or coming home.

By last night, those old picket panels looked like this.

Today, I tackled it some more.  There were two swings out there, which didn't go together (the second one was an impulse buy).  I decided to move it to the front deck, which sounds good if you say it fast.  It was too heavy for me to drag.  So I pulled off the sunshade top, and then tried to remove the swing portion.  This would have been simple with two people - one to lift, and one to maneuver it off the hook.  On my own - I finally just pushed the whole thing over onto its side, unhooked it, dragged the two parts over, hooked it back together, and then somehow managed to tip it upright again.

Of course, each job begets yet another job.  I was thinking that I could just wash off the overhead sun shade.  But it has developed its own ecosystem of lichens.

So I need to get some sun resistant outdoor cloth and recover that.

Then for the other swing, which is looking pretty rough but I will never give it up - it can sit there until it collapses on its own.  Every time I look at it, I smile, remembering the night that we got it.

We got that swing at least 20 years ago.  We had been out shopping, and our last trip, around 8:30 p.m., was at a store called Wakama.  And there, on sale, was the yard swing that I had been looking for.  So we tell the sales person that we'll take it, to which we receive the reply of "Oh, we don't have any left."  So we ask if we can buy the floor model - which we could, with a good discount.  "We'll tag it for you, and you can come get it tomorrow."  Bob said that we lived a good hour's drive away, so we wanted to take it then.  They were reluctant; we were the only customers by then, and the staff really wanted to be able to lock the doors at 9:00 and go home.  "I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone here that can take it apart."
Bob said that wasn't a problem - he could do it.
They tried again.  "I'm sorry sir, but we don't have any tools."
Again - Bob said no problem, he had a tool bag in the car and went out to get it.
Damned customers are always right.  They knew they would be working late because of us.

He came in with the tool bag, grabbed a wrench, tossed me another one, and working together, one on each end of each piece, started taking it apart.  Fast.  Really fast.

The frowns on the faces turned to grins, then laughter, and finally applause, as we had the swing apart and the pieces stacked in less than 15 minutes.  The staff helped Bob carry them out to the car as I paid for it.  One of the sales clerks grabbed a 10% off coupon for me.  Another dug in her register and said she had a $5 off one.

They were able to lock the doors and go home by 9:00, having enjoyed the floor show.

I pulled the swing off - it's a padded cloth sling, and beyond saving (there were ferns growing from it).   And that's when I was surprised when I inspected the frame, and found that the wood is still in good shape, except for the roof.  It originally had a cloth roof that eventually disintegrated and Bob replaced it with wooden strips.  A few have rotted, but they're just 1x2 lumber and easily replaced.  I even rebuild the swing part once before when the original one finally fell apart - so I saved the old one to pull the pattern from it and I'll rebuild it.

I dragged out the garden hose and the pressure washer from the barn, and now it looks surprisingly good.

This is where the butterfly garden stands now.  The uprights for the panels are seriously dug in - I'm not sure I'd be able to get them out, and I rather like them - sort of like finding the remains of an old shack in the woods, or a witch's circle.  I'm going to plant morning glories or maybe scarlet runners beans and see if I can get them covered with vines.   I haven't decided about the gate yet (it was one of the things that I replaced three years ago).  I sort of like the whimsy of having a gate with no fence.  

And yes, it winter (at least what passes for winter here) so there's nothing much growing, but it's no longer depressingly overwhelming.  Feels good.

Mari Lwyd and Other Christmas Thoughts

Made it through another Christmas season.  Odd way to think of it, perhaps, but I've found that I can deal with the season more easily by not pushing it.  Just try to enjoy the glimmers of Christmas feelings.

I did finish making my Mari Lwyd.  I am fond of bizarre Christmas traditions, and the Mari Lwyd is right up there.  It's a Welsh tradition of putting a horse skull on a stick and then going from door to door, having a poetry slam with the hosts and then going in and drinking their beer.  Not having a convenient dead horse around, I got to work with EVA foam.  Not that I had any place to take it, but now I'll have a new annual Christmas decoration.

I had to look at my favorite picture of Bob's last Christmas and tear up a bit.  Playing Lego with Zeke.  I hope that Zeke will remember him, if only a little, in years to come.

 Jeff and Rob came through town on their way to visit Rob's mom in Niceville a few days ago so I got to visit with them for a couple of hours.

It's hard not to think of Christmases past.  For years we ("we" meaning Rob, Jeff, Gill and her husband Jim, and Bob and I) would get together on Christmas eve.  Eat too much, exchange gifts (usually silly), play the British game of pass-the-package.
But Rob and Jeff moved, Bob is gone, and Gill is dealing with too many health issues to party much.

Rather than stay home and be morose, I went into work.  Christmas or not, the animals have to be cared for, and it helps my friends the keepers if an extra pair of hands show up.  Afterwards I went to Rik and Christy's - they normally don't do much for Christmas except stay in pajamas and watch movies, but Christy's mother and brother decided to visit from Jacksonville.  Rather than cook a "proper" Christmas dinner, Rik decided to set up a hot dog bar.  So that was fun - easy and informal and I didn't have to worry about wearing my slightly grungy museum clothes.

The year is winding down.  Over the next few days I'll review 2023, see if I learned anything from it, and what sort of legacy I have left for 2024.

Memory of a Flock of Angels; End of an Era?

 Did the 3 a.m. wakeup this morning.  Amid the usual mind wandering that happens in this "long dark teatime of the soul" came an old and beautiful memory.

It was within a few years of moving out here (so somewhere around 30 years ago).  We used to come home from work and then let the goats and sheep out of the pen to wander around and graze for awhile.  So relaxing after a stressful day at work.

One evening we just lay on the grass and stared at the sky.  It was almost sunset; the clouds were pink but there was still sun shining under them.  White egrets flew overhead, so white against the pink clouds, and the remnant of sun surrounded each one with a halo of gold.

We gazed in silence for awhile.  I said in wonder "what did we just see?"

And he answered "a flock of angels."

I let a long-standing tradition go by this year.  In my first blog, and last year in this one, I wrote about my annual fruitcake.  I started baking them when I was 13 years old, in my Dickens phase.  And for the next 58 years I baked them every year - borrowing a kitchen when I lived in the dorm, one time only a few days before moving amid all the packing, eking money from an already skinny food budget when we were first married and rather broke to pay for candied fruit, eggs, and brandy.  Usually the first weekend after Thanksgiving found me in the kitchen, baking, so that they could be wrapped in brandy-soaked cloths to age before Christmas.

My parents loved it.  My father-in law adored it - when we would go home for Christmas he'd meet us at the car saying "where's my fruitcake?" and then cut himself a big slab and eat it out of his hand (in later years he would precede this by saying "I shouldn't eat this because of my diabetes" which somehow made it all right to eat it anyway.  The December that he died I had baked it and had it ready in case he survived coming off the ventilator.  He never got that one.

I don't think Bob so much liked the fruitcake itself as the ritual of making it - specifically, the rich egg/butter/sugar/brandy batter which he would sample every step of the way until I would chase him off so that I would have enough to bake.

Mike and Margo liked it, and got it every year.  Otherwise, the rest of the family and my friends could well do without it.  Personally, I even admitted that while I liked it - rich batter baked rather solid and filled with sticky candied fruits that bore no resemblance to the fruit they theoretically came from - I preferred (as did abovesaid friends and most family) the darker spiced fruitcake with rum-soaked dried fruits which I also made.

I made it - smaller batches - the first three Christmases since I lost Bob.  Looking back, I didn't write about the first two.  Last year I wrote how making it - feeling that somehow I should, that it was *my* tradition - also broke me.

This year the time post-Thanksgiving was taken up cleaning the house and getting ready for Mike's visit.  And when I had gone to the grocery store, I hadn't seen those familiar tubs of almost-artificial candied fruit.  I figured I had just missed them.  I did go ahead and bake the first batch of the dried fruit version (among other people, my friends Rik and Christy really love it).  Mike was able to fit two loaves, well boxed, into his suitcase to take home.

I have since checked three grocery stores (Publix, Aldi, and WalMart).  No candied fruit.  Possibly I was the last person to make fruitcake with it.  Maybe it just got too expensive to stock - people wouldn't buy it. So I would have to mail order it.  

I decided that this was the world telling me that I don't have to make it this year.  I don't have to stand there, alone in the kitchen, no one stealing the batter or licking the beaters and bowl other than myself, thinking of my parents and father-in-law and Bob.  I don't have to beat myself up.

I let Mike and Margo know not to expect a package with the white fruitcake (they did get two dark ones).  They were understanding.

Thus the era - 58 years - quietly ends.

Or maybe not.  I am not making a vow never to bake it again.  I'm simply giving myself a break this year.  I was also caught off-guard by not being able to go to the store for supplies.  If I find that I miss it, I can remember to order the fruit next November.  But for this year - it feels OK to be taking a break.

Besides - the dark fruitcake is pretty darned good.  

Return to Harry Potter World

 Mike and I have had our trip, and nothing went wrong.  Oh, a couple of oddments - shortly after we got to Orlando I got a text from Suzie letting me know that they had to put Shirley down - Shirley being a sheep at the museum.  Normally sheep live 12-14 years and Shirley was over 20; we've been catering to her (special treats and feed) for several years, and it will be strange not to hover over her.  And when the trip was over we had to deal with a dead fox in the driveway when we got home.  Other than that . . .

I was rather panicked at the idea of driving on the high-speed, high traffic interstate.  But before I had even voiced my misgivings Mike had offered to drive (city boy, more used to traffic).  We compromised:  I drove the first half (pre-interstate) and he the second, with the reverse coming home.

Then, as the saying goes, A Good Time Was Had By All.  My FIT app on the phone showed that we walked 11 miles in the 2 1/2 days we were there.  Mike, being thoroughly prepared, had three typed pages of "Easter Eggs" - little things to see and do.  And we found them all.

The joy of just taking it all in.  For example - just past Diagon Alley, there is 12 Grimmauld Place, the home of Sirius Black.  It was described in the book as being fairly decrepit, never maintained (and usually hidden by magic but revealed here).  Most people take a glance, get their picture taken, and move on.  Mike and I sat on a bench across the street and studied it.  Not only was the facade darker and dirtier, but we also noticed that the railings and gratings which were black and polished in the other homes were rusted in this one.  The windows and curtains were dirty,  Eventually we noticed that the brickwork over the windows was failing.  The people who created this paid so much attention to detail.

 And if you look long enough, Kreacher the house elf parts the window curtains to look out.   https://www.youtube.com/shorts/ksAv_JA0uWo

The obligatory selfie:

We studied the windows of every shop there, with their marvelous still lifes (lives?).  This is for the textbook shop - all the stuff you need for bookbinding.

There was a (fake) shop selling jellied eels and pies.  Mike was amused by this pie with the fish heads poking out.

I, having a fairly esoteric knowledge of strange foods, let him know that this wasn't a Harry Potter World make-believe dish, but a traditional Cornish one known as "stargazy pie."  Weird.

In Madam Malkin's Magical Robe Shop we skipped looking at the polyester robes available for tourists, and instead I concentrated on a display of actual costumes used in the movies.  I was amazed that for all the roles that Maggie Smith plays with domineering personas, she is apparently a fairly petite woman.  I especially enjoyed the over-the-top and beautifully tailed costume for Gilderoy Lockhart.

See how the left side of the cape is casually thrown over the shoulder?  There's nothing casual about it - it's carefully pleated and sewn down.

We had lunch at the Leaky Cauldron (also at the Three Broomsticks the next day)

Here is a mermaid statue, one of the very many places where people can use one of the magical wands (in this case, if the wand is waved correctly, the fountain shoots a jet of water)

The wands seem to be a major bestseller there.  Every family we saw had at least one wand.  They have an IR reflector, and almost every window has something that will be animated at the proper flick of the wand (my favorite one was where an entire shop window of a lighting store lights up with dozens of lamps and chandeliers, especially pretty at night).   But at $75 a wand, which wouldn't do anything special after you bring it home, we contented ourselves with just watching other people perform magic.

I think my favorite thing was our second trip through the Hogwarts castle.  On our first evening there, we had gone through and taken the ride, but noticed that there was a *lot* of stuff to look at while waiting in the line.  Unfortunately, the line was moving very quickly that night, and there was a person in a wheelchair behind us; there wouldn't have been enough space to let her go past, so we had to keep up the pace.  But the next day we went back; we could have been to the ride in about 10 minutes, but instead we took more like 45, just letting people go past us.

Early December is the off season; there was a small fraction of the people that there is during the busy time, when the wait time can be over two hours.  To keep people amused, the walls of the line are filled with shelves of magical equipment.  There are some areas where, when busy, the stanchions zigzag, and a hologram of Dumbledore comes out to talk.  We stopped to look and listen.  The best part was a side room of a classroom - not being busy, the line bypassed it - but we went in anyway.  Again, the walls were lined with magical equipment, and there was a hologram skit with Ron, Harry, and Hermione.  At one point there was hologram snow falling from the ceiling.  And, as Mike pointed out, we had the place all to ourselves.  Of course, I liked the dragon skeleton hanging from the ceiling.

Best of all, for me, was the conversation.  Mike is interested in anything and everything, and we pretty much talked from Monday afternoon when he got off the plane until Saturday morning when he got back on.  Having someone to share meals, talk over dinner, chat while having a glass of wine in the evening.  I was like a starving person being presented with a never-ending all-you-can-eat buffet.

I wasn't ready for him to leave.  And, in a way, he wanted to spend more time with me.  But, alas, he has a life, and a wife, and his cat Moonie who needed her servant back.

Back home, after I took him to the airport, it was  (as they said in old Western movies) quiet.  Too quiet.  Echoing.  Deafening silence.

But it's home, and the cats are happy to see me, and I'll be going back to the museum.  And probably go to visit them some time next year.

Anxiety Attacks; Reading

 The last few days I've been feeling really stressed and anxious.  I haven't been sleeping well.  This afternoon I was ugly crying on the couch.  I've been hanging onto the cats.

This is where the blog comes in handy.  I can look back and see where I had panic attacks before going to see Mike and Margo in Boston, before I went with Kim and Diane to Harry Potter World, and before I took the Roads Scholar trip.  And now Mike and I are going to Universal Studios.

Like my Boston trip - I want to see Mick so badly that it's almost physically painful.  It's like getting a reprieve from the loneliness for a few days, with someone who has known me my entire life.  I want it so much that it becomes frightening:  What If Something Happens?  Because, as the saying goes, shit happens.  Ebaida's brother knelt to do his evening prayers and never got back up again.  Jim's been riding a motorcycle to work for 30 years, but just got clipped by a car.

It would be so easy to become agoraphobic, to huddle in the safety of my home, and try to keep my animals safe.  Keep an eye on everything.  Lower the risks.

So at least I understand what's going on with me.

Reading:  I thought that I had started keeping a list of my reading - can't find it.  And sort of like the blog is a way of keeping track of my life, I'd also like to track my reading.  Fortunately, I do most of my reading on Kindle these days, so I can see what's on there.  Most days I try to take a coffee or tea break in the afternoon and sit on my back deck to read.  It's peaceful out there in the treetops, and unlike the endless clutter of the rest of my life (I've taken tonnage out of this house in the last three years, and it's still full of stuff) it's pretty minimal:  three chairs, a small table, a little trash can holding peanuts and sunflower seeds for the squirrels, and that's about it (although at the moment there's a butter tub with an armadillo skull soaking in it).  I sip, read, watch the birds and the squirrels.  

My reading for 2023:  

1. Wild Seed, Octavia Butler
2. Spinning Silver, Naomi Novik
3. Hail Mary, Andy Weir
4. Pinocchio
5. Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula LeGuin
6. The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula LeGuinn
7. The Unreal and the Real (short stories) Ursula LeGuinn
8. Uncle Silas, LeFanu
9. The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo
10. Metazoa, Peter Godfrey-Smith
11. The Spinner's Guide to Yarn 
    Design, Judith McKenzie
12. Harry Potter (all 7 books), J.K. Rowling
13. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (3 books), Douglas Adams
14. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
15. Every Tool's a Hammer, Adam Savage
16. Bear and the Nightingale Trilogy (3 books), Katherine Arden
17. Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafon
    
18. Long Fatal Love Chase, Louisa May Alcott
19. Nettle and Bone, Ursula Vernon
20. The Ladies of Grace Adair (short stories), Susanna Clark
21. How to Sell a Haunted House, Grady Hendrix
22. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice
23. Piranesi, Susanna Clark (currently reading)

So that's about 20 books that I remember.  I am on a fantasy kick at the moment - preferably involving folklore.  Good escapism.

Speaking of which, I think it's time to go to bed and read.  Tomorrow I have to finish cleaning the house and possibly go ahead and pack for the trip.  Mike will be coming in Monday (the day after tomorrow) and we'll head to Universal on Tuesday.

Soldiering On

 Grabbing those bootstraps and keepin' on

General mood was not helped by getting a text from Gill yesterday morning that her husband Jim (whom I've known for 30 plus years) was in a motorcycle accident.  He's been riding a bike for as long as I've known him and is a very careful rider.  And thank God he wears all the things:  Boots, gloves, jacket with spine plates, helmet. Fortunately he was going only about 35 when a woman in the next lane changed lanes into his and clipped him with the back of her car.

He was unconscious for a short time but revived in the ambulance.  The CT scan showed no major damage.  He has a huge lump on his head, and left a lot of the skin on his right leg on the pavement, but he'll be all right.  At least physically; psychologically it's gotta hurt - it's the first time he's been hit.

The bike, on the other hand, in a goner.  Good only for parts now.

FaceBook memories from Thanksgiving a scant four years ago.  Seems like a lifetime.

Happy Times.  It's hard to see this and wrap my head around the idea that he had only four months to live.

Ebaida is trying to figure out how to help her brother's wife - sudden death brings on extra expenses.  She tentatively asked if maybe I could do a fundraiser, because the American dollar is very strong against the Egyptian pound (like 30 to 1).  I did - but also warned her that people see so many GoFundMe fundraisers that they simply scroll past them.  We've gotten a few hundred dollars, which will help, but I feel that she's disappointed (and she won't let me personally help her, which is frustrating.  And my modest anonymous contribution didn't fool her.)

My friend Los posted a clip from a Dr. Who video (the Doctor's Wife) in which, for a brief time, the Tardis was able to assume a human existence.  She spoke of a word, a big word, but so sad:  Alive.  "I'm Alive."  The doctor said that alive wasn't sad. She looked at him.   "It's sad when it's over.  We will always be together.  But this - this is when we talked."

I miss talking.

I had a vision of him today.  I was dusting the shelves in the den (preparatory to Mike's visit) and had a sudden vision of making them.  Rather than painting or staining the shelves, we burned them.  I could see him standing between the barn on the cottage, shelf on a sawhorse.  Wearing a white (well, once upon a time it was white) T-shirt and torn jeans, a bandanna headband, using the weed burner to sear the wood.  When it was nicely colored, I would grab and wax it while it was hot.
I visualized it so very clearly.  It's been so many years now since I have worked in tandem with someone, building a project.  I had thought I might get a shadow of that at the woodworking class I took, but alas - no one showed up.  Maybe someday (still missing the Halloween Howl).

I did have one thing happen that could also be considered negative, but it was so very stupid that it lightened the mood.  I was goofing around with the cats - kneeling on the recliner and peeking over the back.  I felt the back start to go down; after all, it's a recliner.  But it wasn't reclining - it tipped over backwards and threw me face first into the wall.

It seemed to happen in slow motion.  I felt myself hit, then start to slide down, my lip pulling up and my teeth starting to scrape the wall.  NOT THE TEETH!  I was able to twist my head to the side.
Lying on the floor, I took inventory.  Teeth still seemed to be intact.  Then it occurred to me to check my neck.  Seems to be still on straight.  Today I'm sore, and look like I've been in a bar fight, but I'm OK.  Have to admit that doing something that stupid lightened the mood.

I'm still continuing my virtual walk of Oaxaca.  I chose a good program - it's enough to motivate me, but not enough to discourage.  To meet the challenge, I only have to put in about a mile and a half of walking (or equivalent).  If it were something like 5 miles, I'd probably soon fall behind and give up.  But 1 1/2 miles is easily done.  So far I'm even ahead of where I should be by almost 4 miles (I've done 13 miles in 5 days).
If I finish this one (should be done my mid January), then my friend Nick and I are thinking of doing a Lord of the Rings one together (they have various ones - if we walk to Mordor that's 283 miles.  Maybe I'll stick to the Shire at 145 miles)

I also signed up to a food app while it was on black Friday sale.  There's a cooking show I follow on YouTube called SortedFood - 5 British guys who like to cook.
I have sort of gotten into a rut in cooking - I have 4-5 things that I eat in rotation.  I usually don't even think about what I'm going to have for dinner until I get hungry (which is about now - 7:15 - so I don't want a lot of cooking time)
I even though about a food delivery, like Hello Fresh.  Rob and Amanda use it - it's convenient, because everything is portioned out and the instructions are there.  But they brought me a box one time when they were going to go on vacation.  The food was OK if pretty mundane, but the environmentalist in me cringed at the packaging - pre-measured means that you end up with piles of little plastic packages that once held a spoonful of sour cream or soup base.  Far too much waste for my taste.

This food app sends you a choice of "packs" - three meals in each.  The idea is that each meal is different, but uses the same ingredients, so that you use all your fresh food by then end of the week. It has a shopping list, and both audio and written instructions.  I figure if I cook even a couple a week it will expand my repertoire.  But not tonight - because I'm hungry and it's going to be my usual pasta-with-vegetables-and-a-cheese sauce.

Tomorrow will be going to work and trying to explain my beat-up face.

Checking My Emotional Pulse

 It was a pleasant Thanksgiving.  I worked at the museum in the morning, and then Rik and Christy had me over for dinner with a couple of other "strays."  They're both great cooks and Rik was amazed at how much I packed away.  I'm glad I went; like skipping the concert,  I almost bailed.  I seem to be in withdrawal mode (rather obvious in the last two posts)

The holiday season is always hard.  I remember my mother's last Thanksgiving, as she pushed her fork around on her plate and then lifted it, still empty, to her mouth.  I ended up feeding her.  It hasn't been helped with having to deal with butchered chickens, and my heart breaking for Ebaida on the loss of her brother.  I very much miss our daily chats and banter, but it will take time for us to giggle together again.

Yesterday, I took an emotional "inventory."

3-4 days worth of dishes piled in the sink and on the counter.  A couple of baskets of laundry that have been sitting in the bedroom for days. The coffee table piled with random detritus, and the couch slipcover mostly on the floor.  Check the fridge - curdled milk and yellow broccoli.  The bathrooms - oh, dear.  I'm feeling chilly a lot of the time, even though it's not cold.

Unexpected triggers.  Yesterday I was running some laundry and washing dishes.  Suddenly the washing machine stopped and the light over the sink went out.  My first thought, of course, was power outage - except that the music was still playing and the overhead lights on.  So maybe a circuit breaker popped - but the light and the washing machine were on separate circuits.  After a few seconds the washing machine came back on, and I realized that it was just a coincidence that it had stopped between cycles just as the light bulb burned out.

And there was no one I could share that little bit of funny weirdness with.

I was watching a Rowan Atkinson comedy.  Atkinson is brilliant, but by no means beefcake.  But in one sketch he was fighting to try to get a shirt on, and the sight of a bare torso made me realize how much I desperately miss the simple pleasure of skin contact.  I felt twisted up inside.

Conclusion:  depression has set in.

Evaluate:  Don't worry about the milk and broccoli - it was the last cup of milk in the carton, and most of the broccoli can be eaten anyway.  That's minor.

Do I get out of bed in the morning?  Yes, and at the normal time.  Are the cats, remaining chicken, goldfish and squirrel being fed?  Yes.  Litterboxes cleaned daily?  Yes.  Am I brushing my teeth and hair and putting on clean underwear?  Yes.  Am I going to work at the museum?  Yes.

Not too bad, then.  Give the demon a cup of tea and some cookies and then buckle down. 

The coping mechanisms: (2024 self- this is for you in case this happens again)

 Break out the antidepressants.  Helps to have a crutch.  Get over that feeling of "where do I even start" on all the mess.  I grab my master list of things that need doing, literally flip a coin to choose something at random, then set a timer for 15 minutes and clean as efficiently as possible.  Amazing how much can get done - and then the rest doesn't seem so overwhelming.

Self-care.  Like still going to the chiropractor.  Dr. Lewis and his assistant are both nice people, so it's a little social outing.  And I'm with people whose goal it is to make me feel good.  Sometimes I take myself out to lunch afterwards.

Move.  It's hard to find motivation to get my backside off the couch.  I have an online friend who has been doing this thing called the Conquest Challenge.  It's a virtual walking tour; I chose the 98 mile/8 week one for Oaxaca, Mexico because I've been there a few times and love it.  Each day you log in your miles (walking or any other exercise) and it shows you where you are on the map.  Every few miles you get some history, pictures, maybe a video.  It's bringing back pleasant memories as I'm recognizing places we've been.

A bit of self-indulgence.  I ordered some supplies for foam crafting, which I haven't done for awhile.  Of course, I don't know when I'll get them, because they were shipped FedEx and I forgot to put in the note to hold it at the office and they don't have enough drivers to deliver packages.  It's been in town and on the truck for two days now, but it can take up to a week.

I also ordered some more luxury fiber for spinning - a blend of camel down and silk in a colorway called Opal.  It will be beautiful both to look at and to feel.

And, of course, the Big One:  Michael will be here a week from Monday for our trip down to Universal.  He's so thorough - he's actually been studying up for the trip (we're focusing on Harry Potter World).  He's been reading about it, watching videos, and even has his list of "Easter Eggs" and things to make sure he doesn't miss.  I realize that I'm feeling like a person who has been undergoing a long slow starvation and sees a feast coming.  6 days of being with someone that I love, someone to share things with, someone to eat with, to laugh with, have a glass of wine together, to wonder at things together and talk about them.

So I'll be all right.

RIP Jake; Ebaida; Shawl

 I lost the Jake battle Monday.  I did his morning rounds, then went to my chiropractor appointment and to the museum for some more meds.  When I came home I mixed up his fluids and got everything ready, and when I picked him up he was gone.

I was hoping that maybe, just once, I could win.

So I buried him and cleaned up all the medical stuff and sat down at the laptop to tell Ebaida because she's been worried about Jake (and me) and I have a message from her of "my brother died and I'm on my way there."   And that's all I know.  I know that her brother and family live a few hours away, but she hadn't said anything about him being sick.  I haven't heard from her for two days now.  I know that she's busy, but she's emotionally delicate and I'm really worried about her.  And there's not a damned thing I can do to help her.  Later, when she's able to talk, but for the moment I'm helpless, and I hate that.

That had repercussions Tuesday at work.  The staff were busy (there was an inspection of some sort).  There were two other volunteers - one is fairly new - learning well but still gets confused - and the other is a bit on the ditzy side.  So when it came to preparing the diets, I got the most complication station - the meats.

Thing is, because of losing Jake after a 5 day battle (and still feeling so frustrated because I'd worked my butt off securing the chicken yard and everyone had been safe for a month, so this attack caught me just when I was starting to relax) and being terribly worried about Ebaida - let's just say I had a hangover.  And I had to be up to my wrists in squishy raw meat and cut up fish.

Tonight I'm doing something that I never do:  throwing away money.  I'm not stingy, but I am pretty darned frugal, and if I buy something, I get my money's worth out of it.  There's a concert tonight - Manheim Steamroller.  I've been a big fan for over 20 years - I own several of their CDs.   I bought my ticket a couple of weeks ago.  And I'm not going.  It's only November, but I'm already tired of driving in the dark.  I don't want to go out, enjoy myself, and then come home to see if I have to deal with anything that went wrong (the last remaining chicken has been moved to the back deck, but raccoons have ripped into there before in years past).

And I don't want to bloody go by myself.  I've been really good about going out this year - four circuses, a comic con, the highland games, the Harry Potter symphony.  I know that someone should not just sit home alone, but "go out and meet people."  I've been going out - the meeting people thing doesn't seem to be working.  Like when I went to go clean and repair the loom for the living history museum in the next town over - none of the weaver's guild I invited to join me did, and the people there said "thank you" and then went away to let me work.  I agreed to demo at the Highland games because there were supposed to be other people doing fiber arts - and they didn't show up and I did it solo.  I took the woodworking class not only to brush up on my tool skills, but to maybe meet other makers.  Except the other people who signed up didn't show up.

So much as I like Steamroller, tonight somehow I didn't feel like being surrounded by a roomful of people, all who seem to be in couples and groups, and then drive home alone in the dark to my lonely house (and possibly have to deal with something gone wrong).  I'd rather just cocoon. 

It will be OK.  Tomorrow I'll go to work in the morning and then Christy and Rik have invited me to Thanksgiving dinner (just a small group, informal on the picnic tables) so I'll get up in a minute to cook sweet potatoes and make a charred Mexican street corn salad).  Adrianne just checked today to see if I'm free for lunch Friday.  So I'm not really huddling alone.

I'll even have a show-and-tell.  I used to knit almost obsessively.  When my parents were doing the in-and-out of the hospital thing I kept the knitting bag hanging on a hook where I could grab it.  I knit while Bob was driving; I knit in the car.  I knit a lot when he was in the hospital, on 3 or 4 projects, but I couldn't focus enough to finish and after I came home I eventually unraveled them. And every time I thought about knitting, I would remember sitting in that hospital room. Finally, last January I cast on some luxury handspun yarn.  Bit by bit over the last year I worked on it (part of the problem was that I have plenty of knitting needles, but should have bought some new ones because they were almost the same color as the yarn and I couldn't bloody see the fine stitches).  But miracles happen.  I did finish it, and now it's facing the torture that all lace must, being washed and then stretched out and pinned to open up the pattern.  Surprisingly, it seems to have turned out well.

Must get to the sweet potatoes.

Update

 Against all odds, Jake is still alive.  That's about all that can be said, but it's something.
And I'm slowly becoming functional again.  I had to do some running around yesterday - to the museum to get more anti inflammatories, some Chlorhexidrine (an antibacterial/antimicrobial spray, and Wringer's lactate.  Then I went to visit Gill, who gave me tea and sympathy (and cookies), and a big hug.  Also her shepherd Trevor, who did his best my snuffling my ear and sticking his nose in my butt.

It's really up to Jake now whether he lives or dies, but I'm doing what I can.  He needs to be bathed daily to keep the wounds clean.  About an hour before that, I give him the meds to at least help with the pain.  Three times a day I get some fluids into him - via a feeding tube.

It's not that difficult with birds.  You wrap the bird in a towel, get someone to hold it steady, and pry the beak open.  The trachea is just at the base of the tongue.  You hold the bird's head in one hand and tilt it up, which helps to close off the trachea.  You then slide the catheter down the esophagus into the crop and administer the fluids.

That's how it works in theory land.  In Real Life - the "someone to hold the bird" seems to be absent.  So instead you put the bird down on the floor, and kneel to tuck it between your knees.  With one hand you hold up the bird's head and stretch out the neck and with the other hand you pry the mouth open and slip the tube down the trachea - by feel, because your eyes are nowhere in line with the bird's head.  With your third hand you press down the syringe.  Repeat three times a day.

My concern here is that it's not enough.  You can only put about 10 cc (1/3 ounce) at a time.  Otherwise it could spill back up out of the crop (because he can't hold his head up yet and aspirate.  I don't want to do more than 3 (maybe 4) feedings a day because I'm shoving a tube down his throat and that has to get irritating after awhile.  The alternative is subcutaneous infusion.  This is easy to do with cats (I've done it quite a bit in the past) because of their loose skin.  Birds - not so much.  Time to study YouTube.

The best place to find loose skin turns out to be on their underside, between the top of the thigh and the keel.  It's not easy to pull up the "tent" of skin (and hard to see because he still has feathers there) but it can be done.  So - have "someone" (meaning your thighs and knees) restrain the bird on its side, pull up the tent of skin with one hand, insert the needle with the other, and with the third hand reach over to open up the valve on the Wringer's lactate.

It can be done - it's just a bit stressful.  Until he's feeling better it's going to be a pattern of 1) tube fluid and meds, let rest for meds to take hold; 2) sub q fluids.  Let rest for awhile.  3) tube fluids and meds, let take hold; 4) bathe and medicate wounds, and finally 5) one last set of fluids and meds and we both get to rest for the night.

Really hoping all this works.

Broken; Raccoon

 I just feel broken today.

Yesterday was a long day.  I worked in the morning, and then went to the dentist because of a persistent toothache over the last several days.  That tooth has a crown; Dr. McSoley popped it off, cleaned things up, and refitted it.  It feels better now, although there's still a bit of a dull ache.  And if that doesn't go away soon, it's time for yet another root canal.

Then I came home, rested a bit, and headed back to the museum for a team appreciation party.  It was just a laid back get-together with pizza for an hour or so.  It wasn't late when I got home - somewhat after 7, but dark and raining.  I went out to put the chickens up.

Raccoon in the scratch yard.  It's been four weeks since my hen Scissors was killed by one.  I have worked long and hard on that yard and I thought I had it secure.  But there were the bloody bodies of my black and white hen Spock - and my beautiful new rooster Jake.

I haven't even written about Jake yet.  Suzie gave him to me a week ago.  Funny story behind him - she was in a shopping center, and outside of the State Farm office there was a really beautiful small statue of a rooster.  She went for a closer look - and he moved.  So she stuck her head in the office to ask why they had a rooster.  Turned out that he and two hens had just shown up a couple of weeks before.  They had been nice enough to put food out.  The hens had succumbed to the danger of living in a parking lot. Suzie asked if they wanted her to take him - and she did.

The problem is that she had some young hens (because she, too, had raccoon problems and recently got new birds).  Jake was paying them too much gentlemanly attention (to put it politely) and she felt sorry for them, and asked if I wanted him.  I did.  My remaining two hens had been acting listless ever since the last raccoon attack, and they were used to having a rooster around.  Besides, Jake was just so damned beautiful.

And now I was standing in the rain, looking at his bloody body.

First I picked up my hen - I've had her for 6 years, and liked her, even though she wasn't laying much any more; she was a nice bird.  Then I started to pick up Jake - and he was still breathing.  With apologies to Spock, I gave her a hasty funeral, because one must tend to the living.  I got him washed off, covered him with bacitracin, and gave him some antibiotics and anti inflammatories.  I put him in a cage on a low heating bad.

Against all odds, he was still breathing this morning.  And this evening.  He's even moving slightly.  But his head is still just hanging loosely, his eyes are closed, and his breathing is rough.

Obviously I didn't sleep much last night.  I worked so hard on that chicken yard; I thought I had it safe again.  I did everything I could think of.  And yet - well, I couldn't stop hearing my father's voice:  "Your best isn't good enough."

I felt almost immobilized this morning. But I did get up, took care of Jake and my remaining hen Rocky (who has returned to the back deck) and the cats.  Got myself dressed and to work.  I had to tell Suzie what had happened to her beautiful bird.  She was very sweet, and even hugged me - which almost broke me.

I'm just feeling very fragile.  There's so much that has gone wrong since the day Bob got diagnosed.  We lost Fiona that day, and then a couple of months later Pookha, and a couple of months after that our friend Anna.  Then I lost him.  The air conditioning died and had to be replaced.  The ceiling leaked and part of it fell in.  The deck had to be torn out and rebuilt.  I lost Wilhelm, then Nazgul, and, a week after that, my friend Ellen.  We had had peacocks for almost 30 years - but bobcats (at best guess) got them.  I lost Apache, Hamish almost died (thank God he survived), and then I lost Tula.  Rob and Jeff and Nancy moved out of town, and Mischa has died.  Five of my six chickens killed.  I was given a beautiful bird - and now he's lying there, bloody, with his feathers ripped out.

That's a lot in just a few years, and I've been dealing with it alone.  Sometimes I am just so completely tired.  I wish I could just lean on someone, feel arms around me. Feel safe, if only for a little while.  I was cleaning the deer habitat this morning, and the tamest one came up to me.  No one was around;  I slid my arm around her and leaned my face on her side, feeling her breathe, feeling her heart beat.  I miss that so much.

But I made it through today, and came home and took care of everybody, then made tea and sat outside in the sun to read.  Even though it wasn't cold, I put on a sweatshirt and put up the hood, just for the need to feel enveloped, cocooned.  

I know a lot of this sadness is simply because I didn't get much sleep last night.  I'll crash soon, and be able to keep moving tomorrow.  

More Work Around the House

 Today's gripe - I cannot get used to this time change!
It was already starting to get dark earlier, because that seems to happen during the fall/winter months.  Then it gets speeded up by an hour - and here I am, at 7:00 p.m., thinking that it's time to go to bed.

Last post I talked about staining the deck.  One thing leads to another; now that the deck looked nice, the mildew-stained front of the house looked less than stellar.  I washed it when I power washed the deck, so it's not dirty, just stained.  So my next trip to the chiropractor was also a trip to Home Depot for paint.

But first . . . (there's always a but first, right?) there was a Side Quest.  Obviously the paint would have to match the rest of the house.  I knew we had a sample sized can of color matched paint.  In The Barn.  I even knew more-or-less where it should be - in a cabinet in the back.  In the process of clearing a path to get there I looked at whatever was in my way - and most of it was moved to the front of the barn to be taken to the dump (I have no need, for example, for large boxes full of old phone coax cable (Bob's father used to work for a phone company).  Then I opened the cabinet, with its decades worth of old paint, stripper, fillers, etc.  And most of that also got dragged to the front.  It was enough to fill up the car for a trip to the dump yesterday.

But miracle of miracles, I did find the paint that I needed, and got it matched, and got the front of the house painted (except for the white trim - that's for another day) and it looks much nicer.  I should have taken a before picture - but it was a little embarrassing to have let it get so grungy.

 

Of course, by contrast now, the porch looks really neglected, in need of a good all-over cleaning and possibly some fresh paint itself.  Sigh.

But yesterday I did drag the power washer over to the cottage and cleaned both decks and stained them today.  And in the process noticed that a couple of boards on the front deck seriously need to be replaced.  Again - it's always something.  For now I'm just going to put my little goat statue on that spot so I won't step on it.  At least for the side deck I got before-and-after pictures.

I'm not 100% happy with the color of the stain.  I didn't like last year's either - it had a sort of pinkish tone.  The one I chose this year (Chestnut brown) was a rich brown on the can - and this sort of milk chocolate color on the decks.  But it will protect the wood, and next year I'll try yet another color.  Eventually I'll get it right.

I think that's enough outside work for now - other than doing some weed whacking.  I have a lot of fallen branches to pick up, and I also want to dismantle and burn the old fence around the butterfly garden.  But we've been oddly dry lately - I don't think it's rained for at least a month.  I could do a fire if I had a big open field, but I'm right at the edge of the woods and I don't want to risk starting a forest fire, so that job can wait.

Besides, Mike's coming in three weeks for our Universal adventure, so it might behoove me to clean the *inside* of the house.

But for now - think I've earned some couch-sitting time.

Deck Done

 Well,  that was relatively painless.

I remember the trials and tribulations of the last time I stained the deck, about a year and a half ago.  (full story here: https://returntotheswamp.blogspot.com/2022/06/deck-finished.html )

Back then, at first I couldn't get the lid off the stain, I tried using the spray gun that was in the barn but it sputtered and dripped, so I finally gave up and did the whole thing with a brush (hence, a lot of bending).  According to the can, a gallon should have been enough.  According to the wood on my deck soaking it up - it wasn't.  Then Lowe's didn't have anymore of that color, which was discontinued, so I had to buy a different color and do the entire deck again.  I did it in one day - which was hot and buggy, so I was tired and sweaty and sore and bug chewed.

Hence - I was not looking forward to doing it again.  But this year?  First - I bought enough stain (duh!) The lids are different now, and possible to easily open.  I broke the job down into two parts - yesterday I painted the front steps and the railings, which was the fussy part.  Today I used a paint pad on a long handle, and did the rest of the deck in a little over an hour.

But, of course, things get added onto the things-to-do list.  I have most of a gallon of stain left over - and the two small decks at the cottage really could use it.  I'd have to pressure wash them first, then stain.  Also, even though I pressure washed the front of the house when I cleaned the deck, it's still mildew stained and I really should repaint it.

I've lost my procrastination excuse - that the hardware store is out of the way, and I'll get whatever I need if I'm ever near it.  But I've started going to a new chiropractor recently - and his office practically shares a parking lot with Home Depot.  There goes that excuse.

So as soon as the deck dries (because I can't go outside until it does - lack of back door on this house) I'll go to the barn and really hope I can find that paint sample with the color formula on it.  Which means that I'll probably end up cleaning up the paint supply area of the barn.  It's loaded with bent rusty roller holders and brushes stiff with dried paint.  And a lot of cans of likely dried paint.  Sigh.

And just to be able to put in a picture (and because I'm fascinated with it) here's my latest X-ray.  I've started seeing a new chiropractor lately, having not taken care of my back for the last few years.  I had been going to a chiropractor that was on the way to see my father - but after Dad died, it was, obviously, no longer on the way.
But I would go get cracked whenever we were running errands in town.

And there's the thing.  It would be a "we" thing.  We'd run errands, then he'd wait for me to get adjusted (which doesn't take long) and maybe go to Zaxby's next  door for a milkshake afterwards.  The one time I went after I lost Bob, I came out, somehow still expecting to see him waiting for me, and it was just too hard to handle.  Sometimes it's just easier to go somewhere else.

So here I am - not quite Richard III, but pretty funky.

Now It Be November

 I always felt that it was appropriate for Halloween to be the end of the year.  Maybe it's the ancestral memory of the harvest coming in, and winter on the way.

A couple of pictures to start.  I wrote of the eagle who hit me.  We're at the stage of gauging her before we go in to clean.  If she's up in her tree - even if she's screaming - it's OK to go in, just keep an eye on her.  If she's at the gate, attacking you through it - obviously discretion is the better part of valor, and cleaning will have to wait until later.

And a picture of Mabel the barred owl, just because it was a chilly morning and she was looking round and puffy and adorable.

Halloween happened, as it often does this time of year.  I had a bit of an odd family visit.  Amanda is really into Halloween, and I thought they might like to come up for the Terror of Tallahassee, a quite good haunted house.  They decided to bring up their camper for the weekend; Don and Della thought they would come too (they also have an RV)

I haven't seen Robert, Amanda, and Zeke for almost a year.  Amanda's work schedule is all over the place, and Zeke, now 10 years old, has all manners of extracurricular activities.  I haven't seen Della and Don for even longer.  When they used to come visit on a more regular basis, we'd go out and do something - maybe go to my museum, or the ComicCon, or the saltwater fish store.  So I had some suggestions as to stuff we might do on Saturday before going to dinner and the Terror.  I had also asked Don if he would like to come look through the barn to see if there were any tools or supplies he might like to have before I start cleaning stuff out.

The odd part started Friday night.  I got a call from Robert around 6, saying they were in and set up and Don was firing up the grill for hamburgers.  "Do you want to bother to come visit tonight, or just wait until tomorrow?"   I can see making that offer if to get there was my usual drive-across-town, but the RV campground is less than 10 minutes from my house.  I opted to go join them.

We had our hamburgers.  The campgrounds are on a lake; Zeke and I went out to try skipping stones (in which we failed - the only pebbles we could find were round rather than flat).  We came back to sit around the fire pit, and then socialized the way people do in the 21st century:  everyone pulled out their phones and started scrolling.  Eventually I wandered back home.

Don and Robert came to the house the next day.  Della and Zeke opted to stay at the campground, and Amanda decided to go back to sleep (she had been sick lately).  The guys looked around, decided there was nothing they needed, and then headed back with a "we're just going to hang around the campground today - see you this evening."  All right, then.

So I went back in the late afternoon, we went out to dinner and the Terror, came back to skip a few more stones, makes some s'mores, and take a flashlight to the lake to look at alligator eyes shining.  The lake was beautiful in the full moon.

And then I came home.  They left the next morning.  It was just sort of a strange non-visit visit.

My other Halloween thing was an event at the Goodwood Plantation.  They had advertised that they were doing a free event on Sunday afternoon - and did any organizations, vendors, or artists want to come participate.  I offered to come walk around with my dragon.  I'm glad I did, because they had a large turnout of people, but not of the wished-for organizations or artists, so the lines for the few things were fairly long.  But my dragon kept them entertained.  Of course, it had to be one of the hot October days so it was pretty uncomfortable, but otherwise fun.  I don't get too many chances to take the dragon out.

Since then, the weather can't decide what it's doing.  We might have a high of 62 one day, and 86 the next.  But it's dry, so it's comfortable, and I'm suddenly filled with the urge to be working outside.  I've taken a load of stuff out of the barn; I've worked some more on the chicken coop; I've mowed, and hacked away at underbrush.  I'm sort of all over the place.  This afternoon I decided that it was finally time to re-stain my deck.

The deck is one of those things, where you do something on the things-to-do list and all it does is add something else.  The deck was starting to get a little slippery again, so on the list was "power wash deck."  Which I did.  And it ended up looking like this.

Hard to tell in the picture - but that's a lot of bare wood.  So "put more Thompson's water seal down" went on the list.  I remembered from last time that painting the railing and steps took as long or longer than the deck itself, so that's what I did today and I'll do the deck itself tomorrow. Of course, that means painting myself into the house and then having to stay in for a few hours until it dries.  That's part of the weirdness of having only one entrance to the house.

It's good to keep busy, and tire myself out.  I love the cooler and drier weather, where I feel I can work without collapsing, but the downside is that on the chillier evenings it's very hard to go to bed.  I can't help but remember, as I crawl into the chilly sheets, what it was like to have the warmth and solidity of Bob to snuggle up to.  So best if I'm worn out and just need to crash.