Double Whammy

 Of course I miss Bob all the time.  It's been especially hard lately.  I think it's the usual July doldrums, combined with the fact that our 50th wedding anniversary is next month.
We had plans.  A few days before he died, when we had started making our goodbyes, I said to him wisftully "but you were going to take me to Norway for our 50th."  He patted me and said "I know.  I'm sorry."

Part of me thinks I should have scheduled that trip - gone anyway.  But if I'm honest with myself 1) I'm not that good of a traveler, and 2) I'm not ready to leave the cats and go out of the country.  I've taken a couple of trips for a few days this year, but all within a 4-5 hour drive so that I could get home easily if necessary.  The problem is that they are shy - Cam comes and feeds them, but except for friendly little Stumbles (and once, Noko Marie) he doesn't see them.  

Whatever.  For now Norway is out.

I got hit hard twice yesterday.  As I stated above, I think about and miss Bob all the time.  But it's from the present perspective.  But sometimes I have flashbacks - when I feel I'm physically back in a time, when I can see/smell/hear and just be.  And then it's over, and it's like the loss just happened.

The first was when I was writing yesterday's blog about Ella.  I knew I had posted some pictures of her in my old blog, in 2013, when we got her.  And I came across a blog post from August 2013:  ten years ago, our 40th anniversary.  Bob had planned the trip - nice hotel right on the beach in Jacksonville, seafood restaurant (open air, on the beach), spending the day at the Jacksonville zoo (where I insisted on seeing everything else before visiting the stingray/skate area because why did he love those weird fish so much??)

And I could smell the salt water and feel the sand under my feet and his arm around me and the innocence of thinking that we would probably have another 20 anniversaries ahead of us, not knowing it would only be six.

So that knocked me down for awhile.  But it also made me want to work on his room; I hadn't done anything in there for weeks.  It's hard - maybe it would be easier if I had some sort of use for the space, or a vision for it.  But I don't - it's just the endless going through stuff.  I've taken some 40 or 50 tall kitchen bags of stuff out of there (some tossed, some donated) and had friends come get some art supplies and tools - but there is still so much there.  Sometimes I think I should stop going through piece by piece and just close my eyes and start dumping - but then I find treasure.

I was cleaning out a drawer in his desk.  Old small walkie talkies  - into the donor bin.  Some gun cleaning stuff - that will go to Rik.  Old receipts from stores long closed - trash.  Instruction manuals for stuff that is no longer there - trash.  Another pile of folded papers - more instructions, information . . . and poetry.  Poetry he had written.

I wasn't surprised that he wrote poetry - I knew about that; sometimes he shared.  But I didn't know about these.  Talking about Culloden moor (which we visited 40 years ago), how it spoke to his ancestry, his blood and bones.  A long and wistful one about going to a class reunion and seeing the woman he had once wanted to marry (he was living overseas at the time - her mother knew he had planned on going into the military and didn't want her daughter involved with that so whisked her back to the States).  Writing about her eyes - "eyes that once spoke to my heart, and now spoke of church and PTA and a small town of cattle and potatoes"  

He had talked about seeing her at the reunion (even before going - he was nervous.  Starting six months out he lost a lot of weight and I helped him pick out a handsome leather jacket to wear).  That they had gotten along well.  Answered all questions - "why didn't you ever write?"  Turned out that both of them had, and her mother had intercepted the letters, only telling Debbie about it just before she passed away.

And yet

"The small town had wrapped around her spine and soul so tight

That she would not hug me goodbye in that Texas Hotel lobby."

And then came the lines

"A flight away, unafraid arms as warm as sunshine

and lips as full as a life well led awaited me"

(And yes - he was writing about me)

Oddly - that wasn't the one that tore me up.  It was a sweeter, simpler one about a day that we had stopped in a small Mexican grocery store.  It was over 30 years ago, but I suddenly had full memory of it.  He loved going into that little store - the stacks of tortillas, bins of various peppers and dried hibiscus flowers (for making a sweet tea). The smell of spices.  I had already gone around to my side of the truck.  As he was approaching his door, a young Mexican family had just gotten out of their car, looking a little intimidated at this huge man, so close.  He smiled, said hello, got in the truck and we went home.  Just a minor incident, right?

Chipolte

A pretty Friday afternoon in the Greensboro Country Grocery

Amid the stacks of tortillas, masa, and peppers I look for chipolte

But to no avail, but then it's not even spring.

So I buy a cookie all brown and chocolaty and go to leave.

Next to my truck is a small tattered vehicle with a young family alighting from it

Mother, Father, and an exquisite child

Her hair so black ravens drown themselves in envy

Eyes like perfect pearls of the night

Skin the color of dark sweet honey

But she looks at me with apprehension, for she is small like her parents

And I am tall and big and have a fierce face

We are of two worlds, this little girl and I

Her world of musical first language and people who look like her

And I a large bear of the north

I smile and say "hello" but she only buries her head in her father's arm

I smile again and this time I say
"Buenos dias, Nina bonita"

And sunshine erupts across her face

And laughter escapes her lips

Sh waves to me as I pull away in my truck, down State Road 12 to Country Road 65.

And home on a pretty Friday afternoon.

 

Ella!

 I try to leave myself open to moments of happiness when I find them - like my little blue flower, or even the laughable pile of stuff from the poltergeist.

And I got a good one a couple of days ago.

I was at the museum, starting to clean one of the aviaries.  There was a hawk standing in the water dish.  We have two redtails in the aviary - Tony and Riley Hawk (yes, we went there).  But I realized that this one was too big - and suddenly I involuntarily gave a little cry of delight.  "Ella!"  My beautiful Ella.  She let me walk up to her, but I didn't try to touch her.

Ella and I go back 10 years, to the spring of 2013.  We had gotten her from rehabbers, who cared for her after she got hit by a car.  She was too damaged (wing, eye, and nerve damage) to go back to the wild, so we were going to use her for an education bird.  Everyone was rather busy at the time, so I was asked to glove train her.

I had handled owls and a hawk before, but never a wild one.  You just have to take a lot of baby steps, getting her used to you being near her, touching her, getting her to step on a glove.  Very carefully, because redtails have some serious talons.

She could not have come into my life at a better time.  My mother had died the previous December (on my birthday).  I was trying to get her estate and paperwork done (Dad was too grief stricken).  Then Dad fell and broke his ribs, had to move to the nursing home, and I had to clean out their apartment.  And I was still teaching at the time, but the department was starting to have some problems, professors bailing out, and I was assigned classes I had no business teaching - much stress there.

But when you walk into the cage with an untrained wild hawk who could seriously damage you - you go zen.  Check everything at the door.  It's just you and the bird.  That was the one hour or so out of the day that I could turn off my racing brain.  I would teach, then go visit Dad at the nursing home, and then come to the museum (by now after closing hours, so I was alone) and just be with Ella.

Sometimes I'd take her for a walk on the boardwalk by the lake.  That bird saved my sanity.

That August, for our anniversary - I opened the box from Bob, and he had gotten me a beautiful sage green leather falconer's glove of my own.  I cried a bit.

At that time, I was the only one who handled her, so I was the one who was called when a commercial was being made about saving the Everglades, the spokesman being Jim Fowler.  That Jim Fowler.  Of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.  One of my childhood heroes.  I would be glued to the TV while Marlon Perkin stayed safely in the tent and narrated while Jim Fowler wrestled the anaconda or whatever.  Jim wanted to be able to hold a hawk while he talked - so I got to be his hawk wrangler.

But maybe because of her accident, Ella developed a lot of health problems.  Fatty liver syndrome.  She had a prolapse.  And developed bumblefoot in both feet that resisted treatment (even though she was *very* good about having her feet handled).  For the last two years she's been living in quarantine in the kitchen area.

I didn't know she was declared healthy enough to go into the aviary (not back to education - being handled would cause stress and possibly problems again).  But here she was, in this huge beautiful aviary.  And I just didn't bother cleaning for a little while - like in the old days, I just went zen with her.

I always knew that the love and the bond was unidirectional.  I tried to explain that to a woman one time who was enthralled with her (it was an unexpected sighting - we had gone to a bank to accept one of those big donation checks and taken a few animals with us).  But she kept saying "Oh, I can see how much she loves you."  And I tried to explain that no - she tolerated me.  "Oh, but she keeps her head turned to yo all the time."  Again - that's because her near eye is blind and she wants to keep her good eye on me.

I'll likely never handle her again.  But that's OK.  I can see her, and see her finally living her best life.  And it makes me happy.

He's Baaaaaaack!

Well, as often happens this time of year, I have a young opossum. Shelby's dog found him in her yard.  We don't know how he got separated from his mother, but he was dirty, bony, and anemic.  A bath and a week at the all-you-can-eat buffet has solved those problems - he went from under 6 ounces to 9 ounces in only one week!

I sacrificed to get this picture.  He's not one of the friendly ones; he's quite spooky, and as I was taking the picture he jumped away from me and dove under the guest bed.  The guest bed is a trundle bed, one under the other.  In order to pull the lower bed out to try to get under it, I would have had to drag my heavy loom out of the way.  I didn't want to go through that - so I went to the barn and got the small live trap and put his dinner in it.  Unfortunately - he wasn't quite heavy enough to spring it.  The next night I cleaned and greased the trap and tried again - and once again, he got his dinner without springing the trap.  So the next day I dragged the loom out of the way, started to gently slide the lower bed out, and spotted him.  I rather unceremoniously darted my hand in and grabbed his tail and literally hauled his butt out of there.

And I have another guest - after a two-week hiatus, PolterGeist is back!  On the 16th, I had to run down to the cottage for some glue - and there was a huge pile of peacock feathers from the other side of the room piled up behind the workbench!  I put them back.

The next day I went to look - and he had been really busy.

Some feathers, both whisk brooms and a dustpan, and foam flooring scraps from the next room.  But then I got a ruler and started digging stuff out from under the shelf.

That's quite the pile.  There's leftover felt from the griffin, some craft foam.  The artificial leaves have me confused - I don't know where he got those.  There was a hot glue stick and a votive candle.  The ribcage from a small toy skeleton.  A real mouse skeleton that had been on the windowsill across the room (that annoyed me a little - he had ruined the delicate skull). A small piece of wood and chunks of floor mat.

What's odd is that in order to get to the box that held the craft foam (which is stored under my workbench in the back room - and the lid was slightly open) he had to walk within inches of the pillowcase lying open on the floor that held some nice soft wool (I hadn't put it away since finishing the griffin).  

Since then, we've had the heat wave that has been hitting across the country and he's taken it easy - just a few feathers, the whisk brooms, and the rubber floor mat strips (he really likes the crenelated edges from the sides - there were 7 of them today (I keep them with the other foam oddments).

Speaking of the heat wave, yesterday I felt sorry for Miss Sassy Raccoon.  The heat index was 107 and it was sooooo sticky and humid.  So I cleaned and refilled the water dish out there and even put some ice in it.  When I looked out, she was lying wrapped around it, with her front legs and chest having a nice cool soak.

One more random picture.  I read a suggestion somewhere that you should - preferably daily, although I don't - try to take a picture of something that pleases you.  It's to help train you brain to look for something it might like - important when a lot of the whole world seems to be in the doldrums.  A few days ago it was un-horrible enough that I got out early and did some weed whacking.  I realize it would be more efficient to hire someone to keep my land in check rather than do it myself.  But one - I'm territorial.  I don't want someone else messing with my land.  And two - if someone had just gone around with a riding lawnmower, this wee beauty would have had its head chopped off, instead of being admired and carefully spared.

And now the cats are urging me to turn off the laptop, get off my arse, and give them their dinners.

Glitch in the Matrix; Much Randomness

 This is going to be a really meandering post, somewhat wine induced.

Is it possible to eat too much salmon?  For the last few weeks Aldi has had "lightly smoked salmon."  Still raw, but with just a bit of smoke, and it's awesome.  I eat it one night with roast potatoes and some other veg (and wine - it was tonight's dinner) and then there's enough for another couple of meals, and the stuff is delicious.

This almost compulsive writing seems to stem from the feeling that my life at the moment, attempting to move forward, is like walking across a bridge of sand that collapses as soon as I take the next step.  So I like to write and keep track, not wanting to lose another year like I did 2021.  Quite often I look back even at recent posts (how did I forget that I had to deal with a stinky dead opossum?)

The glitch in the matrix:  We sign in and sign out of work on a tablet.  If I want to, I can check my total hours (I've logged in over 2,000 volunteer hours).  Thursday I was leaving - had already logged out - and then thought I was curious about what my total was.  Of course, I lost a lot of time when I was in the hospital with Bob in Gainesville for three months.  Then I was wondering how long I had been back - had it been a  year yet?  Uh - yes.  More like three years and three months.  

Hence - trying to keep track.  I've mentioned my friend Los before - ever since he lost his wife, he does daily postings of random memories.  Today he was posting about how Ellen never quite understood his pleasure in really old movies and TV shows.  He mentioned enjoying the Disney Zorro - the old black and white one.  Suddenly I remembered being a little kid in my mask and cape and toy sword with a piece of chalk on the end, writing the big "Z" on any surface that presented itself.

Hamish and ice water.  Hamish has become very good for my self-discipline.  When I have wine with dinner, I really should also have a glass of water handy and drink that as well as wine.  Notice the "should."  [trigger warning - germaphobes look away now].  What has improved my discipline in this area is the fact that Hamish likes to have a glass of ice water.  Not ice in his water bowl - he wants to drink out of my glass.  And should I sit down to eat and there's no glass of water - I get the Cat Stare.  He doesn't drink much, and, as long as it's there, I end up drinking it as well.

I've been reading a bit of Ursula K. LeGuin lately.  Being as she's been one of the seminal science fiction/fantasy writers of the last century, it's odd that I've never read her works.  I first read a collection of essays that I enjoyed.  Then a few short stories that I didn't particularly.  Then the Wizard of Earthsea, which was groundbreaking at the time (written in 1968).  I found it to be a sort of standard of "young boy discovers that he has magic powers."  It wasn't until I read her afterword that I realize that the standard had to start somewhere.  She talked about wizards always being old men (Gandalf, Merlin) and she wanted to write about a young one just starting out.  These days - heck, you can't find a Magical Chosen One who has gotten out of puberty.
My mind took a side trip with this.  The young wizard was called Sparrowhawk (a play on the name Merlin, although most people don't know that a merlin is a small falcon).  Suddenly a great fantasy character name popped into my head:  Kestral Windhover - which are both alternate names for a sparrowhawk.  Briefly, in my head, Kestral was (of course) a teenage girl.  But then I decided that it really was a guy in his mid-fifties, child of a tree-hugging, pot smoking hippie mother who has had trouble climbing the corporate ladder while saddled with a name like Kestral and whose mother who still wants to come smudge his office with smoking sage.  And *now* he discovers that he is some sort of Chosen One.  Maybe I'll write his story some day.

Lists.  The other thing my wandering mind wants to talk about it lists.  I've always kept a "to-do" list.  Bob thought it was weird - he never kept lists, he simply did stuff.  But lists calm my brain.  I can clean out the car, for example, without constantly reminding myself not to forget to pay a bill.  Besides, there is a satisfaction to crossing something off of a list.  (Adam Savage, of Mythbuster fame, says on his projects list that he goes so far as to write something down that he's already done, just for the satisfaction of checking it off).  Lists of the day were jotted on any convenient scrap of paper - backs of envelopes were always good.   I really wish I had kept one of those; one time, having finished something and going to check it off an see what was next, I found that Bob had amended the list.  In between each of my entries were items like "hug Bobbie," "give Bobbie a kiss," "tell Bobbie you love him."  And, in turn, those were dutifully checked off.

After I came back from Gainesville, exhausted and brain dead and bereaved and confused by the Covid shut down  I would sit for hours and just stare, knowing that I should do something but not certain of what.  So I made lists.  Had I eaten?  Taken a shower? Fed the cats?  I eventually evolved a master list, which gets posted fresh on the refrigerator door every month.  Mostly cleaning, but also things like "fill hummingbird feeder."  I can actually look at it and tell how I've been doing that month.  No checkmarks actually means that I'm going OK - just getting stuff done without thinking about it.  But when I'm in the doldrums - being able to check off "washed dishes" keeps me up and moving.

There are still lists that get jotted down randomly - non repeating things like "make dentist appointment."  I've taken to keeping a legal pad on the coffee table.  Every ephemeral thing gets jotted down there - the daily list, jotting down the daily Wordle game, slotting in letters, random Sudoku scores, quotes that I find interesting, titles of recommended books or movies (that eventually get transferred to yet another list), notes on books when I'm co-reading with Ebaida, a recipe seen on the web - whatever I want to temporarily remember.  It's almost time for a new pad.

OK, wine has worn off, and I'm working tomorrow so I should go to bed and read.  Not quite sure why I had the urge to ramble tonight, especially about lists.  Just a way of moving.  Maybe not forward, but at least moving.

Random July Stuff

 I've been sort of at loose ends for a few days.  That's sort of standard after I've finished a project - I've been focusing on one thing, and now that's done, and now what?

I'm getting cabin fever.  I was writing my cousin that July has always been my worst month (at least since we moved to Florida 40 years ago).  May and June can get hot - but not unbearably so.  Even through the end of June I was having my afternoon coffee on the back deck, and being reasonably comfortable with the fan on.  It gave me the false sense of security that "hey - this isn't that bad.  I can handle it."

And then wham!  July hits.  With the afternoon rains and resulting ridiculous humidity.  There is no getting up early to get things done "in the cool of the morning" because there is no cool of the morning.  Or evening (one night recently, at 9 p.m. the heat index was still 100).  In the early morning, the humidity is near (or at) 100% and I feel like I can't breathe.

By August I've acclimated somewhat.  But July kicks my ass.  And for most of the last 40 years, I've given myself permission to do the bare minimum in July.

And, of course, the luck of the draw that Bob got diagnosed in July, and it was also in July (coming up, the 17th) that his reef was lowered into the gulf.

I did have an oddly fun day at work Monday.  We were all doing the bare minimum of habitat cleaning (at the order of the keepers) because it was raining hard, and bad lightning/thunderstorms were going to be rolling in.  So we were all pretty wet - despite ponchos and rain jackets - when we got to the kitchen.  One girl, Serai, likes to put on music, so of course we had to listen to La Vida Loca - "She'll make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain."  And we were all singing along and dancing while fixing the animal diets.  I sort of have to wonder how this would look to an outsider - three young black students and one old white woman, dancing around while wielding knives and cutting fruit.  Eventually the last volunteer, Ben, old white dude, came in and was somewhat confused at the chaos.  I might be a few years older than Ben chronologically, but he's a lot more grown up.

I did do one cleanup today.  In a corner of the den I have a cabinet with some of my fiber supplies in it.  The overflow goes into the set of plastic drawers beside it (this is in addition to the major stash down in the cottage).  I say "in" but they also overflowed and I had a big pile of random stuff on top.  Here it is, piled on the floor with Hamish checking it out.

Just random fibers and yarns.  While I was at it, I also emptied the drawers and sorted them.  But as I was sorting, I was berating myself because a lot of the stuff wasn't properly labelled.  And there were several half-finished knitting projects, with no notes.  What the heck was my problem???

And then, once again, I realized that I had to cut myself some slack.  Some of this stuff dates back years.  Spinning and knitting are coping mechanisms for me.

"Grief brain" is a real phenomena - that disassociated feeling, with brain fog.  When the loss is of someone close to you, it can take 3-5 years to get back on an even keel.  It's a slow process.  

Ten years ago my mother went through a long decline, then passed.  I took care of everything, including the decision to let her go (Dad, Mike, and Bob all just wanted to let me decide what was best).  She died on a Friday; I took care of all the necessary arrangements on Saturday and was back at work on Monday.  Even extra work, because I was doing a display of antique clothing at an event the next Saturday.  And I had a urinary track infection.  One soldiers on.

Not too long after that, Dad fell and broke his ribs, so after he got out of the hospital I had to transfer him to a nursing home and close down their apartment (while I was still working, both at FSU and the museum).  Then the endless trips to and from the nursing home until he passed, three years after Mom.  Oh - and I lost my job about a year in, which can also be mildly traumatic.

On the plus side, though, that's when we got a red tailed hawk at the museum and I got to glove train her (because if there's too much going on in one's life, the only way to face the music is to turn up the volume)

Considering that we had also gone through the same thing in 2008 and 2009 with Bob's parents, (and, incidentally, it was two weeks after his mother died that I stepped on a rattlesnake)  it took us a long time - a couple of years - to finally relax and realize that we weren't going to be running off to hospitals on a moment's notice.  We could just hang around and chill out.  Then about the time that we were going to start thinking about what to do with our retirement - Hurricane Michael hit, then Bob got diagnosed, yadda yadda yadda.

Oh yeah - toss in Covid.

That's a lot of fog for one little brain.  And maybe I didn't label some yarn.  Big effing deal.

I've got a lot of cleaning and organizing to do (especially Bob's room and the barn, but the cottage is due for a going-over).  And soon I'll get the urge to do some sewing or weaving or some other project.  

But for now, it's July.  I'm going to do the bare minimum - my museum work, and make sure the cats and other animals are fed, but otherwise I'm just going to goof off and read and maybe eat ice cream.  I'll deal with August when it gets here.

Poltergeist Thoughts

 I've been wanting to write more about the poltergeist - but I was occupied with getting Mervin finished.

For five days, when I went out to the cottage, I would find Still Life With Blue Whisk Broom.   Always the little blue whisk broom moved - to the same place - and then various other stuff put with it.

I loved it (except for it hiding the vambrace- I needed that).  I would be curious to see what other objects would be displayed with the whisk broom.  Day 6 was a work day for me, but I couldn't contain my curiosity until the afternoon so before I left I ran down to see the day's offering - and nothing had been moved.  And hasn't been moved since.

And I'm a bit sad about that.

I just enjoyed it.  I mean, there I was, building a griffin, in a little cottage in the woods that had a poltergeist in t.  How Swamp Witch is that?

And I found myself remembering fun times in my early teenage years.  Parker Brothers (now Hasbro) sold Ouija boards as a game for kids.  I still have to laugh now when people for some reason are really nervous about Ouija boards, as though they come with a demon inside.  We had a lot of fun playing with it.  Mom would join us.  So would our next-door neighbor - a woman that I found fascinating.  She had jugs of wine brewing in her kitchen.  She owned 12 grandfather clocks.  I loved running over to her house at noon but sometimes wondered if it was as much fun at midnight.  She had a wall covered in small paintings and sketches - some of the hers - and one of them an original Rembrandt that she had picked up at a flea market in France for the cost of the frame - a dollar or two (when she reframed it and saw the signature, she took it to an art appraiser who offered her some godawful amount of money for it - but she liked it and kept it and the sketch remained there on her wall).

Then we moved, because that's what we did once a year or so, and that's when we rented a house out in the country on a working cattle ranch.  I loved it out there, and spent much time rambling out in the fields, but it was also a little lonely.  But I had my imaginary friends.  It is possible to use a Ouija board by yourself. But after awhile I found that to be too slow, so I took up automatic writing, where you just relax and let your hand write without reading it until it's finished.  It's faster, and it's also easier to do at school (when the teacher thinks you are taking notes).

So I'm in the cottage, gluing a mane onto the griffin, letting my mind drift back to those times, and I suddenly even remembered his name:  Foster.  Foster was the entity who would write to me.  I haven't thought about him for well over 50 years now.  Recently, with the rise of AI, I've read about people who go through separation trauma when their Chatbot avatars that they've developed a relationship with suddenly have a programming glitch and disappear.  I completely understand that (note: Foster and I did not have a romantic relationship, but we were good friends).  One day I was writing along, and suddenly Foster wrote "I have to go now.  Goodbye" and that was that - he never wrote me again.  And I really missed him.

There was also Lhiannon, who came along later.  We never actually communicated.  He was just a sort of presence.  I thought of him as a Watcher, something that was there and would keep an eye out for me.  I did give his name to a character in a penny dreadful that I wrote for a class assignment in my Gothic literature class - he got to be a black haired, sapphire eyed vampire. I hope he enjoyed it.

Memories of happily living with one foot in the fae world.   And now I seemed to be there again, with some imp amusing itself by moving my whisk broom.  It felt like having a friend in there.

But alas, it seems to have been short lived.  Maybe it really wanted that vambrace - unlike the other things that were simply on the floor, the vambrace (which had been in another room) had been shoved almost completely under the shelf.

It was fun while it lasted.

July 9

 It's July 9 again.  And once again, fuck it.

The day that Fiona died and Bob was diagnosed and things went downhill and then they stopped and sort of plateaued out and in the line from the song Creep - "what the hell am I doing here?"   Or from Jason Isabel's If We Were Vampires: "I'll give you every second I can find - and hope I'm not the one who's left behind" (except that I was.  Or even Bobbie McGee - "I would trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday."

I think of those stories where you can see the lost person one day a year.  I would so take that.  To have a day to see him, touch him, tell him how I'm doing, ask his advice, get his help, love on the cats, play Jeopardy, bury my face in his chest and feel his hands on my back.  I could be stronger for the rest of the year, I think, if I had that day to hold onto.

But, to be honest with myself, I am doing better.  I look back at my entries for July 9 in 2021 and 2022.  In 2021 I eviscerated myself, just to finally let myself feel everything.  2022 - not so badly.  2023 - well, I've been working on Mervin against the Con deadline, and laughing at my poltergeist (could not have come at a better time) and sort of didn't realize it was July until a few days ago.

So it's still there - but it's not running my life.  Just being part of it.

But I still say fuck it.

 

Infinity Con

 Day 6 - I trotted down to the Wicca House before I went to work, to see what that day's Still Life With Whisk Broom would be.

Nothing had moved.  Everything was where I had left it.  It's now three days later, and nothing.   Maybe it really wanted that vambrace (it was shoved almost completely under the shelves) and is having a snit.

I'm oddly depressed.

But on to the Infinity Con.  It's very small, by Con standards - which I wouldn't know personally because it's the only one I've ever been to.  I had planned to go watch the costume contest at 4, so I got to the con around 1 - and, honestly, I allowed a little too much time.  I saw pretty much everything there was to see, and talked to a lot of people (because of Mervin), and two hours would have been plenty.

But I had fun - because of Mervin.  I could have just gone to the Con and looked around, but doing something made me feel more of a part of it.  There were, of course, a lot of people just there to look, but also a lot wearing costumes of some sort, and that's what I wanted to be part of.

It's twofold.  I think I've written about this before. Of course, part of it is getting attention.  I think of Laurence Olivier, upon being asked "why are you an actor?" leaned in, gestured at his face, and intoned "look at me, look at me."  But on another level - it's enhancing the experience for other people.  Getting a glance, a smile, wanting to talk, wanting to pet the puppet, wanting a picture, wanting a selfie, wanting to share ("wait until I show this video to my grandkid.")  It's exactly the same kick I get at the museum when I walk around with an owl - someone sees you, points, has that "Oh!" moment.

Some recognition goes even deeper:  "Aren't you the one who had the dragon last year?"  Suddenly - I'm the Person With Cool Puppets.  I even got a few "hope to see you next year."

A month of work, two hours of attention.

Totally worth it.

Poltergeist, Day 5

 When I went out to Chez Wicca today, I first peeked at where I put the whisk broom.

It wasn't there.  It was in the poltergeist's preferred spot, under my chair.  Today it was joined by a full-sized dustpan, and a piece of craft foam.

Fortunately as I was picking these up, I looked around and saw something sticking out from under the shelves - something that had been tucked almost completely under.  It was my vambrace that I plan on using as an arm perch for the puppet.

I'm really glad that I noticed this, because I need it for the puppet.  I have a very annoying habit of losing stuff.  I can be sitting, working on something, put down a tool, and then not be able to find it in a few minutes when I need it again.  And I haven't moved from where I'm sitting.   I had fished this vambrace out (I made it several years ago to demonstrate using Worbla) to use on this project.  I had it sitting (in the sewing room, not the room with the worktable where Poltergeist is stashing stuff) with the false-arm shirt that I'll be using.  So it would have driven me bonkers if I couldn't find it.

Poltergeist may be gaslighting me.

I was going to write a longer post tonight, but I really need to do more sewing on Mervin the Griffin.  So I'll just leave it at the fact that I find that I'm oddly happy about Poltergeist.  I've been far too serious since I lost Bob - and this is just plain silly.  It makes me giggle.  I'm careful to put the whisk broom and anything else that had been moved back to their original positions.  I would say that I'm not hiding anything, but I did bring all the parts of the puppet back to the house, just in case.  I even put the chair back when I move it.

It has, of course, been suggested that I put up the game camera to see what is moving stuff.  Nope.  Don't want to know.  And maybe Poltergeist is camera shy and I don't want to scare him (her??  it??) off.  I'm enjoying this too much.

July 4!

 When you light a candle, you cast shadows.  (Wizard of EarthSea, Ursula K. LeGuin)

That's apropos of nothing - just a line that caught my eye.  A young wizard wannabe is seeking power, but being warned that everything must be kept in balance.

But back to the Fourth of July.  I had my frickin' hamburger!

Sometime last year my friend Rik  went on a hunt and bagged a Watusi cow - and gave me some of the hamburger.  I still had a couple of patties in the freezer - plus some lettuce and tomatoes and pickles.  I went to the Dollar General and got a bag of Zappo's voodoo potato chips and opened a beer.  It was awesome.  (Granted, I used a couple of tomatoe/basil wraps for a bun - what works, works).

It was too hot and I was too tired to go to Chez Wicca yesterday after work, but I got some handsewing done on Mervin the Griffin.  Today I went down, walked in, and peeked where I normally lean the whisk broom.  It wasn't there.  It was back on the floor in the same spot it's been the other three days.  Today it was joined by a piece of craft foam from the back room, one of Mervin's feet and a ruler from my workbench (also the claws for the feet that I had cut out earlier) and a stick shuttle from the next-to-the-top shelf.

This is really weird.  Four days now the whisk broom (and misc.) have been moved to the same spot.  I cleared it all up - now I'm curious to see if it's moved again tomorrow.  I'll likely be disappointed if it hasn't.  I'm already getting fond of my poltergeist.

Now to settle down, do some more handsewing (Mervin's legs have to be sewn on by hand) and, in the spirit of puppets, watch Dark Crystal.

Music, Mervin, Mystery, and Phew!

 Music of the day is "Creep" by Radiohead, because my favorite a capella group (VoicePlay) just did a cover of it.  I can't do a link yet because so far it's just a sneak preview for patreons - but there are a lot of other covers out there.  I've always rather liked this song - the style is somewhere between rock and soft jazz, and the lyrics are very relatable.  Back story - guy sees girl, guy wants to talk to girl, guy doesn't think he's good enough to talk to girl.  Hence the refrain "But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.  What the hell am I doing here?  I don't belong here.  I wish I was special."

And who hasn't felt like that?  That part I'm familiar with.  But there was a line I hadn't noticed before, and once again found myself unexpectedly triggered:

I want you to notice

When I'm not around

Because I used to have that - someone to notice if I was running late, or not in the house.  These days I have the snug app for that.  Somehow, it's not the same.

Anyway - the griffin puppet (Mervin) is coming along a lot more slowly than I would like, considering that the Infinity Con is next Saturday, which gives me four working days to finish it.  Part of the problem is that I sort of lost momentum in general, partly the change in weather.  Even though I have AC (also in the cottage), when the weather is brutal (is 108 heat index brutal?  Yes, it is) I sort of feel like I'm hiding from some large smothering beast who is huffing through any cracks, and waiting to catch me in an oppressive embrace if I open a door.  I feel trapped inside, and a bit stressed.  And I'm making this puppet out of felted wool, which seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time.

But I yanked my bootstraps, and went walking out to the cottage in abovesaid 108 soggy humid degrees.  But as I passed by the barn, I smelled That Smell.  The smell of death and decay.  And heard the buzzing of hundreds of flies.

Dozens of acres of woods surround me - and the damned possum had to go die in the barn.   And I couldn't just go into denial and ignore it, because in this heat (and with those flies) by another day it was going to be a pile of maggoty ooze.  So I dealt with it.

This is not, however, one of those cases where I piteously thought "this didn't use to be my job."  Because Bob actually had a weak stomach when it came to such things - couldn't be anywhere near a stench.  So such nastiness has always been my job (he would at least thank me for doing it - now it is a thankless task)

But I finally got to the cottage, to one again confront a mystery.  This is a whisk broom, lying on the floor. 

That is not where I keep it.  It's kept leaning against the side of the storage shelf, about four feet away (because "put a nail to hang it on" has been on the things-to-do list for a few years now).  Three days in a row I came in to find it here instead (I forgot to go check today - too tired after working at the museum).  This time, it was joined by a couple of pieces of foam core board which are kept about four feet away in the other direction.

I know I have mice in the cottage, but this is a bit of a job for a mouse.  And why would they drag the broom to the same spot each day?  I have some sort of strange poltergeist.

Despite these weirdnesses, work on Mervin actually went well yesterday.  As mentioned above, I was too tired after my museum morning (although as one of my co-volunteers noted - it wasn't that bad today - 92 degrees, 101 heat index - both about 7 degrees cooler than the past two days, and that does make a difference).  I do have some hands stitching to do on him this evening.   Hopefully tomorrow will go well and I can finally post some progress pictures.