Not Quite The Day I Planned

 I had plans for today.  I was going to do a few morning chores, then go play in the cottage - maybe work on that deer skull potential puppet head.  The last time I was going to go play I ended up having to fix the bookshelf and sort my books.

I'm not quite sure what happened, but I sort of tripped while I was vacuuming (see - housework is bad for you).  I had paused to move a box that the cats play in, and possibly I stepped on a cat toy - somehow I rolled my foot up and over.  My big toe did not appreciate this.

 But the big problem was that when this happened, I flailed my arms (as one does) and whacked my spinning wheel.  Fortunately I didn't do any real damage to it - but the leather bearing that holds the bobbin broke (well, it is some 40 years old).  That should have been a quick fix.  The problem is that there's a tail on the bearing that goes through a hole in the upright, and over the last four decades (and with regular oiling) it had somehow both completely solidified, but also become friable.  It took a ridiculous amount of time to try to dig it out, because it would just crumble.  But it was too hard to chip out.  I didn't want to use a drill because I was afraid of accidentally drilling into the upright instead.  I finally found a long screw and tried using that like a corkscrew - not too successfully but I eventually got a hole worked through it and then with various implements of destruction got it cleared out.  I found a stiff piece of leather in my stash and was able to cut out a new bearing (the scroll saw comes in handy, as did my dremel) and got everything fixed.

The most annoying thing is that I have some tools in the house, some in the barn, and some in the cottage and whatever I needed wasn't where I was - so I had to keep running back and forth - well, not so much running as limping, because see Exhibit A: my toe.

Other bits and pieces.  I had a very painful dream (not the dream, just waking up).  I did the 3:00 a.m. wakeup to answer the call of nature.  Bob was sleeping beside me.  I started to cry - he woke up a little and asked me what was wrong.  I told him that he had no idea how much I missed him.  I snuggled over to put my head on his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his scent - and then I woke up for real.  In the words of a song

And sometimes, at nighttime, I dream that you are there

And wake holding nothing but the empty air.

But one soldiers on.

I had one of those moments where I felt a bit competent.  When I was taking apart the tree on Wednesday, I was using the chainsaw more than I thought necessary because my loppers just weren't cutting well (I like to clear branches out of the way before using the chainsaw).  Well, they are old - I don't know how old, somewhere between 8 and 12 years, and have been used a lot.  Next week I have my chiropractic appointment, and his office is across the street from Home Depot, so I thought I'd run over and pick up a new lopper.  But then I wondered - had I ever tried sharpening them?  A few minutes with a file, and voila!  Loppers that lop.  Funny how that works.

I got the pathology report back on Bug.  Sarcoma.  Not what I wanted to hear.  But there was no bone involvement, and the surgeon thinks that he may have gotten it all.  So we're just in the wait-and-see mode.  Bug got the big bandage taken off, and he's healing nicely, but needs to be on restricted movement for another week.  I think he's getting depressed, staying under the bed all of the time, so I locked Hamish out on the catio (the two of them fight) and let him out for a bit.  I think he's liking it

I've had another episode of Lord Knows I Try.  I keep getting annoyed at the reports that show up, saying that loneliness is as bad for your health as smoking (or diabetes, or whatever).  Being told that I Should Reach Out.  So sometimes I try.  Someone posted on the Highway 20 page that the community center was going to offer sewing classes to pre-teens, and asking for donations of sewing machines, scissors, whatever.  I responded - twice - saying that I had experience in teaching sewing, and could bring a machine and supplies.  Crickets.   There was also a posting on the Living Tallahassee page from a graduate student who wanted to interview people over 60 to see what they do in their free time.  I sent an email, as requested.  More crickets.  Then I get annoyed - I mean, how hard would it be to give a simple "no thanks" rather than just ignoring someone?

People.  Ugh.

To end on a more positive note, in my last post I wrote how I was worried about Liam opossum - so thin, so frail.  Well, the corner has been turned.  The next day he decided that food was a good thing, and started eating on his own.  He is now a proper pink plump possum.  It's amazing how fast they can grow.  Tuesday morning he was 88 grams (3.1 ounces).  This morning - four days later - he was 104 grams (3.7 ounces).  18% gain in 4 days.

Here's a before and after.

Something to be happy about.

False Fall

 We were visited by False Fall on Tuesday.

Morning temperatures in the 70s.  Highs only in the 80s.  Humidity below 50%.  Dew point below 70.
Yes - I opened my windows and turned off the AC.

I got outside and did yard work.

I looked at the tree that fell by the cottage a few weeks ago (it's about 45 feet long) and thought that OK, baby, time to start a fire and cut you up.

The prickly pear cactus is starting to take over that area - time to grub it up and also throw on the fire.

Most people know that false fall is a lie.  But I think of it more like a visit from a beloved friend, who will be here a day or two, before leaving for another 2-3 months.

That evening the euphoria faded.  I know it's fake - that tree isn't going to get cut up or that cactus evicted.  I'll be lucky to make myself do any absolutely necessary weed whacking.

I am worried about RedBug.  I'm trying to be pragmatic, but I haven't heard back yet whether or not the tumor is malignant.  Even if it is, we're at the wait-and-see point - just keep an eye on it and hope that it doesn't come back.  He goes in on Friday to get the big bandage taken off.

I was worried about Liam the opossum.  He's pinked up, but still low energy and still doesn't want to eat.  I'm feeding him by syringe four times a day (baby vegetables and chicken, formula), but I can still feel his spine and delicate little ribs, and he's lost a few grams (which doesn't sound like much, but it's a lot when you only weigh 3 ounces to start with).

Then all the cats, and I as well, jumped at the sound of a loud swish and thump that shook the house.  Another tree down - a small one, and just the top branches hit the house, so no damage.  But it will be in the way.  Sigh (and this didn't used to be my job).  Getting too dark to deal with it safely.

Wednesday morning we were still in false fall.  I was able to work on the farm at the museum without sluicing down water as fast I was was sweating it out, and pausing to gasp for breath.  Normally on my museum days I come home, have some lunch, and crash because it's just kind of exhausting.  But yesterday I rested for a bit, and then thought I should tackle that tree because who knows how long this weather will hold, and that's a heavy job.  Yeah - it's still hot by some standards.  86 degrees - but with a heat index of . . . 86 (not 98 or above).    Go for it - I got the tree cut up and stacked.

I'm glad I did.  I had thought about putting it off until today - but right now it's noon, I'm sitting quietly outside to type this, and getting hot and sticky.  False fall is over.  

Normally I blog in the evenings.  I opted to do it mid day because Bug is starting to act depressed about being locked up 24/7 (it's imperative that he move that leg as little as possible, so he's confined to the bedroom.  Only RiverSong is allowed in for visits because Noko and Hamish pick on him).  I thought that maybe getting outside would help, so I made some tea and am sitting outside to do this.  I opened the door from the bedroom to the deck and called him out.  Bug - he came outside for about 10 minutes, then went back in under the bed.

I tried.  Maybe he'll feel better when he gets that big bandage off.  Even if they have to rebandage it, maybe they can leave the paw uncovered.  It's really awkward for him to walk.

On the good news front, after my concerns of Tuesday night, Wednesday Liam started eating on his own, and his weight went up a couple of grams.  So I think he's in the clear, and it's just a matter of letting him grow up and eventually go back to the wild.

Now for lunch and to figure out the rest of my day.  I need to clean off my roof, and there is a lot of weed whacking to do - but I also might declare a day of rest because I'll probably be doing the farm again tomorrow.

52 Years, and Unexpected Guests

 

52 years.  46 celebrated with him.  6 on my own.

I think I'm getting a little better with practice.  I look back on my posts - things like having to sleep on the couch again.  It doesn't mean that it hurts any less, just that I'm getting used to the pain.

I did have a moment when I put my dinner in the oven.  I wanted to give myself a treat to celebrate so I got a Cornish hen.  It wasn't until I was prepping it that it hit me that Bob didn't like them for some reason (quite possibly because they do resemble the little bird they once were, unlike, say, a fried drumstick).  In previous years I bought a small steak to celebrate, in his honor.  But I didn't think about that this year (in my defense, I had to do my shopping around RedBug's surgery so I was distracted).

A friend was kind enough to text that she was thinking of me, and said I could tell her a Bob story if I liked.  The one that came to mind was from when we were living in Tennessee.  We had gone to the movies (the Christopher Reeve Superman) and when we came out he asked if I wanted to take the short way home, or the long way.  I was confused - we lived only a couple of miles from the theater, and there was only one road.  When I said there was no long way - he said, oh yes there is.  And he started driving in the opposite direction.  The long way turned out to be the 125 mile loop through the beautiful Land Between The Lakes National Forest.  At some point we got out and sat beside the lake for a little while in the moonlight.  If I remember correctly, we got home about 2 in the morning.

People keep reminding me that I have memories.  But honestly?  It's not the same as having companionship, bantering, laughing, loving.   I make do.

I've had unexpected guests twice this week.  Saturday I had to go shopping (usually I do that after work on Friday but RedBug was having his surgery).  When I got home, I left my glasses in the car as usual.  When I'm at home, I just use readers when necessary.  But when I first take the glasses off my eyes are a little fuzzy, so it took a moment to try to figure out why my front door looked a little different.

I politely asked him to move his tail so that I could unlock my door.

Then last night I heard something rattling around in the kitchen, and went to see what the cats were up to.  This was on the counter.

I'm assuming that's Maytag, the opossum that I released (and the one who was banging on my door at 1:00 a.m. a week ago).  He's always been a little on the bitey side, so I wasn't about to look under his tail to check his credentials.  I gave him a handful of grapes, and when he was finished I used a broom to suggest that maybe he might want to go outside (I was wrong - he really didn't, but I insisted)

The big question is:  How the heck did he get inside???

Sometimes I realize that I am the person that I wanted to be when I grew up.  Amanda asked how high I jumped when I saw the snake on my door.  The answer was - not at all.  I said hello, and then "mind if I move your tail just a little so that I can get my key in the lock?"

Neither did I jump when I walked in the kitchen and saw Maytag on the counter.  Just a "Hi - what the heck are you doing here?  And would you like a grape?"  Because doesn't everyone who finds an opossum on their kitchen counter offer them a snack?

And speaking of snack - my dinner is ready.

Happy Anniversary, my love.  As always

I love you

I miss you

Thank you

RedBug and Ring of Fire

 RedBug has his surgery yesterday.

The tricky part was the location - just above the paw on the front leg.  The skin is tight there - so if you cut something off there isn't enough skin to close over the wound.  But the surgeon (Dr. Pottle) was able to do it.  Bug has a honkin' thick bandage covering his paw and leg up to the shoulder, and has to be kept quiet because it would be very bad to tear those stitches.  So for the next two weeks he will be confined to the bedroom, which is confusing both him and the other cats.

I already miss RiverSong.  In the mornings, as soon as I show signs of being awake, she's in my face purring.  She has the most lovely musical purr.  And then, of course, all the cats join me in the bathroom.  But we'll cope.

Now I'm waiting for the results of the biopsy in a week (Dr. Pottle said that it looked malignant but he couldn't tell.  He did say that he thinks he got everything.  But what I have to accept is that no matter what the diagnosis - malignant or benign - we do exactly the same thing, which is nothing.  Either it will come back, or it won't.  If it doesn't, well and good.  If it does, I'll have to consider amputation.  For that, I'm pulling a Scarlett O'Hara:  I won't think about that today.  I'll think about that tomorrow.   Actually, I won't think about that at all.  It may or may not be a possibility, and sweating in out now would be meaningless.  For now, I just have to give him time to heal.  He seems to be doing fine.  He's sleeping a lot, but squirms and snuggles and shows me his tummy when I pay attention to him.

A singer that I follow - Geoff Castellucci - released a cover of Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire.  I'm not a big country music/Cash fan, but I listened because he can do interesting interpretations.  So I wasn't expecting to be sucker punched in the heart and sit there weeping.  But his video storytelling was of that of an old man, having memories of his late wife.  It told my own story so beautifully.  It broke my heart, but it was also cathartic.

On the technical side, it was pretty amazing.  As he's remembering his wife, all of the candles in the background start to light up - and he gradually gets younger.  In these days where more and more things are done with computer effects, it was gratifying to see something done in real life.  Basically - started young, then bit by bit the older age makeup was added.  Which meant that they had to film it in bits and pieces, going backwards.   That's a lot for a 4 minute video.

Yet Another Ramble

 My brain is going all over the place, so time for another disgorge. 

My last post I mentioned that I was stressed out because RedBug was having surgery on his leg in a couple of days.  Didn't happen.  In the week between the time his surgery was first scheduled (due to a glitch in the matrix, no one was available to do surgery that day) and last Friday, the lump got big enough that the vet didn't feel she could do it and it needed an actual surgeon (there isn't much spare skin on a leg to be able to cover a big hole.)  I went a little crazy then, because I started calling vet hospitals and the nearest time I could get was three weeks out - and the longer the wait, the more complicated the surgery.  Dr. Farmer was able to call around to find a surgeon who can do it tomorrow (fingers crossed).  At least I'm the only one stressed; it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

I did get my teeth cleaned, and nothing conclusive on the crown.  I live with it until it gets too loose or painful and then we do something.  Sigh.

Another weird random Twilight Zone thing.  I'm reading a book (library book club - The Lost Story) that references the Chronicles of Narnia a lot.  So of course a question about Narnia comes up on Jeopardy.  Sometimes I think Jeopardy spies on me.

I had a funny flashback this week.  I was refilling the jar of red pepper flakes that I keep by the stove, and suddenly remembered the strange morning when I got out of bed and wandered to the kitchen to find Bob standing by the sink, stark naked, crying into his underwear.  I thought he had finally gone off the deep end.

There was a logical explanation.  The day before he had ground up his collection of homegrown dried peppers and put them into canning jars on the counter.  That morning when he got up (and, as usual, just put on his jockeys), he saw them, picked them up, and put them in the cabinet.  Then he yawned and rubbed his eyes - and there had been pepper dust on the outside of the jars.  So suddenly he's blind and in pain and he knew his underpants were clean because he had just put them on (and he was too blinded to be able to hunt for a towel) so he took them off, ran cold water over them, and was wiping his eyes when I came in.  It makes sense, right?

I got a helluva scare last Sunday.  There is a glass door (with a screen door) in my bedroom going onto the back deck.  At 1:00 a.m. I was awoken by something shaking the door.  Naturally, I panicked and froze.  It was too dark to see anything; all I could do was sit there and listen to random shaking.  I finally got up and tiptoed out of the bedroom so I could peek out the sliding glass door from the den.  It was that stupid opossum Maytag, who had managed to crawl through a rip in the screen door and then get himself stuck between the screen and the door.  Idiot animal.  I thought about finding a recipe for possum fricassee. 

He must have read my mind, because he disappeared into the wild a few days later.

Being possum free only lasted a few days.  Someone who works at the museum brought in a baby they found in their yard.  Poor thing was in bad shape - totally covered in hundred of fleas, and drained to the point that his gums, nose, and paws were dead white.  And fly strike.  A vet once told me that flies know death, and will lay their eggs.  I didn't know how much of a chance he would have, but at least I wasn't going to let him die like that.  He came home to get a good bath and then snuggled into a heating pad.  They're tough little animals.  He's still not eating on his own, but he'll take some formula out of a syringe.  Poor little guy - he gets active and squirming while I'm holding him to feed - and that exhausts him to the point that he just collapses when I lay him down again.  But he's on his second day, still alive, so he has a chance.

My bouncy brain has suddenly gone from no fun/artsy project to several going on at once.  I'm knitting a silk lace shawl, combing wool and spinning for the Dark Academia shawl (and just got some silk to go with that).  I found a place online where you could get a file to 3D print a mold to make medieval style spindle whorls (how's that for a clash of technologies?).  Of course the guy who could print them for me lives waaaaaay on the other side of town, because that's how it works.  I've played around with some air-dry clay.  They need a bit of refining - but I'll have fun painting or carving on them.

The potential gargoyle puppet is on the back burner at the moment while I (as the Brits put it) have a think.  In the meanwhile I'm making a potential head for a wendigo puppet.  Much as I do enjoy foamsmithing, I'm trying to work with plastics less, so this one is so far made with a recycled cereal box and hot glue.  Honestly - it's a lot harder to work with than EVA foam.  Eventually paper mache will be added.

I'm also trying to learn how to use Milanote, a web app that lets you organize your projects,with a place to put notes, pictures, mood boards, etc.  I'll see how that goes - I'm just not very tech savvy.

And one more project that just happened to me.  Ten or twelve years ago, we asked a carpenter friend to build us a coffin to use on the haunted trail.  Bit of a mistake asking a skilled woodworker to do that  - he did a beautiful job, using some red oak he had on hand.  It was way overbuilt for our purpose and weighed a ton.  If it had been cobbled together of, say, recycled pallet wood, we would have just had a bonfire after the Howl (we had very limited storage space).  As it was, we brought it home.  I had space for it, standing upright, in the cottage.  I wanted shelves it in to use for a bookcase.  That took nagging Bob quite a bit (the old adage comes to mind that if a man says he'll do something, he'll do it.  You don't have to keep nagging him every six months).  But it eventually got done.

So a few days ago, I go to the cottage, and my first thought was that my poltergeist is back because there are books all over the floor.  I discovered that the cleats holding one of the shelves had given way (and the falling books had knocked a cleat loose on the shelve below it).  Sigh.  I piled the books on the table and reviewed the situation.  I had to wonder just what he was thinking?  Maybe he didn't want to risk going all the way through the sides of the coffin/bookcase, or maybe he was just using the screws he had on hand, but the screws went only about a quarter inch into the wood.  I'm surprised they held this long.
I opted not to use cleats, but instead cut up a dowel into pegs, drilled holes, and pounded the pegs in to hold the shelves.  Of course now I need to wipe down and resort the books before I put them back up.

But this brought me to yet another personal identity crisis (as in "who the hell am I?").   Why had I nagged Bob to do this for me? Obviously I can do it.  But that was a dozen years ago.  Dealing with wood was his job, not mine.  But it goes a little deeper than that:  the wood stash, saw, screws, and drill were his. (Perhaps one of the reasons we could live together so well for so long is that we left each other's stuff alone).   But now they're mine, so I got the job done.

I always had my own set of tools.  I've since added to them with things like my lawnmower, brush cutter, and chainsaw.  I had one of my odd thoughts when I was cutting up the downed tree that was in the way.  After he was diagnosed, and at first we thought he'd have to go in the hospital here for a couple of months for his preliminary chemo, we talked about me keeping up the yard.  He showed me how to use the riding lawnmower (which I found I disliked and eventually got rid of it), and bought the heavy-duty battery weed whacker.  But looking back - I wonder how he felt, knowing that I would be there alone, doing his jobs.  Did that part bother him?  Or was worrying about the yard rather low on his list of concerns?  I'll never know.

When I first came back from Gainesville, it was one of my concerns.  I wondered how long I could still live out here.  Could I manage this?  I know how exhausted he would get taking care of the land, and he was so much stronger than I.
Turns out that I'm doing just fine.  We have different ways of working.  He would go out after a month or six weeks (we do let the place go "rustic"), then go work for four or five hours, and be wiped out.  I didn't know if I could handle it.

But my way of working is to grab the weed whacker/brush cutter/lawnmower and work for an hour (in the summer, maybe a half-hour).  Do just one section (you can get a surprising amount done in even a half hour).  Just nibble away in bits and pieces.   He, of course, had to "do it first thing."  I might wander out at 6 or 7 if an afternoon breeze has picked up.  It's even enjoyable, because I'm not too tired to look and feel my sense of accomplishment.

But I really wish the weather would a) cool off, and b) stop raining so much, because my burn piles are getting really big.  Maybe next month.  

That got long winded.  I had a lot to dump.  I should go sort some more books.

Self-Analysis: Some Concerns and a Few Projects

 I have less stress than anyone that I know.  I'm financially secure, healthy, and don't hang around people much (because people are stress-inducing).  But recently I've been feeling stressed out, tense, and achingly lonely.  That odd feeling in my chest, hollow breathing.  Clutching cuddle pillow as if it was a bit of flotsam in a churning sea.

So let's think it out.  The weather shifted again; we had a few days of cooler temps (although my brother doesn't think of 85 as "cooler") and a bit lower humidity, so I was able to get out with lawnmower, brush cutter, weed whacker and chainsaw and work.  The last few days - I go out to feed the chickens first thing in the morning and break a sweat just walking to to coop and back.

I had another one of those "never know when it will hit you" moments.  I've been watching the old special effects show FaceOff (trying to jog my creativity).  I found myself saying out loud  "Oh - I hadn't noticed that Frank Ippiloto was in this" and over the next couple of shows, "Gee, Frank is being such a whiny jerk."  Bob and I would have both been commenting - and now I'm speaking to the air because I don't know anyone who has the faintest idea of who Frank is (short version - of the people well known in the maker community).  Just getting hit with the aloneness again.

August 3 was the anniversary of getting engaged.  August 25 will be my 52nd wedding anniversary.  Bob made it to 46; I'm leaving him farther and farther behind.  

I'm getting my teeth cleaned tomorrow, which is no big deal but still not one of my favorite things to do.  But I also need to talk things over with my dentist.  The molar that is the anchor for my bridge has been deteriorating under the crown.  He keeps shoring it up and filling it in as much as possible, but at some point, likely soon, the $3000 worth of dental work I had maybe 4 years ago will have to be yanked off and see if that tooth can be salvaged (if not, I'm facing having an implant done - again, not fun).  It's starting to hurt again, and I was spitting out blood after brushing my teeth this morning.

But the big thing is RedBug.  He's been so clingy ever since we lost Stumbles (hard to believe it's been 2 1/2 months - I still miss her so much - she made me laugh).  The lump on his leg is being removed Friday.  I'm really trying not to worry - but it's hard not to (reiterate having lost 7 cats, 5 friends, a flock of peacocks, a flock of chickens, and a husband in the last 6 years.  One does get paranoid).

I just feel so alone in my worry, and my sadness over Stumbles.  Yes, I have friends who will sympathize - but they don't know them.  They haven't held them and loved them and given treats and been headbutted and purred at.  It's no loss to them.  I'm the only one who will hurt.  I would have been comforting Bob as he comforted me.  Now I clutch a pillow.

But, basically, I just need to hang on for a couple of days.  Tomorrow I'll have a battle plan with the dentist, and Friday afternoon I'll know if RedBug's lump is just a benign thing, or if I'll have decisions to make there.

Despite this, or because of it, after being the in creative doldrums for quite some time I seem to have 2-3 projects going.  I'm knitting a handspun lace shawl.  I've also started spinning for another one (OK - there's something comforting about shawls, even if I rarely get the chance to wear the).  Some years ago I made this one:

I love the way the colors swirl, and it was a fun knit.  I want the next one to maybe be a little smaller (this one is knee length) and in darker colors.  I want to go for the aesthetic called "dark academic" (sort of a variation of goth).  I want to the mood to be something that I would wear walking in this picture (although that's by my chicken coop and I likely won't be swooping by wearing a shawl)

I'm finding combing the wool and spinning to be very soothing (I'm even using my treadle wheel rather than my little battery one).

So I'll be OK.  I just want to know what I'm facing, and what I'm going to be doing, and not just sitting, twiddling my thumbs and waiting to see what happens.

Nine Days of August

 I write this blog to try to get a grip on my life.  Sometimes I feel that my life is a bridge of sand, that crumbles away behind me as I walk.  Hence - notes.
If you ask what I've done so far in August, I'd say the usual:  not much.  But somehow - things have happened.

I mentioned in an earlier post that changing the water filter on my fridge has now given me a plethora of ice cubes.  Who would get wistful over ice cubes?  Me.  
Bob and I had different approaches to ice.  I would put a few cubes in a glass; he would cram the glass as full as possible (and then we would keep the pitcher of tea on the table because there wasn't any room in his glass for it.  The only time this caused a problem was when he was being nice on the days I was going into the museum.  While I was getting dressed, he would fill my water bottle for me.  Except that he would fill it with ice, and then add the trickle of water that it would hold.  The problem is - the water bottle is well insulated, so the ice wouldn't melt.  So I'd be out working on the farm, and want to grab some water.  Only to get a little mouthful.  Then I'd have to take the lid off and fish out an ice cube to suck on.

So - August so far.  I've read a couple of books (You Suck at Cooking, because I saw it at the library and who could resist that title? And The Paper Menagerie, a collection of short stories that completely blew me away).  

I got my gutters cleaned - that was a serendipitous bit of luck.  There was a fundraiser fish fry, and they were also selling raffle tickets for handyman work by a licensed contractor.  Darned if I didn't win.  But "find someone to clean the gutters" was on the eternal things-to-do list, so now that's been done (and I paid him the usual amount that I would pay for the gutters, because I'm not having anyone work in this heat for $5).

August 3 was the 53th anniversary of getting engaged.  Again, my feelings are best described as "wistful".

Speaking of wistful - Van and Frida were finally big enough to release.  It's always hard; I've taken care of them for three months, and then I just have to let them go.  Frida came back the next morning for breakfast and then left again.  The last I saw of Van was his little butt heading into the woods.  Here they are having their last dinner at home (with avocado, their favorite)

I now have another possum on the back deck.  Last month one of the keepers was getting ready to do laundry (the washing machine is outside) and when she lifted the lid there was an opossum in there!  We have no idea now he got in - but he was dehydrated and very thin.  I of course offered to foster him, but Suzie decided to keep him for an education animals.  That didn't pan out.  Some possums (like my Van and Frida) can be very nice.  This one - Maytag (because I couldn't resist) - even after a month of being handled was rather nasty and bitey.  So I brought him home - I'll get him get used to being here for a week and let him go.

It's the time of year (between terms) at the museum where I work extra shifts.  I don't mind, except that it really throws off my internal calendar and I have no idea what day it is.

On the fourth, I had my monthly tuneup with the chiropractor, and also my monthly visit with Gill who fed me angel cake (not angel food cake - this is a British thing) and tea and we had a nice long chat (something that I really crave and enjoy)

We've gotten a reprieve in the weather.  It's raining almost every day, so soggy and humid, but it's been about 10 degrees cooler (meaning hitting 85).  I was able to get out with the brush cutter and clean a large chunk of overgrowth, and today I cut apart a tree that had fallen across the path that I use to take the car down to the barn when I need to.  It's amazing how much my mood has improved with even a small reprieve from the extreme heat.

Last night I did Something Different.  I knew that there was a contra dancing group in town, with everyone welcome.  It does look like it might be fun, but I never got over my inertia enough to go.  But Jen (the woman dealing with the cancer and breakup) goes to it, and invited me.  I have mixed feelings.  There was very good live music (Appalachian style) and the dancing was fun.  But I think I've been a hermit too long - there were 50-60 people there, and that was too many for me.  But the thing that was really strange was the physical contact.  In contra dancing you're frequently changing partners, and there is closeness when you swing.   Five years ago, after losing Bob and dealing with Covid isolation at the same time, I was going almost crazy needing some sort of physical contact (I've written about hugging a deer at the Musuem).  But after five years of limited physical contact, it was rather uncomfortable touching maybe 20 other people.  I came home, jumped in the shower, and scrubbed off.

And then there was the coming home part.  What I love most in my life - my land and cats - is also the most restrictive.  There was that 40 minute drive home in the dark.  So there and back - 80 minutes of driving for an hour of dancing.  Not to mention that it was a museum day for me, so I was already rather tired.

But it was different, and fun, so I'll have to see how I feel about doing it again (it's every other week).  Oh, and there was one really nice moment.  While taking a break I was chatting with a woman - the type who asks a dozen questions about yourself.  So I had mention working in the historic fashion area, and also (of course) about my work at the museum.  And she was enthusiastic about both, and then mentioned a time that she went to an exhibit of wedding gowns at the museum.  Well - that was my exhibit!  (OK  it was a team effort, but I was a big part of it).  So that was fun to have it remembered, and she was excited that I had worked on it.

And that's 9 days of August.