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.