Notepad; Yes to Shakespeare, No to Fairies, Yes to Silence

 I worked my way through another legal pad.

I think in writing.  I jot down my guesses for Wordle or Connections, titles of books to add to my reading list, random recipes, and the ongoing "things to do" lists.

A decade or so ago Bob managed to liberate a big stack of legal pads from somewhere.  We used to have them scattered around, so many have been partially used, but sometime in the last five years I gathered them into a stack so I can grab a new one when I finish scrawling one up.

This one got me for a moment.  The first couple of pages had been used for a rather elaborate and involved "things to do" list:  The list of things that had to be done before our three-month trip to Gainesville for Bob's transplant, and the packing list.  When I was writing that, I still had hope, confidence even.  Sigh.

The local library hosted "an evening with William Shakespeare" so I went to that.  There was a bigger turnout than usual for things that I attend - two mothers and two children.  But the actor was good, in full garb, and talked (to the two boys, of course) about the times that Shakespeare lived in.  I think he lost them a little when he told them that they probably knew the story of Hamlet.  He was dropping clues like "Scar" "Mufasa" "Simba"  and "lions."  Alas- time moves on.  The Lion King came out 6 years ago, and these kids were 9 years old.

Saturday there was a summer solstice fairy festival.  There were going to be food trucks, costumes were encouraged, vendors, drumming, dancing, a labyrinth . . .   It sounded like my kind of thing, and I pondered getting dressed up, getting my dragon, and going.  But reality set in.  It's late June, and this gathering was in the afternoon (going on to have fire dancing that night - but I don't like driving after dark).  So guaranteed to be close to 100 degrees, and humid, with a good chance of rain.  I took a pass - hopefully they'll do a winter solstice one.  [side note: the host took videos of the event.  The performances looked good, but I noticed that attendance was quite low - I'm not the only one who doesn't frolic when it's triple digit temperatures]

Sunday was the Silent Book Club, which is so oddly enjoyable.  Someone was talking about an earlier meeting (there is an evening meeting each month as well as the Sunday morning one) that was held in a different venue.  When they told the manager that people were coming to a book club meeting, they were asked how many tables they would like to have pushed together, and he was a bit confused when they said not to bother because they wouldn't be talking to each other anyway.

There is some chatting before and after, and one of my table mates said that he recently had been reading a book about how to write.  I asked him which one, and he brought up "Making Shapely Fiction" by Jerome Stern.  I think he was startled when I gasped, put my hand to my mouth, and said Oh My God, Jerry!   Jerry was on faculty in the English Department when I worked there, and, to quote Shakespeare, a man of infinite jest.  I have my copy of the book, which is inscribed "To Ann Durham, who did the undoable and fended off the undefendable and gave me time to write this."  Which is now very poignant, because he died just a few years later.

One fond memory of Jerry was a time when I was at the front desk, and though I can't remember why, was being very annoyed (possibly had just been dealing with someone, which I did a lot).  He asked what was wrong, and I answered "nothing really - I'm just in a justifiable snit."  He looked at me with big eyes, and said {insert the rhythm from "Yellow Brick Road" here} "A Justifiable Snit?"  To which I answered "A Justifiable Snit!" At which we linked arms, and did a little soft shoe to "A Justifi, A Justifi, A Justifiable Snit!"  After which he did the Eqyptian walk out the door chanting "I'm leaving in a huff, I'm leaving in a huff."

Good times.

Challenge

 As I've often said, I like having my life to look back on in this blog.  For one thing - I notice that I tend to be in the doldrums in June - probably because I need to adjust to the weather change.   So it's just part of the pattern.

Still missing Stumbles very much.  It's too quiet here.  Because of her condition, she had a funny walk.  Her front legs would be stiff like she was goose-stepping, and they would tend to cross over each other like a runway model.  But until she was gone, I never really noticed that it made her give a little characteristic thump thump thump thump sound as she walked.  I miss that.  I miss having "help" with folding my laundry, or making the bed.

I look back at previous years, and then I was pretty good about doing some yard work before breakfast.  I haven't been doing that - but then I have to remind myself that it's been raining pretty steadily for the last week.  But the frogs like it very much.

This doesn't capture how amazingly loud these calls are.  Likely thousands of little frogs.

In the "oops!  I did it again" category, I succumbed to the lure of a naturally colored wool fleece on a good sale.  Most fleeces weigh 2-3 pounds, but this one was from a Columbia cross sheep, and those guys are big enough that you can practically put a saddle on them and ride them.  9 pounds of wool.  No, I don't know what I'm going to do with it - but before I can store it, it needs to be washed.  This is best done by hand, in small amounts at a time, so that will occupy the next week.  I could do it efficiently by setting up a gas burner for hot water outside, with a lineup of buckets for soaking, washing, first rinse, and second rinse.  But it's raining - so it would all have to be dragged to the carport.  And it's still hot, and muggy, and the mosquitoes and biting flies are out.  So small amounts at a time in buckets in the bathtub  it is.

That sounds like a challenge, but it isn't.  I know how to wash a fleece, and even how to do it more-or-less efficiently.

It's like my walking challenges aren't really challenges.  I know how to walk - I've been doing it most of my life, and all I have to do to meet my current challenge (virtually walking the 1084 miles from Land's End to John o'Groats in England) and hit an average of 2.5 miles a day (most days I'm closer to three).  BTW - I'm 312 miles into the walk.

I've realized that part of my doldrums is that at the moment I don't have any challenges.  I'm not trying to learn anything new, or figure anything out - and that's when I feel happiest.  But when one is in the doldrums, and just doing everyday things seems like too much effort, it's hard to goad yourself into thinking up something new and different.

I've often written about sort of missing the wild chaotic days right after I lost Bob.  Back then, *everything* was a challenge.  Could I live by myself?  I had gone from my parents to the dorm to living with Bob - living alone was something I had never done.  Could I learn to cook for one?  Could I take care of the cats and other animals?  Could I sleep in our bed (the answer to that for a long time was no - I had problems even sitting on the side of the bed.  After a couple of months I could do it if I piled laundry baskets and clothes on the bed to hide that awful emptiness).

Could I deal with getting a new AC unit put it?  Keep up with the yard?  Replace a light fixture?  Cut up and burn a fallen tree?  Deal with cat problems?  Get a new porch built, a new roof put on the house?  Go to a movie, or a circus, or out to eat by myself?  Clear the 1500 foot path down to and along the stream?

All that nervous energy was, well, energy, and some of it spilled over to creative projects.

Those challenges aren't challenges anymore.  They're just things that need doing, and I'm the one to do them.  I don't get the nervous energy off of them.

So I need to challenge myself.  From time to time I check to see if there are any art classes that look interesting - not much seems to be offered (that's one thing that still lingers from Covid apparently - places that offered classes haven't recovered financially).   And the curse of Ann still seems to be going on - the one where I decide that I will go attend something because I will meet and chat with people - only to have no one else show up.  At the local community center a couple of days ago there was going to be a disaster preparedness talk, but using interactive VR - and that seemed like fun.  And it was - for the instructor and myself.

So June 2026 self - I hope I'll give you something to look back on.

Alligators

 I was just rereading today's post, and a couple of earlier ones, and noticed something missing.

Here I am, being in the doldrums, basically complaining about my life - when in reality my life is so interesting that I can forget something like this?

Alligators.

We have an alligator habitat at the museum with 5 alligators, a bit over 6 feet long each.  The other day at work Chris asked if I'd like to feed them.  Of course I said yes - envisioning that I would be on the boardwalk over the exhibit, tossing food to them.

Instead, Chris unlocked the gate, and we went into the habitat with them.  He handed me a stick.  We were going to be practicing the target training with them.  Target training is where you use a stick - you hold it out, or touch something, and if the animal comes and touches in the end of the stick it gets a treat.

Chris told me the drill.  Hit the stick twice on the ground to alert them, then hold it out and toss food when they touch it.

It's not a very long stick.  What could possibly go wrong?

And yes, that's me with a stick in one hand and my camera in the other.

A Week Later

 I'm still moping.  At most, Stumbles weighed 8 pounds.  The hole she left behind is much bigger than that.

It's much quieter.  I wasn't expecting that; she never meowed much.  But sounds I had grown accustomed to are not there anymore.  Like scratching in the litter box.  When you have a household of cats, it's a common sound.  I hadn't realized that the rest of the cats are fairly quiet about it.  Stumbles scratched in there with great enthusiasm, if not much coordination.  Because of her condition, her legs just sort of went every which way, so there would be not only the scratching, but the pattering sound of litter going everywhere.  I had to sweep the bathroom a half-dozen times a day.

I didn't know that was all her.

It's also just quieter sitting in the den.  Like most cats, she slept 15 hours a day.  But most cats, if they dream, twitch their paws and whiskers.  She would have what appeared to be full-on seizures, thrashing around and occasionally (if I didn't catch her soon enough) flinging herself off the couch or the bed.  It never seemed to bother her.

That has led to another unexpected outcome; I've been waking up an hour, or an hour and a half, earlier than usual.  She always slept in the bed with me, and those seizures would wake me up.  Sometimes they were minor, but if they were one of her really athletic ones I would reach over to scratch her enough to wake up up a bit.  I don't think I realized how many times she woke me up in the night.

Even looking at "her" big fluffy pillow saddens me.  Bob liked to sit on the floor to watch TV.  After his faithful-but-falling-apart beanbag chair finally bit the dust, we went shopping and spotted a big plushy floor pillow.  My comment at the time was "Stumbles will like that one."  And she did.  We had nine cats at the time, but if Stumbles wanted something she would just quietly and firmly claim it.

I'm not alone in missing her.  She was a bit older than RedBug, and sort of raised him.  They were often together.  He has been clingy with me - sitting on my whenever I'm on the couch, or grabbing me when I walk by.

It comes down to the fact that she was a personable, silly, and quite delightful little cat who made me laugh, and now she's gone and I miss her.

And now it's June.  I'm making sure I have my hurricane prep in place.  Unlike the new director of FEMA, I know that there is a hurricane season and it's started.  I simply don't feel like facing another one alone.  I'm already tired of what I call my "summer skin" - with myriad bumps and rashes from mosquito, biting fly, and tick bites.  The heat and humidity are on the rise.

I've started my summer routine of getting out and doing a bit of yardwork - maybe a half-hour or so - before breakfast in the morning, to start the day with a feeling of accomplishment and trying to keep stuff at bay.

I even did a bit of sewing.   I had a length of linen, rescued from a skirt that got ink stains on it that wouldn't quite come out.  I made it into a simple tunic to wear in the evenings because I love linen and it's so much cooler than anything else.  I was amused at myself because it's just a shapeless sort of bag - just a house dress - and yet I spent several hours neatly hand-finishing all the inside seams.  I could have just serged them and been through in 20 minutes instead of taking all that time, but it's something I enjoy and it's almost an act of rebellion against store-bought badly made clothing.   Maybe I'll treat myself to some new (unstained) linen to make some real clothes.

And that's today's wallow/unloading.  Time to feed the cats, squirrel, and opossums and put the chickens up.  Am I forgetting anything?  Yeah - dinner for myself perhaps.