Brunch, Upcoming Trip, Flashbacks

 Went out for brunch with Adrianne yesterday.  Always enjoyable - she's a lively conversationalist and I miss that.  Also, we tend to confuse people because after we eat, we both grab our little mini battery operated spinning wheels and sit and sip coffee and spin and chat and it is delightful.  Although we do sometimes get the attention of passers by (we always eat at outdoor tables).  People always think that spinning is a dying art - and there we are with our little high-tech modern wheels.

Trying to enjoy this while we can - spring has sprung here in the south, which means it's up in the 80s (while my friends and family up north are shovelling snow), but still dry and the azaleas are blooming.  Far too soon it will be 90s, humid, buggy, and rainy.  Gather ye rosebuds . . .

And hard to believe that my trip "sometime in March" is now suddenly "next week."  This is the Road Scholar trip to Fernandino Beach and St. Augustine that I'm taking with my cousin Marty.  I'm having my usual second thoughts as I do about any trip.  I want to go - but I hate leaving.  I have become so much of a homebody, and I'm paranoid about what will happen to the cats and my other animals if something happens to me.  But on the other hand, I can't huddle at home forever, can I? (To which an inner voice whispers "why not??")  But I know I'll enjoy it, and having time to hang out with Marty, and it's only for a few days.  At least I'm not having a full-blown panic attack like I did before my trip to Boston.

And like my lunch with Adrianne - it will be a good distraction, which I really need.  I'm in the final stretch of my anniversary of losing Bob.  I try not to brood - but it's hard not to remember.  It was on the 27th that he was readmitted into the hospital (we had been living in a hotel, which was a terror on it's own, trying to take care of him by myself).  It was supposed to be on the 28th but they decided that it wasn't safe for him - he needed to be back on monitors.

I wrote about it last year.  https://returntotheswamp.blogspot.com/2022/02/please-just-one-more-night.html   Just trying not to cry, begging for one more night together.   He started a fresh round of chemo on the 28th and things just went downhill fast from there.

There's a song that pops up on my Google Play from time to time: The Green Fields of France.  It's from the perspective of a man taking a rest in a graveyard from World War I, and wondering about the young man whose name is on the gravestone.  It has the lines:
I hope you died well, and I hope you died clean.

Or young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

And that describes Bob's last month.  It was slow and obscene.  That gentle man deserved better.

So now I will do my best to stay busy, stay distracted, actually try to enjoy myself (which I will).  But this will be playing in the background.

Gonna be a long month.

Let There Be Light!

 A few days ago I wrote that I was struggling.  Honestly, I was feeling a bit defeated.  This time of year, hitting all the anniversaries of losing Bob, is hard.  I feel bad about Don and Della having to sell the Mexico Beach house.  My replacing the dead outlet in the cottage didn't solve the problem.  And the overhead light in the bathroom burned out (not the light, the fixture itself)

I had gotten out the little stepladder and pulled the cover off of that light - I figured that I could just remove and replace the light sockets.  Nope - they're built into the fixture, so a new fixture would have to be wired in.  And at the time, I just wasn't up to it.  I figured when I got an electrician in to repair the outlet I would have him put up the light.  And that was going to have to wait, because Duke Energy is putting in new power poles and at the moment happen to be working literally in my driveway, so getting in and out of here is problematical (side note: they're actually being very nice about moving equipment when I have to use the driveway).

But that was Saturday.  Tuesday I went to see Gill to deliver some eggs - and have some scones (she now has a baking business).  Then I went to Lowe's and bought the new light fixture - just a basic one.

And what the heck - I dragged the taller step ladder in from the barn, looked at instructions, watched a YouTube video, and thought "just how hard can this be?"
In concept, not hard.  In reality, a royal pain in the butt.  You're up on a ladder, working in a confined area without much visibility, uncapping and untwisting wires, taking the old fixture down, holding the new fixture up with one hand while trying to reach in and twist and cap wires with the other.

I've watch Bob do this before.  The difference is that he knew the magical incantations, such as "I need a pair of needle nose pliers" and a pair would come floating out of the toolbox and into his hand.  Or "I need this held in place" and lo and behold, he could use both hands to do the wiring.

I am not good at these incantations, and they soon turned into swearing.  Especially at the end, when you have to press the fixture with quite a bit of force to compress the insulation while trying to get the two screws which you cannot see because you're holding the fixture against them and they're getting buried in said insulation.  My neck and shoulders were seizing up and the language was deteriorating.

Finally the screws came through.  I put in the bulbs, put on the glass covering. and with fear and trepidation in my heart I flipped the circuit breaker back on.

Nothing exploded.

I flipped the light switch.  

Light came on.

Sometimes people wonder why I do these things myself.  There are people to do this.  But getting it done, then writing a check and handing it over, would not have given me that moment of flipping the switch and then dancing around the room, arm pumping, and yelling "BOOYAH!!!  IN YOUR FACE!!"

So freakin' satisfying.

The House at Mexico Beach

 Last month I was writing about "trusting" the Museum - in a world of people dying or moving, and familiar places changing or closing, it's been a constant.

I was having a chat about immortality with a friend the other day.  I've read two books in a row that had immortal characters (Anne Rice's "Interview with the Vampire" and Octavia Butler's "Wild Seed") that both showed that while it might seem glamorous to be immortal, after awhile you are likely to go crazy as no one and nothing is familiar any more.

I'm losing a touchstone I've had for 50 years.  And it comes with a lot of issues that I need to unload (my reason for keeping this blog.  Somehow writing like I'm explaining things to someone else is my therapy)

In 1970, Bob's parents brought property in the little town of Mexico Beach (called "The Mayberry of the South.")  They purchased a little repossessed Jim Walters house and put it on there.  Even before we were married, Bob and I would go there frequently on weekends to help renovate and paint the little house.  It was a getaway beach house for awhile but his parents planned to move there when he retired, so Keith (his father) rather incongruously built a two-story extension onto it.  The idea is that this new part would be where they lived, and the house below could be for visiting family.  It was a little strange, as the two houses never looked like they belonged together.

It was a work in progress when Bob got out of the military in 1980, both physically and emotionally damaged.  We lived in it for a year (more like camping out) while we worked on it, with the parents coming down for a couple of weekends a month so Keith could plan the next step.  I have to say it was a rather idyllic year.  Bob got a part time job running air sampling stations, I picked up bits of work here and there, we spent a lot of time on the beach.  Bob would help out on the fishing boats babysitting tourists and bring home fish.  We had a little garden.

Alas, eventually Bob's parents thought that their son should get a real job, so we moved to Tallahassee.  But that didn't stop us from working on the house.  Over time I started to resent it (I think Bob did too, but I'm more outspoken) because Keith wanted Bob to frequently come down to help work on it.  And that became a permanent thing; only two blocks from the beach, the salt air corrodes everything and the house needed constant maintenance.  And Keith like to keep building, so an upstairs extension was added, and a couple of decks, and then the stairs or the porch needed to be repaired, and Bob was expected to help.  We'd get that call of "Hey, Bob" and know that once again we would be expected to cancel any plans we might have had for the weekend and head down to work.  People often thought that it must be great having parents with a beach house - to which we replied that we rarely got to go to the beach.  We worked until it was time to drive home (at least we refused to spend the night so we could work two days - thank you, cats.)

Keith's dream for the house was to be his legacy - it would go to kids, grandkids, beyond.  And, even more important to him, he wanted to know that Della (Bob's sister) would be taken care of.  Not going into family issues here; let's just say that there are issues.

Della had been living with her parents for several years (she worked at the nearby air base) so when their parents died, she got the house.  And so that she could afford it, she got everything else.  Bob, for all his thousands of hours of work on that place, got nothing.  So maybe a little resentment there?  But at least we were free of it.  She and her boyfriend (now husband) could take care of it.

Some people just have money management issues, so a lot of that inheritance was gone within 10 years of Keith's passing.  Then came October 2018 and Cat 5 Hurricane Michael.  The house itself stood (unlike about 90% of the houses in the area) but was horrifically damaged and had to be completely gutted (and had lost the decks).

The house is two blocks away from the Gulf of Mexico.  Della did not have hurricane insurance.   A church charity organization came into town and gutted the place for them.  They got an emergency loan (basically a mortgage) to be able to have walls and electricity and plumbing installed (while they lived in an RV).  Della's husband Don has otherwise done all of the rebuilding.  After 9 months they could move back in (so late 2019) but the repair process has been constant since then (the little house downstairs doesn't have walls yet, and the windows are rotting out).

Basically, all of Don's time and most of their money goes into that house now.  In order to get the mortgage, they had to get full insurance coverage, and that close to the beach it's really expensive.  So the money has been going out faster than it comes in.  The house is a money pit and Don is getting tired.

And this is where I come in.  Last week I get a tearful hysterical call from Della, which I now think of as the Obi-Wan call:  "Help me, you're my final hope."  They simply can't afford to live there anymore, unless . . . .

I pay off the mortgage ($100,000) (the term "borrow" was used, but I'm cynical enough to know that I'll never see it again).  Then they can cancel the expensive insurance, and could afford to keep living there.
Read that again - because not having insurance is what got them in this situation in the first place.  Their logic is that the big storm already happened, so they don't need it now (please note again that this is on the Gulf of Mexico)

It's ludicrous request.  I said no.  The house is now on the market.  And I'm still furious, because the reason that it has to be sold, that Keith's legacy and wishes will be gone, that Bob's thousands of hours of work were for naught, has been placed on my shoulders because I'm not willing to save it.  To put it bluntly, that's a chickenshit thing to do.

And my heart aches for Amanda.  She loves that place. She lived with her grandparents when she went to high school, and it's been their home of records during all their time in the military.  Dane learned to fish with his great-grandfather.  It's the place she regards as home.  Fortunately she understands and does not blame me; she also realizes that even if I agreed to this plan, it would be a temporary fix at best and they would likely need to be bailed out again in the future.

Is it possible to be "frenemies" with a place?  I never really liked it much.  After Keith died, Bob and I pretty much stopped going there except for the occasional holiday.  I've been there twice since Bob died (it's a long drive through a lot of forested backwoods to get there).  And it's now an overdeveloped tourist area since the hurricane destroyed the little town charm.

But still - I've had a link to that place for 50 years.  So much work.  And Bob's reef is out in the Gulf.  Whoever buys it will have to flip it, and it will be unrecognizable.  

Another part of my past, of me, gone.  

 

Struggling

 This is just a note to February 2024 Self.  I'm struggling.  It's all right if you're still struggling.

The Highland Games were a good distraction - I had a lot to do (all that weaving) to get ready for them, and then the event itself.  The problem is that when I get engaged with something, and then it's over, there's the after-event letdown.

I got frustrated today.  A couple of weeks ago, I did a dumb.  It was when I was in Chez Wicca painting my crow lamp.  It was quite cold that day and I had a space heater on.  I wanted to quickly dry the paint, so I used a hairdryer - plugged into the same outlet as the heater.  The circuit breaker blew.  When I unplugged the hair dryer and flipped the breaker - still no power from the outlet.

In my former life, I would have admitted my dumb to Bob, and he would have fixed it.  (This is my thought every time I hear that I Still Have Bob In My Heart.  Yes, I do, but he doesn't fix things anymore).  So today I hunkered down, took out the old outlet, and installed the new one.  Feeling like Ms. Competent.  Except that it still didn't work.  Bugger.   A friend has given me some tips that I'll try tomorrow; failing that, I'll have to get an electrician in.

So I didn't even tackle the second project.  The overhead light in the front bathroom has eaten a couple of lightbulbs recently.  Saturday morning when I was getting up early for the games I flipped the switch and the whole fixture blew.  That was going to be my second project for today but I never deal with electricity when I'm frustrated.  I'll see tomorrow if I can get that removed so I can go to Lowe's to get a replacement.

This sort of thing didn't used to be my job.  The repairs just sort of happened.

And much as I try not to wallow - it's hard not to think of what was going on this time of year, three years ago now.  Feb. 17 was when Bob had the biopsy that showed that his bone marrow transplant had failed completely.  Things went steadily downhill from there.  I think it will forever break my heart that he had to go through all that.

So I'm going to fix dinner, have a glass of wine, and tomorrow I'll pull myself up and try again.  Struggle through.

Highlands Games

 I've mentioned prepping for the Highland Games - they were held this past weekend (Feb 11-12) and I was demonstrating handspinning.

Going to get the negatives out of the way first.  I was contacted by the volunteer coordinator several months ago (I think October) to see if I would be willing to demonstrate at the games.  She painted a picture of a Fiber Arts Booth - with demonstrations of spinning, weaving, knitting, maybe embroidery or quilting.  The idea is that we would be able to spell each other off so that each of us would have a chance to watch some of the games (mostly feats of strength, like the lifting of heavy stones and the caber toss) and otherwise have an enjoyable time.  It sounded like fun.

Then I got a call about 10 days before the event from the new volunteer coordinator - it appear that the woman who contacted me hadn't actually done much else.  She was removed from being the allover coordinator to just being in charge of the fiber arts booth - which turned out was going to be her, her daughter, and me.  And then she got miffed and bowed out completely.  Which left just me.  Therefore no wandering off to watch any games (I don't like to leave my displays and especially my spinning wheel unattended.)

The other negative wasn't anyone's fault.  The week before the Games was lovely - clear, perhaps a touch too warm.  The Friday of setting up turned rainy.  The first day of the Games it rained steadily except when it rained hard.  Everything turned into a morass.  The hill our booths were on became a stream.  This was in the VIP tent.

Eventually it all had to be called for the day.  The weather maps were showing lightning strikes only a few miles away, and we were standing in water - bad combination.

The rain finally stopped early Sunday morning - but everything was still muddy and wet.  And a strong wind picked up and blew all day (hard enough that it rolled and destroyed a couple of the tents).  And barely made it to 50 degrees.  Cold, windy, and wet.  I froze (I wasn't alone).  I couldn't even demonstrate my handspindles because my hands were too numb.  Fortunately, I had brought a couple of my capes for display so wore one instead.

In spite of freezing me arse off, I had a good time.  There was a surprisingly good turnout, and I always forget how many people have never seen a spinning wheel in action.  A Girl Scouts leader wants me to work with her troupe to get a textile studies merit badge.  A home farm/petting zoo would like me to come to one of their events.  And I had a good turnout for audience participation for the wool waulking.

"Waulkin" was the traditional way of finished wool cloth after it comes off the loom to lock all the threads together and make the fabric thicker and softer.  These days I pop it in a washing machine for a few minutes, but Back In The Day it was done by gathering people around to pick the cloth up and slam it back down again, singing to keep everyone in rhythm.  By then I had been very cold for several hours, and having to talk to people above the noise of the wind, so I was hoarse and I never have much of a singing voice anyway (the leader sings verses and everyone else the refrains).  But no one seemed to mind, and they all had a good time (possibly because the songs were traditionally a little off-color).

There were nice things.  The owner of the petting zoo brought me a cup of hot cocoa.  There was a jeweler two booths down and I got a very pretty pin (for hair or shawl) of Yggdrasil (the life tree of Norse legend)

I gave up an old grudge.  Back story - years ago (decade plus) a woman (Natasha) came to work at the museum (this when when I was working in the education department).  We became friends (I even sewed her wedding dress).  But eventually she was made Director of Education and as sometimes happens her attitude changed.  Long story short - eventually she treated me with such a level of disrespect that I submitted my resignation (and promptly started volunteering in the animal department, which she tried to block).  From then on, I mostly managed to avoid seeing her, and if I did, I was . . . polite.  She eventually left the museum in 2021.

So I'm at my table on Sunday, chatting with people - and there she is, surprised to see me.  And looking a little awkward - like a puppy who doesn't know if it's going to get kicked or have it's ears scratched.  And suddenly I didn't care about the old argument - it's been over 5 years and I just don't need to carry negative luggage any more.  So we talked and hugged (and I thought it was rather sweet that I recognized the cute mitts she was wearing as the ones I made her years ago).

Sunday morning as I was driving in, I heard a slight "clunk" from the passenger seat where I had put my ruana (I was planning on wearing it when I got there).  After I parked and was putting it on - the copper brooch I use to close it was missing.  The clunk sound was likely it falling off.  I did a quick search for it, couldn't find it, figured that it had likely slipped under the seat and I would look for it when I got home.  But while I was setting up my display a man in full impressive kilt regalia came walking up the hill to me (it's a pretty good hike from the parking lot).  My brooch had apparently fallen out of the car when I opened the door - he spotted it and asked the parking attendant if he had noticed where I had gone and walked up all that way to return it to me.

The other nice thing was from a young man who spent quite some time at my booth, both interested in how my wheel worked and wanting to talk about old life skills in general (he also joined in the waulking - the guy in the plaid shirt next to me).  He had gone off to look at other things, but returned to give me a big bag of fresh popped kettle corn, just to thank me for taking the time to talk with him.

So yes - I got soaked one day and frozen the next, but I'm glad that I went.  It was a good weekend.

 

Valentine's Day

 I need to write about the Highland Games - but I was still tired yesterday (and went to work anyway) and today, well, I had to deal with it being Valentine's day.

Fortunately, we never did make a big fuss over the day.  I always thought it was over-commercialized (and it is now a billion-dollar industry just in candy and flowers).  I thought it was a holiday that made you feel obligated if you were with someone (and it seems that it is a day that many couples choose to call it quits), feel bad if you didn't have a relationship, and really awkward if you had just started dating someone.  A day to give (or get) low quality chocolate in a heart-shaped box.

But we did quietly celebrate it.  We never went out (not a big fan of overcrowded restaurants with overworked staff) but I would make a nice dinner and he would get me some good-quality chocolate.  And we would wish each other a happy Valentine's Day.  Low-key, but sincere.

Today I got up early because I had an appointment to get my teeth cleaned.  When I was driving into town, "our" song came on.  Not your typical bonding song - this one is "I Need A Lover Who Won't Drive Me Crazy."  And whenever it played we would point and poke at each other.

After my cleaning I treated myself to a latte and a bit of reading at a coffee shop.  Quiet and enjoyable, but I can't help remembering what it was like having him sit across from me.  I always liked watching him read, especially at home when he would let his hair loose from his usual ponytail and look like a druid.  When we read at coffee shops, sometimes he would look up at me and smile, or one of us would reach out to touch the other's hand.  We always enjoyed just being together.

Otherwise, I just did some catching up.  Putting away my display materials, doing laundry, cleaning the chicken coop.  In a little while I'll go make my Valentine's dinner (seared duck breast in a spiced wine sauce, smashed potatoes, and shredded Brussels sprouts sauteed in the duck fat), give the cats some extra treats, maybe watch a little TV.  But it seems a little lonely around here today.  

You Never Know

 When it's going to hit you.
After work today, one of the interns asked if I could give her a ride to campus (it's only a couple of miles from the Museum.

No problem.  Until we were driving around on campus.  On one hand, so familiar. After all, I've been associated with FSU since 1971 (minus a few years when Bob was in the military).  But so strange - lots of new buildings.  I've only been on campus a couple of times since I retired in December 2014 - 8 years already.

But all the memories came flooding back.  Meeting Bob, being together as undergraduates.  We both worked there for 30 years, and usually ate lunch together.  I could picture us walking down the sidewalks.  She had to go to the Carrothers building, where he used to work.

I was able to keep it together until I dropped her off.  Then I cried most of the way home.  I miss him.

Random Catching Up

 Trying to maintain my goal for 2023 of simply keeping track of my life.  My nephew calls me once or twice a week, and my usual answer to his question of "what are you up to" is usually "not much."

"Not much" is not a great way to be living your life.  But that's my usual answer because it doesn't seem like I'm doing that much.  Or what I am doing is so esoteric that it would be hard to explain anyway.  So what have I been up to?

Reading, of course.  My online book group chose "Interview with the Vampire" so I've read (reread, actually, but it's been a few decades since I read it) that.  Now I'm on to Octavia Butler's "Wild Seed" recommended by a couple of people.  So far it's quite captivating.

To orient myself:  We went to Harry Potter World January 17 - 20, then Diane stayed on with me until Wednesday the 25th.  I had the second length of cloth on the loom (to be used in a demo at the Highland Games next weekend) and finished weaving those eight yards off on the 27th.

Dang.  Watching that cloth roll off the loom is sooooo satisfying. (It should be noted that the 27th was Bob's birthday.  The rhythmic tossing of the shuttle, watching the cloth form, and the satisfaction of finishing it helped get me through that day.)

On Saturday I put up my new lamp.  I have never had a lamp on my nightstand because I don't trust the cats not to knock one off.  My reading lamp has been a prosaic LED light clamped onto my headboard.  I had been looking at a lamp online for quite some time.  I probably would have bought it months ago if I could have actually seen it for real - I really hate not being able to look at and handle something before I decide to get it.  But I loved the idea of this lamp, which is a crow holding the cord to the light.  So I went for it.  It arrived the Monday before the HP trip, and I finally put it up today.

I'm really very pleased.  It's resin and pretty substantial, with excellent detailing in the feathers.  But the problem was that being matte black, the details didn't show.  So I spent an hour or so covering it with washes of purple and blue, wiping that down, and finally dry brushing with a metallic gun metal gray.  The change is so subtle that my phone camera couldn't capture the before-and-after difference but the detailing shows up.  And there's the element of whimsy that I love.

Sunday was a challenge.  A half-dozen members of the weaver's guild wanted to try their hands at spinning (there's a very good instructor coming through town in June but it's an advanced course).  Fortunately two of them knew how to spin and were there just for the fun of it, and to help, and a third who had the general idea.  Everyone had a different type of wheel.  Wheels are sort of like cars; the general idea is the same, but things are set up differently so the first thing I had to do was to be sure that all the wheels were set up and tensioned correctly (tricky because I was unfamiliar with some of the makes).  Usually to teach wheel spinning I do one-on-one, so one-on-six was a bit of a challenge but everyone seemed to get the basic idea, so I count that as a win.

I came home, checked on the chickens as usual - and one of my hens was down.  Lying on her side, legs kicked out.  Couldn't stand or walk.  The lying like that is symptomatic of any of a few dozen things that can affect chickens.  There was no sign of injury.  Other than not walking she seemed OK - eyes bright, alert, head held up.  If I held her up she was even interested in eating.  (Side note - most vets do not do birds.  It can take 3 weeks to get an appointment, and by then the bird has either recovered or died.  So no running to the vet).  I did the general thing of isolating her, giving  anti inflammatories, and electrolyes.  The last I did by shoving a tube down her throat into he crop - a fast and efficient way of administrating fluids but it always scares the hell out of me.  I still have no idea of what happened, but she's walking now, if wobbly and having to use her wings for balance.  Another week and hopefully I can put her back with the flock.

Caring for her has been a bit time consuming, especially when she couldn't stand at all so I would kneel and brace her between my knees so she could balance and eat.  But it did give me the opportunity to observe how beautiful her coloring really is.  She's always been "the tan one."  But sitting and holding her, I could see how intricate the shading of her feathers is (hard to get a picture; she wiggles)

 Then I decided that I wanted to make something to wear to the Highland Games.  Not a costume, but something "history bounding" (a term meaning to wear historically inspired clothing).  I had some lovely handkerchief linen, and have been making a 18th century shirt (aka Poet's Shirt, Pirate Shirt, or Fluffy Shirt).  I would have finished it easily in a couple of days except that I decided to do all of the seam finishing, and a lot of the details, by hand sewing.  A lot of it will never show, and I could have finished the seams in about 5 minutes using my serger instead of an hour or two of hand stitching, but taking the time to do this pleases me.  I remember when I first got my serger and my mother's snarky response was "Oh, that's nice.  Now you can makes clothes that look like they came from KMart."   So no KMart short cuts here.  I did machine sew the long seams of the sides and underarms, but everything else will be hand stitched.  Gives me time to listen to TED talks.

I've also been prepping for my demo for the Highland Games which has gone a little pear-shaped (as the Brits say) and needs its own post.  Meanwhile, I have a date with needle and thread.

And that's what I've been doing with my time.  Not much.

HP Unexpected and Obscure Warmth

 One thing at Harry Potter World that caught me off-guard was my reaction to the rides - at the Gringotts Banks and Hogwarts.  Both of these are indoor roller coasters, with projections (3D in Gringrotts), and largely in the dark.

I was not expecting my reaction to be one of deep relaxation.  The moment the safety bars were in place and the ride started, I went to a place of complete comfort.  I could have ridden in those all day.

This is not the usual roller coaster reaction.  So, of course, being me, I had to analyze.  I think that between the safety bars (at Hogwarts you also had one that came down over your shoulders) and the G-forces, there was pressure on my body.  Remember the fad a few years back for weighted blankets?  They felt wonderful, but, alas, they were really hot and almost impossible to wash.  You don't hear much about them any more.  Other things that come to mind is the practice of swaddling babies, or the squeeze box (invented by Temple Grandin) used to calm hypersensitive persons by applying pressure.  Or, if you're lucky, getting a big bear hug from someone you trust.  Calming pressure.

And then there was the obscure warmth.  That's a term I like; I read it somewhere when it was talking about how cats can find obscure warmth.  You want to know where a warm spot is on a cold day?  Watch where your cat is sleeping.  Maybe in a beam of sunlight or near a heat register or where their human has recently been sitting.  And in the rides, from time to time a dragon would roar and shoot flames and you would get a blast of heat (the same when the dragon on top of the Gringott's bank would belch flame.)  A momentary obscure warmth.

The past few years I find myself seeking out obscure warmth.  Like many things, it's a reaction to losing Bob.  He was a human radiator (poor man would find himself trying to sleep in the winter with myself and a load of cats piled up on him.)  I loved that I could feel his warmth just being near him.  When he died and his face had gone cold, for some reason I reached under the blanket for his hand.  I remember giving a soft gasp; his hand was still warm.  I cradled it to my face, knowing that it would be the last time I would feel that big warm hand gentle against my cheek.  Then I tucked it back under the covers, because I wanted to remember that feeling. I didn't want to feel his hand grow cold.

Now I seek out obscure warmth.  Sometimes I sleep on the couch, both for the comfort of feeling pressure my back, and for the transfer of my own body heat to the couch radiating back to me.  When I read in bed at night, I have my "cuddle" pillow on my lap to hold my book; when I lay down to sleep, the pillow has gotten warm and I can snuggle my cheek in it and feel comforted.  I like pushing a cat off my "my" place on the couch and feeling their warmth when I sit down.  Stepping from the shade into the sun.  Feeling the steam from a fresh cup of tea rising around my face as I drink.

Or standing with my arms held out, waiting for the dragon's flare.