And It Kept On Going

 I left off last post - Sunday - with my power restored an all well in the world.
I didn't get into the fridge much on Sunday - after a long power outage it's best to keep the door closed as much as possible until the temperature can balance out again.  I had cleaned out the lump of ice in the freezer, and it was happily spitting out cubes again, and everything was properly frozen.

Monday I had planned to take care of a few things and then head down to the cottage - I've set myself the challenge to see if I can make a puppet of Rocky (the alien) from Project Hail Mary) from Amazon boxes and hot glue.  This seems like a fun way to spend Memorial Day and maybe push back a little on the memories when this day would have meant getting up way too early, putting on my Rosie the Riveter outfit, waving to crowds in the parade while Bob drove the jeep, and later joining all the other military vehicle people for the buffet at Golden Corral.

 But I go to get the milk for breakfast, and I realize that it's cool - but not cold.  I toss in a thermometer - it's a little over 60 degrees instead of the required less than 40.  I set the temperature to go colder and shut the door.

I check back in awhile - nothing happening.  I spend some time Googling, then I empty the freezer top and bottom to aim a hair dryer at the air flow vents to be certain there is no ice blocking them.  I have to spend a certain amount of time pulling stuff from the fridge and sorting it into a couple of ice chests.  Then I shut the door and give it some time.  Nothing.

I unplug the fridge for 15 minutes then plug it back in again (my mind playing the line from the IT crowd of "did you try turning it off and turning it back on again).  Gave it some time.  Nothing.

Not much else to do, and it's still a holiday.  So this morning I call the repair place, and I'm lucky in that the tech had a cancellation and was out there in a couple of hours, and the problem is that the little motor that controls the vent and airflow from the the freezer to the fridge has burned out.  It's not a terribly complicated fix - if they had the part in stock, which they don't.  So I'll be living out of the ice chests for a couple of days (thank goodness for the freezer - I can just keep rotating ice blocks in and out).

Now for a spot of lunch and head out to the cottage.  Except that I get a text from Suzie wondering if there is anyway I can come in this afternoon.  They didn't have any volunteers, were short on  staff, and a big donation of produce was coming in from Cosco.  So I went in, helped offload from the truck, and sorted good from needs-to-be-trashed.

The good part about helping out on a Costco day is that after we sort and stuff our fridges, and have made up boxes to donate to other animal rehabbers, there's still a lot left over that we can take.  I normally load up - for both me and the chickens.

I don't have a fridge.

So now I have my two regular sized ice chests and two smaller ice chests on the kitchen floor and a path around them.

Awkward, yes.  Inconvenient, certainly.  In the grand scheme of disasters - not so bad.

Maybe tomorrow will be quiet.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

 It's been an "interesting" few days.

On my April 24 post - a month ago today - I had a list of stuff that was bugging me.  I've dealt with it.  The jeep has been sold and taken away (that still hurts, even though it went to the best possible home where it will get the care I didn't give it).  I did the paperwork for the trailer and handed it over to Rik.  I got the maintenance done on the car in places other than where I went for the previous 24 years.  I put on my new hubcaps.

And I got my Reclast infusion for my osteoporosis on Wednesday (4 days ago).  I was nervous - a likely side effect was flu-like symptoms, maybe with nausea and/or headache.  The infusion itself was easy - it took about an hour, but the needle they used was tiny, and I was in a comfortable recliner in a private room.  Then I beat feet home so that I wouldn't be driving if those side effects hit.

Which they didn't - at first.  I was fine that afternoon and evening.  I was fine when I went to bed. Then I woke up at 2:00 a.m. . . . . .
"Flu-like symptoms" can best be described as "run over by a bus filled with a little league team on a sugar high who all jump out to beat the crap out of you with their little baseball bats."  I was sweating, I was shivering, I hurt all over.  About all one can do at that point is get up, walk around, take Tylenol, make a cup of tea, curl up on the couch, and turn on the TV.  Up popped "You might like this movie."  It showed a guy standing in front of an ancient crumbling mansion so what the heck - I hit play.

2:30 in the morning, sick, fevered, I watched this guy check in, get lost, the hotel is a big labyrinth filled with strange people (and occasionally a marching band in the hallway), and no one knows the way out.  There is a salon with an aging grande Dame and her retinue, and he gets shoved into helping out in the kitchen where cooks have to apprentice for 7 years separating eggs before moving on to be allowed to whisk them.  No one has been outside of the hotel for years.  He notices that the hotel is shrinking - the hallways are getting narrower.  Two little old ladies are moving their furniture to the hallway because it doesn't fit in the rooms any more.  Finally the crowds are mobbing him, but he finally gets rescued by the giant squid that's living in the walls of the hotel.

I fall asleep wondering what the heck was in that infusion - or maybe how bad was that fever?  Later that afternoon, I go back and check.  The movie is real.

I was really sick (I kept telling myself that I wasn't sick, just having a reaction, but I lost that argument) Thursday (I was seriously wondering if the chickens wouldn't mind if they didn't get let out of their coop or fed - but I was able to get out there).  Thursday night was a little rough, but Friday I was feeling better and I was able to go to work on Saturday.  I figured I could get a decent night's sleep on Saturday and be all caught up.

The best laid schemes of mice and men . . . .

A storm rolled in Saturday night - not complaining, as we need the rain.  The power went off around 10:00 p.m.  It was totally black in the house (Bob used to use the phrase "darker than three feet up a bull's butt" but I'm not sure if he ever actually checked that out).  Obviously, I went to bed.  It took me awhile to get to sleep; I'm usually antsy about sleeping during a power outage because I know I'm going to be snapped awake when it comes back on.  But I finally slept for a couple of hours.  I remember the tag end of a dream - it might have been a nightmare for some people but it's a fairly ordinary occurrence for me - I was going to pick up some eggs from the nest box and saw that there was a snake in it.  I stepped back, and then I was enveloped in darkness.
It took a few minutes for me to realize that I had waken up and the power was still out.  I got up to go to the bathroom and heard/saw a flash!crack! and then a FLASH!BOOM! as a transformer blew somewhere.

I tried to go back to sleep.  I had the windows open but it was still stuffy (obviously no fans running).  The owls were being noisy outside the window.  The hooting is pleasant, but barred owls also make this wild squawking monkey noise and seriously guys, can't you take it a little farther out in the woods?  I'm starting to drift when the room is flooded with bright white light - from the outside.  First panicked thought was "FIRE!" but it was white, not orange, and while it was moving, it wasn't flickering.  Second thought was "aliens are landing."  I got up and looked out the window.  The electric company truck had come up my drive and was using a searchlight to follow and check the power lines.

By now it's after 3:00 a.m. and for some reason I'm wide awake.  Now that the searchlight is gone, I'm also in the pitch dark, which is rather boring.  I decide to read a bit.  The Kindle has a light, but having the screen as the only light is a good way to hurt your eyeballs.  I grab my headlamp with the LED strip light on it - it gives a soft general glow.  It has also decided that it needs to be charged.

Now I'm wide awake and quite annoyed.  My little electric spinning wheel has a battery pack.  I grab that, and open the drawer that has the charging cords.
Goddess as my witness, I label cords when I get a new device, because the small plugs seem to be different for each thing.  At 3:30 in the morning, nothing seems to be labeled, so I'm peering into little sockets with a flashlight, comparing it to the tiny plugs, finally find one that fits and I'm able to plug in my headlamp and read my damned book for awhile.

After that I sleep for a couple of hours and wake up to the power still off.  I check the local FB page on my phone - post to see if anyone else has power, and apparently *everybody* else has power.  Someone posted the outage made that showed that only two household were still without power (I don't know who the other one was).

But the lovely electrical people were here by 8:00 a.m.  It turned out that the initial "flash!crack!" that I had heard was my own personal transformer blowing, so they had to bring in the big cherry picker and replace it.  Nice people.

For some reason I haven't gotten much done today.  I did have to tackle the freezer a little - nothing had thawed enough to worry about, but I discovered when I tried to get some ice for lunch that all of the ice in the ice maker had fused into one lump so I had to spend some time liberating that.

So that's the last four days.  Maybe tomorrow will be a bit less interesting.

Short Jeff Visit, and New Hubcaps

 Jeff is in town for a conference.  Unfortunately the conference started on Sunday afternoon and will be going 12 hours a day (what madness is that?) and then he has to go back home immediately afterwards.  But he was able to get out for lunch on Sunday before the conference started.

He wanted to try the new Indian restaurant. I've mentioned before that the strip center is small, and rather run down, mostly dominated by a big student-oriented liquor store.  When we met there Sunday, we were the only two cars in the parking lot, which was still filled by the detritus of a Saturday night liquor store run.

I went over and put my arms around him.  He's one of the few people that I'm comfortable enough to just go hold, that lovely boneless hug, and he doesn't mind at all.  Except that after a couple of minutes I said "doing this in a rather hinky parking lot must look a little strange" and we both laughed and had an enjoyable lunch together.

The next day I went into town to get my tires rotated.  I was prepared - I had the box with my new hubcaps in the car (I've been driving around with a couple of my hubcaps held on with zip ties - when I last had the tires rotated the dealership broke the clips - which is a bit too casual even for me).  I figured that I could ask them to put the new ones on for me.
Well, no they couldn't.  I didn't know that they have to be assembled, and these days they're made of a fairly flimsy plastic and they didn't want to be responsible if one of them broke in the process.

Sigh.  This meant that I could take "get the car tires rotated" off the things-to-do list, but add "put the new hubcaps on the car."  I could, of course, try to call around and find someone who could put them on for me, but I could also consult the Oracle YouTube and do it myself.

I had a plan for today.  I want to see if I can make a puppet of Rocky from Project Hail Mary.  Rob made me a little 3D print of him so I have a point of reference.  I had two chores I wanted to get done first:  Put the hubcaps on the car, and take the bag of chicken feed I had in the car down to the barn and put it in buckets.  Then I could go play in the cottage.

The best laid schemes o' mice and men . . . . .
Putting the reinforcement rings in the hubcaps was trickier than YouTube made it look (actually I was pretty good by the time I got to the last one).  Then it was a matter of popping an old hubcap off and snapping the new one one.  If they would snap on that easily - I didn't want to use too much force and risk snapping the clips the way they had at the dealership.  It took a bit of practice to decide just how much force to use. Again, by the last one I was getting better at it.

I would have enjoyed learning something new, and feeling a bit more competent, but that was offset by the fact that getting down on the ground is awkward (I hurt the bursa in my left knee so can't kneel on it until it heals, which it is doing very slowly).  It hit 90 degrees today, so I was getting sweaty, and the yellow biting flies are out so I was getting bloody.  I was just glad to get it done.  But they look good.  As long as I had to do this, I went for black ones to look a bit more sexy (I did search for spider web ones but couldn't find any)

So all that took a lot longer than planned.  Then it was time for the chicken feed.  It comes in 50 pound bags so I usually just drive around to the barn with it.  However - a tree had fallen across the back drive that I take.  So I had to get my chainsaw and cut that into chunks and toss out of the way, and *then* I could get down to the barn and dole out the 50 pounds of feed into buckets.

By then I was quite hot and very sweaty and all I wanted was a shower, so playing in the cottage will have to be another day.

RIP Mabel

 I got the oil changed in the car today, and it made me a little sad.  It's no big deal - you pull into the oil change place, and you don't even have to get out of your car while they take care of everything.

But it also signals the end of a relationship.  From 2001 to 2025, I just went to the dealership for the oil change, tire rotation, and general checkup.  I'd go there, hand over the keys, then sit in the waiting room, drink coffee, and read while it was all taken care of.

But in 2024, they put the hubcaps on incorrectly, breaking the clips.  I talked them into replacing the two that fell off, and the other two have been held on, most elegantly, with zip ties.  I chalked that up to "everyplace can have an off day."

Last year, when they finished, they told me that they couldn't rotate the tires because of the broken hubcaps.  Also, when they put the car on the lift, they caught the underskirting, ripped it loose, and then just hoped that I wouldn't notice (uh - the sound of something scraping the ground when I drove was a giveaway).  The shop mechanic was less than gracious when I suggested that they fix it - which they didn't do very well and I had to take it to a body shop to get it done properly.  Later, when my low tire light came on, I realized that they had underinflated the tires..

Obviously I can't trust them to take care of my car properly any more.  And I think it's the loss of that trust that makes me a bit sad.  And that now it's two errands instead of one because I still have to find a place to get my tires rotated (and I just ordered new hubcaps because the zip ties are a little tacky).

Also genuine sadness because while I was getting my oil changed, I got an email from Suzie at the museum that Mabel the barred owl was found dead this morning.

I've known Mabel ever since she came to the museum 18 years ago. I handled her a lot when I was in the education department, and some even since then.  She was a bit of a diva and a very picky eater.  All of our other birds mostly get a special bird of prey diet (it looks rather like hamburger).  She would turn up her beak at it, so she mostly got mice, chicks, and fish.

She was a most contrary bird.  When someone goes in to get her, she would fly all over the place until the person could make a grab for the jesses, then she would have to hang upside down until the leash was attached and she could be lifted onto the glove.  Then came the personality change - she loved to be cuddled and scratched.

I was the one who started her on that (I was one of the first people to handle her).  For the first couple of years if I would reach over to try to touch her, she would hunker down or twist away or snap at me.  I persisted, then one day I was able to touch and scratch the back of her neck, and all of a sudden she was "OMG, is *that* what you've been trying to do?"  Sometimes she would almost fall asleep.

Of course, after I spent 2-3 years getting her to that point - she decided that she liked it and would let anybody have a good scratch.  Little slut.

She was an ideal education bird.  You could take her into a classroom full of yelling kids, and she'd just sit there with a "whatever" look on her face.  You could let her sit on a table perch at a festival, with dozens of people walking by, and she was be so calm that a lot of people thought she was taxidermied (which was really funny when she moved).  One time Jim Fowler (of Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom fame) came to the museum when I had her out, and told the crowd to watch her reaction as he gave a perfect barred owl hoot.  Her reaction?  Zip, zilch, nada.  Whatever.

18 years I've known her (and she was an adult when we got her).  I'm going to miss her.

Weird Dream; Jeep Memories

 Very bizarre dream last night.  I was down in the barn - I can't remember what I was doing, when I heard the loud freight train sound and looked out to see the sky black and swirling and the huge tornado funnel coming down.  I knew I couldn't make it to the house and was trying to crawl under a table that I knew would give no protection at all.

I woke up in a panic.

It's odd.  I certainly don't like tornadoes after I dodged the one a couple of years ago (and know many people who didn't), but they're usually not something I think about.

I eventually got back to sleep but I'm a little groggy today.  And unmotivated. I'm still trying to figure out a bit what's going on with me - my chest aches a little (more emotional than physical, a heartache), I'm aware of my breathing, I've even taken recently to just going to lie down in the middle of the day, clutching cuddle pillow.

Trying to wonder what's wrong with me.  Well, duh.  It's just grief.  I know how that feels.  I miss the jeep.   I remember that I cried for two days after giving up the old Honda (and, honestly, I still miss it).  I remember the heartache of watching Bob's truck going down the drive for the last time.  Even the sadness of realizing that the kayaks were a little too heavy for me to manage by myself and letting them go.

But that jeep.  1943 Willys.  Such a unique piece of kit.  And, after 46 years, so many memories.  Parades - lots of parades.  That strange overwhelming feeling (a burst of patriotism?) when you rounded the corner onto the main parade route and saw thousands and thousands of people waving flags and cheering.  Me in my Rosie the Riveter getup, honoring the women who kept this country going while the men were off at war, giving (and getting) the "Rosie salute."  Lots of flag waving.  Giving rides to WWII veterans (and, as time went on, and there were fewer and fewer of them, replacing them with VietNam vets).

I found myself today remembering when we took it to get restored, the way that Bob and I could turn a bad situation around.

We had it for about 15 years, Bob sort of putzing  around with it, sometimes getting it running, before we bit the bullet (and had some cash ahead) to take it to a restorer.  At the time the only one we could find was in Tampa.  We got a cat sitter (we figured on driving there, staying the night with my parents, and coming back).  We were a little over halfway, in the small town in Chiefland, when I looked behind us and said "Bob - there's smoke coming out of the truck."  Bob swore, and pulled over, and said "We're screwed."  I looked around and said "No, we're not."  Because we had pulled over - into the parking lot of a Ford dealership.  So we finished pulling in, explained our situation, and they let us know that they probably wouldn't be able to work on it until the next day.  But then they saw what was on the trailer, and everyone had to come out and look at it.  They even pulled it into the garage that night, rather than letting it sit out in the parking lot.

After we talked to them, and were thinking "now what" we noticed that there was a Hotel 8 just across the street, with a Denny's beside it.  So basically we were set.  I think most people would have been frustrated and angry; somehow after we accepted our fate, and knew things were going to work out, we just decided to enjoy the unexpected gift of each other's company, with nothing we needed to do.  The next morning after breakfast we walked back to the Ford place to get a time estimate, and were told it would be ready in a few minutes.  The mechanic said he knew we needed to get back on the road with that jeep, so  he came into work early to get our truck done before the day's schedule work.

We were told to take it easy - not go above 45 miles an hour, and don't use the air conditioning (fortunately it was early spring).  So we just moseyed our way (being nice enough to pull over for a bit now and then to let traffic through).  And going slowly, with the windows down, let us breathe in the fragrance as we drove past acres of  blossoming orange groves.

Good times.  Good memories.  And, because of those, grief when it's over.

I'm OK with that.

When All Else Fails, Clean the Workroom

 Where are two shoes to click to my clack
Where is a voice to answer mine back?
                                                                     (Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol)

An odd phenomena that I notice from time to time is that I'm often aware of the sounds of my own footsteps.  Like when I'm walking in a store, or a restaurant, or even down a sidewalk.

That's just a random observation.

I've spend a few days out in the cottage, aka The Wicca House, the workroom, my maker space, or (ever since a friend made the pun) the Sidhe shed.  I have always had a tendency to work on a project, finish said project . . . and walk away.  So it needed some attention - the dye materials for the Forest Walk shawl were still out on the counter in one room, the sewing scraps from my Ren Faire outfit in another, the lost-the-momentum possible Wendigo skull on a work table, all that alpaca fleece in pillowcases on the floor . . .  It's all been sorted, some tossed, things put away, surfaces wiped down, even vacuumed.  Ready for the next project when inspiration strikes.  I even did an upgrade.

From time to time when I'm working on a project, I find that I want to review a technique or instruction.  Or even follow a step-by-step video.  Squinting at my phone screen just doesn't work for me.  If I knew up front I'd want to watch something, I could take my laptop with me (no WiFi in the cottage but I can make a hotspot off my phone).  But mid-project, it was either squint or make a run back to the house.

Sometime in the last year or two I got the idea of taking my old  desktop computer down there (because,of course, I had never gotten rid of it, just stored it).  I can't remember how old it is, but it's very proud of itself for being a two-in-one instead of having a separate tower, and I believe it was running on Windows 8.  So, old.

When I turned it on, it would take about 10 minutes to lumber into life.  Then another 10 minutes to actually open a web browser.  A few minutes to tell it to connect to my phone.  A few more to find YouTube.  Basically - about 30+ minutes.  Definitely frustrating if I just wanted to check a technique mid project.  I started thinking about getting a laptop to keep out there.  But I really didn't need or want a full computer, with keyboard and mouse.  All I really needed was . . . 

Well, duh.  A television.  These days, for $80, you can get a 24" smart television.  No fire stick or Chromecast stick needed.  Just plug in and go, and I have YouTube and web access and everything I need.

So the cottage is cleaned up (well, at least by my standards) and waiting for inspiration.  But my brain is foggy.  I don't know the right word - not exactly depressed, or morose, or sad - but something.

I've realized that it's just because there have been a lot of things in the last month that underscores that I am now just Ann, not Ann-and-Bob.  I now wear his ring, which isn't exactly his ring anymore because it would now barely fit on the tip of his pinky finger.  I went to a movie, and to two plays (by myself, of course).  When I had my mammogram done, I went to go check out Michael's and World Bizarre which are both nearby (I'm better now than I once was - the first time I went to Michael's, around 2021, I lasted less than 10 minutes before I had to escape to the car to cry).  He enjoyed exploring both of those.

Giving up the jeep was huge.  I still get twisted up inside when I go to the barn (which is daily, because the chicken feed is in there).  As I said in an earlier post, it's a similar feeling to that I get when RedBug goes hopping by, with the emptiness where his leg used to be.  But Russell is going to rebuild all the damage from sitting there for so long (from needing new tires to rewiring where mice have chewed), and someday, fingers crossed, it will go into a museum.  Best of all possible outcomes.  But I still miss the life that had that jeep in it.

I also finally did the paperwork on the trailer that we used to carry the jeep on.  Rik traded it for a sheep for the museum a few years ago, but still hasn't gotten around to dragging it off (life gets in the way sometimes).  I couldn't find the title; he said he would do a title search but recently said that it would probably be easier if I did it, because I own it so I could probably get a duplicate title online.  I couldn't; apparently that is one one sole thing that was only in Bob's name (even the jeep had both our names on the title).  So it wasn't on my account.  I couldn't create an online account in his name because his license had expired.  So I took a deep breath and gathered up the materials I thought I would need:  the license plate, his driver's license . . . and his death certificate.  I *hate* seeing or touching that.  But it's the official document that lists me as the "surviving spouse" which would give me the ownership.

I hate being reminded that I'm a surviving spouse.  But having all that - it only took a few minutes there to get the paperwork done, and handed over to Rik on the way home.

Looking back - that's Bob's ring, four outings, the jeep, and the trailer in not quite a month.   I've learned that it's best to just let my feelings happen and acknowledge them, rather than trying to convince myself that they don't matter.

And in the meanwhile, do some cleaning up.

A Long Day and a Midsummer Night

 Friday night Tallahassee decided to take a break from the drought, big time (I'm not complaining because we really need the rain).  Bad enough that the power went out.  I went to bed but I couldn't sleep because I was being hyper vigilant. The bedroom has a flat roof, which is a stupid design.  Rather than shingles there is a heavy vinyl sheeting.  If, for example, a branch falls on it and tear it, well, it leaks.  So I was lying there listening for the telltale sound of water dripping inside the bedroom.  It wasn't happening, but I still couldn't relax so I moved out to the couch.

That was fine for a few hours (honestly, I rather like sleeping on the couch) until the power came back on in the wee small hours and the lights that I thought I had turned off when the power was out turned out to be on.  That snapped me awake. But I finally was able to get to sleep again.  Until . . .

Remember this picture of RedBug up on his shelf?  Notice that it's over the couch - and I usually sleep with my head at this end.  At some point after I got back to sleep, I was awakened again by the sound of a cat being very noisily sick.  Groggily I tried to pinpoint the sound and then wondered how it seemed to be coming from directly overhead . . . .  I was inspired to move very quickly.  Fortunately he managed to barf and keep it all on the shelf, but I still had to clean it up, and by then I realized that the alarm was going to go off in a half hour so sleep was a lost cause.

Normally I don't have to go anywhere on Saturday.  But of course this day I did.  The weaver's guild meeting was in the morning, and I was taking that wheel I got a few months ago to another member, and also off loading some of that alpaca.  So there I was, groggy, with a headache, driving in the rain to a meeting I didn't really want to attend (they tend to spend a lot of time on tangents that don't interest me).  At least it was at the library, which is next door to that excellent French pastry shop, so the morning wasn't a total loss.

Normally I never go anywhere on a Saturday night, but . . . .  I had a ticket to an outdoor production of a Midsummer Night's Dream out at the museum.  It was brilliant.  The scenes were set in different places along the trail, and the audience walked to them.  So when the rustics were meeting to rehearse their play "by the old oak tree in the woods" you walked to go see them.  When the young lovers were chasing each other through the woods, it was done literally.  Titania's bower up in the tree - was up in a tree.  Fairies in light-up costumes were overhead (using the Tree to Tree ropes course).  There were extra effects - like the nightbirds calling, the eagle being annoyed and screaming at the actors, and the turkey keeping up a steady comment.

I don't think I could ever really enjoy this play on a stage again.

Other adventures.  As I didn't get much sleep Friday night and had a very long day Saturday (I didn't get home from the play until after 10:00 p.m.) I was a bit of a zombie on Sunday and looking forward to bed.  But after the power outage on Friday the air pump on my fish tank became *very* loud (I'll go buy a new one tomorrow).  Annoying enough that I returned to the couch.  In the wee small hours the cats went bonkers, running all over and knocking stuff down and just having shenanigans.  That finally settled down.  I was able to get some sleep, but I can see the kitchen from the couch and at 6:00 the very bright light from my herb garden came on.  When that woke me, I noticed that the cats were still on high alert - and then I saw the mouse making a dash for the bedroom.  I jumped up and threw the cats out of the bedroom.  Now I had a mouse under my secretary to deal with.

I came up with A Clever Plan.  I got a shopping bag and put a towel in it to make it seem like a cozy safe place and laid it on one side of the secretary.  Then I got down with a flashlight and a ruler to poke under the secretary to chivy the mouse towards the bag.

Darned if it didn't work!  Mouse got moved outside.  At this point sleep was out of the question (the AC people were coming the clean the unit in a couple of hours).  So I did my morning ablutions, fed the cats, went to go let the chickens out of the coop and feed them, then finally made my tea and poured my cereal.  As I sat down, there was a tiny knock at the sliding glass door as a squirrel reminded me I had not put out their sunflower seeds and peanuts.

I doubt if I'll get much done today.

Frustrating Day (but a couple of cute pictures)

 Some days you're just spinning your wheels.

Granted, I'm still in a down mood from the jeep.  The barn looks like a cavern.  Live with something for 46 years and you get used to having it around.  And we had such fun with it.  Past tense.

I realize that I'm feeling the same way about the jeep as I did about RedBug's leg.  Making the decision, each time, tore me up.  Going through with it hurt.  Looking at the smooth blankness where Bug's leg used to be still twists me up a little.  Looking at the empty barn hurts.

But RedBug would have died.  And the jeep would have rusted away.  I did what had to be done to save them.  Sigh.

So today I've been doing, or trying to do, stuff that needs to be done . . . again.  There's a woman in the weaver's guild who wants the spinning wheel that I got in March (with the idea of passing it on).  We haven't gotten together yet (in her defense, she works and has two preteen boys).  I wrote her last week to see if she was going to the guild meeting this coming Saturday.  I rarely go, but I would to be able to take it to her.  I didn't hear back.  So I wrote again today.  I've fine either way, but I would like to know if I need to plan on going or not.

I wanted to look at the results of my Dexa scan and compare it to earlier years.  I tried to log onto my patient portal but couldn't.  I finally called the help number and apparently I fell out of the system.  So I went through all the steps and filled out the online forms to get reinstated.  They had to send me an access code, which it said could take a day.  I waited two days, then called back today to deal with that.  I finally get into the portal - and while it verifies that I had the scan, it doesn't have the results.  Now I have to call my doctor's office to find out how to get those.

I mentioned a couple of posts ago about having to try to contact the DMV to get a title for the car trailer.  Of course, I think it's the only thing we owned that apparently was only in Bob's name, so I can't get it online.  It's suggested that you make an appointment rather than just walk in.  You can't do that online.  So I called three times today, to go through the phone tree to get to the point you can ask for a human being, only to get the message "everyone is busy, try calling again later."  So I guess I'll take a day and just go sit there until someone can see me.  In the meanwhile, I know I'll have to turn the license plate in, so I went to take it off but the bolts have rusted so I'll need to tackle it with WD40, a screwdriver, and a wrench.

OK,that's today down the tubes. Maybe I should just take my blanket and book and go sit by my stream and chill.  I start down the path, and face this.

My path runs under those two fallen trees.  They're too big for my little chainsaw.  I'll still be able to get down to the stream (over the first tree, duck under the second) but I need to clean out the branches and other detritus first.   In my present mood I should not be working with implements of destruction.

Basically, this day has been a wash.  But to end it with a reset, a couple of cute pictures.  One of the young foxes at the museum is on medication, and it's given to her in little balls of meat.  So that we're sure she gets it, we have to hand feed her.  

One of the cats' toys is a round plush piggie.  RiverSong had decided that it makes a good pillow.

Maybe tonight I'll go sit with the fireflies again before their brief season is over.

Jeep

 Well, that didn't take long.  The jeep is gone.

It was Bob's pride and joy, and a vital part of WWII history.  The 1942 Willys.

Bob bought it, derelict and sitting in a barn, in December 1979.  He putzed around with it for the next 15 years, and then finally it went to stay about two years at a restorer's.

We had a lot of fun in that beast.  Sometimes we'd just take it out for a drive.  It's been to a lot of parades, Bob in his WWII kit, me as Rosie the Riveter.  One time for an FSU parade, Bob had to be a parade marshal so I got to drive it with our local astronaut Norm Thagard as my passenger.  At various other parades we would load it up with WWII veterans.  Bob's favorite part was in the display area afterwards, when the vets would come up and lovingly touch it, like someone seeing an old hound dog they thought was long gone, and tell us their stories.  Heck - even my mother.  Post WWII when she was in Japan with my father, she could check a Jeep out of the motor pool if she and her friends wanted to drive into Tokyo (I can just see my mother, in her early 20's, a farm girl from Illinois, driving a Jeep in Japan).

One time, we went to dinner after a parade, and when we came out, there were four vets sitting in it, laughing and swapping stories.  Rather than look embarrassed for sitting in someone's car when we came out, they handed us a camera and asked us to take their picture.

After Bob died, Robert and Amanda asked me to keep the jeep.  That was Uncle Bob's legacy.  Maybe we would all ride in it in a parade.  They could pass it down to their kids, and maybe someday to their grandkids.  Of course, because of Covid there were no parades for two years.  They got involved in other things.  The jeep has just been sitting in the barn.  I at least kept a tarp over it (cardinals like to roost in there, and I didn't want it spattered) but I never drove it (it actually takes a lot of muscle - no power steering or brakes).  The kids got on with their lives.  They rarely come to Tallahassee, and never go down as far as the barn to look at it.  Their kids - Dane and Zeke - have shown no interest.  Robert and Amanda don't have the interest, time, storage, or money to maintain a vehicle that's now 84 years old.

I've been feeling increasingly guilty over the years as it's been slowly deteriorating.  Yes - it's a unique vehicle.  Even part of my identity "why yes - that's a WWII Willys jeep under that tarp."  It's a legacy of Bob's.  But honestly - it's also a white elephant, something that must be stored and maintained.

Perhaps it's because I'm now wearing Bob's ring that I found the courage to grit my teeth and make the call.  Letting the jeep slowly rust away is not the way to show respect to Bob's memory.  Fortunately - it's not going to some stranger.  There's a man a couple of towns away, Russell Deese, who has made his living for forty years restoring and selling military vehicles.  He's worked on this jeep before.  He and Bob were friends.  I just wasn't expecting it to happen so quickly.  I emailed him on Friday evening - and Sunday afternoon he was here with the trailer.  We talked about Bob (he even came into the house to admire Bob's models).

Then came the moment when I teared up. He asked me "how would you feel about this going into a museum? We could put a plaque with Bob's name on it."  Apparently there are plans to create a military museum in Tallahassee, and Russell is on the board.  If things go according to plan, and the jeep goes in, it will be restored and cared for and I can go see it.  If not - it will go to a collector who will maintain it properly.  That is what I really want, to honor Bob.

Does it hurt to give it up?  Hell,yeah.  We bought that jeep 46 years ago.  It's always been around.  Now the barn feels like a big empty cavern.  And I'm no longer a woman who owns a WWII jeep.  But it also feels good to let go of the guilt, to not let something that was important to Bob simply rust away.  His legacy will go on.

Time for a Brain Dump

 I would give my weight in gold
For one last chance to tease you

I would burn my castle down
For one last chance to please you   (Weight in Gold)

I wrote in my last post how I love wearing Bob's ring.  I do, definitely. But there's something else, like a little twinge.  For six years I would look at it from time to time, almost with a sense of patient waiting.  What was I waiting for?  Subconsciously - that there would be a time slip and it turned out that everything worked out the way it was supposed to?  Or that it was all a big mistake, or just a dream?  That if I was patient enough - he'd put it back on again?  Getting it sized to fit me, made it mine.  I feel closer to him - which makes me realize even more that he's out of reach.

I went to see Project Hail Mary last week - I was curious because they were using practical effects and Rocky was a puppet.  Very good movie; I predict Oscars.  But, of course, they had to leave out 80% of the book - the part that I called "science porn."  But dammit - it happened again.  That imploding empty feeling I get (like after the play last week) as I walk back to my car alone.  I would have loved to go grab a cup of coffee and talked about the movie, but I don't know anyone who's into science fiction.
I'm semi-tempted to see it again.  I love "behind-the-scenes" insights (I've been watching a lot of YouTube videos).  There's an app that you can download that has the director's commentary throughout the movie (obviously you listen on ear buds).  I thought about just listening to it - but you have to be in a theater.  Which means sitting through the movie again.  Maybe they'll make it available when it shows up on home streaming.

After going to the theatre and then the movie (and having to drive into town for my rings) I once again opted out of the Chain of Arts in the Park.  I would like to go see all the art; I doubt if I would buy anything because I'm still drowning in too much stuff of my own.  The traffic is heavy, the parking horrendous, and the whole place is crowded.  I ended up that afternoon sitting on my back deck with a book, coffee, snacks . . . and a small pile of peanuts.

I sipped, nibbled, read, looked at the trees, listened to the thrum of the hummingbird's wings at the feeder, and the wild chirping when a mother wren came in with a bug for her wide-mouthed chicks in the nest in a corner of the deck.

Now, the brain dump.  I've been feeling restless and somehow oppressed.  Feeling like there are things that I've left undone.    When I get in this mood, I know that it's time to get a cup of tea, a notepad and pen, and figure out what's bothering me.

It's a lot of little things, a few big things, stuff that will take a few minutes, stuff that will take longer, and stuff I just have to accept.

Worrisome:  The drought here is getting really bad.  Fires are popping up all over Florida.  What can I do about this?  Well, nothing.  Maybe get my bug-out kit ready.
Annoyance:  I have realized that having a fire is a big part of my enjoyment of the continual cleaning up of the yard.  Picking up yard waste only to put it in a pile lacks a sense of reward, as does cutting up a tree and finding someplace to pile the chunks.  Also, this year I was going to give the azaleas a serious cutting back.  I don't know if it's caution or paranoia, but it strikes me that a living growing plant is less of a fire hazard than a large pile (the azaleas cover the entire front of the house - it will be a lot) of dead branches and drying leaves.

Worrisome:  I had my dexa scan last week.  My doctor called - my osteopenia/osteoporosis is slightly worse.  So much for my logged in 2,000 miles of walking in the last two years, taking my meds, my manual labor at the museum, my moving of cinder blocks and cut up trees and carrying 50lb bags of chicken food.  I don't want to end up like Dad, who one day was putting the sheet on the bed and fractured his back, and later jumped up from a chair to help Mom and broke his leg.  So I'll be going in for an infusion treatment.  The problem with an infusion instead of pills is that once it's in, it's in.  You can't stop taking it.  Fingers crossed that I don't have any reaction.
Annoyance:  I wanted to look to see just how much my numbers have changed since last dexa two years ago.  This is done by the online health portal - I tried for about a half-hour to get in.  It apparently doesn't recognize my email (I have noticed that their system periodically reverts to an old email that I no longer have access to).  So now I have to make a phone call to try to get that worked out.

Annoyance:  Time to take the car in for annual maintenance.  For some 24 years, first with the old Honda and now this one I just went to the dealership.  But year before last they broke the clips on my hubcaps, and last year they ripped the undercarriage skirting loose and were really annoyed when I wanted them to repair it so it wasn't dragging the ground.  This means that I probably have to go to two places - on for fluid change, and one to get the tires rotated.  And first I have to buy new hubcaps because a couple of the current ones are held on with zip ties.

Annoyance.  I sold the old car trailer to Rik (actually, I traded it to him for a sheep for the museum).  I can't find the title.  I went online to get a replacement but it doesn't show up.  Usually everything we got went under both names, but apparently the trailer was only under Bob's.  I tried to set up an account under his name, but his driver's license has expired so I couldn't.  Now I need to make an appointment and go to the DMV to see if I can get a title.

Hanging over my head:  Bob's jeep.  Amanda really wanted me to keep it (she's very sentimental).  But it's just rusting and rotting away, and I feel awful about that.  Maybe I was thinking/hoping that someone would contact me and be interested in it - but that's never happened.  I told myself last year that as soon as I passed Bob's death anniversary that I would start checking around - and then I didn't.  I did the first step - I just talked to my nephew Rob to tell him that it was time to make a decision.  If they want the jeep, they have to come get it (and probably rent garage space somewhere).  Meanwhile, I did write a WW2 expert (who recently gave a talk on jeeps, so I got his contact from the library) and he said he'll ask around, and also gave me a web site.

And there's some little things that I just need to take care of.

I think what's bothering me is that the theme running through all this is "I."  I have to do this, make that call, schedule that appointment, I have to go deal with this, I have to be prepared for an emergency.  I I I I I I I I I.   I feed the cats, I take care of the chickens, I call to have the annual maintenance on the air conditioning, I have to go buy hubcaps (and windshield wiper blades while I'm at it).   I sometimes get so exhausted from being "I."  I miss being "we."

OK - it helped to write it all down.  It's nothing that's not doable - I just have to suck it up, and do it.

My Ring Is Back

 My ring is back on my finger, thank God.
Even after a month, I couldn't get used to not having it.  I would find myself sometimes shaking my hand just to try to relieve the weird sensation.  I would wake up with a bit of panic in the night because something was wrong.

After wearing it for 54 years, perhaps it has become a horcrux.  All I know is that I've been feeling really stressed for the last month, and as soon as I slipped it back on again, I could relax.  Yes, it's different.

Before:

Now: 

Do I miss that wee diamond (marquis cut!)? Yes, of course.  Like I miss the 19-year old who didn't care what size the diamond was (it ended up being 1/5 carat) as long as it was a marquis cut, who tried to climb Bob to grab it as he held it out of her reach.  But I'm OK with it.  I was not OK with not feeling that ring on my finger.  And I didn't even want to think about getting a "replacement" diamond (honestly, I'm not that much of a diamond person).

I feel like I can breathe again.  Especially since it now has a companion on the other hand:

As long as I was getting one ring remade, why not two?  That's Bob's wedding ring.  I've kept it (of course!) but in a box to look at once in awhile, and sigh.  I know a woman who wears her husband's ring on her thumb - Bob's ring was far too big even for that.  There's the "ring on a chain" standard - but chains can come undone or break, and it would have to be something that I took on and off, because I spend so much time outside.  Now I can just wear it, all the time.

I love it.  I wish I had thought of this years ago.  A bit of him with me.  It feels so good.  Empowering.  Can a hand feel empowered?  Well, of course!  "Rings of power" is a thing.  Rings have from pre-history had meanings of power, symbolism, cultural meaning.  I am now me on my left hand, but Bob on my right, and I feel just a tiny bit more whole than I have for years.  A little stronger.

Like he's still with me.

The Play Went Wrong

 I've been to three plays at the FSU School of Theatre in as many years, and every time I wonder why I don't go more often.  The acting is great, the production values, settings, and costumes are wonderful, and the tickets are cheap - about as much as a couple of hamburgers.

This play had a lot of problems.  Missed cues, fumbles, the curtains falling off the wall, props broken - it all went wrong.  But considering that the title of this production is "The Play That Went Wrong" it all went wrong in all the right ways.  By the end, I had laughed for two hours, and the entire set, walls and all, was on the floor.

I even treated myself to a takeout from Cava for dinner.

Yes - I did have that feeling of - sadness?  wistfulness? when it seemed that everyone in the theater was in couples or groups, and I was the only one going solo. And it would have been fun to have been laughing with someone.  But my point of view about going solo (to the circus, or the RenFair, or out to eat) has changed over the years.   At first, it felt really weird.  Like everyone else had a partner or friends, and I didn't.  I think the change in my mindset came a year or so ago.  Jeff was in town, and we were going to meet for lunch.  I got there and waited inside - it was a hot day, so I wasn't about to sit in the car.  And I waited there for 20 minutes.  I just figured that he had gotten hung up at work.  But then I got a text from him of "where are you?"  It turned out that he got there, didn't see my car, so he just waited for me, outside in his truck, because he doesn't like to walk into a restaurant by himself.

There is it.  It's not like *everybody* else has people to do stuff with.  It's that the people who don't - simply don't do the stuff.  Don't go to the play, or the movie, or out to eat.   Whereas I've decided that if I want to do something, I do it.

I did have a group thing - the annual museum volunteer appreciation party.  That one is always fun.

I've been dealing with a chicken problem.  The dratted birds have figured out that eggs are tasty.  At first they were only breaking Djali's eggs (she's the only one that lays green eggs).  But now they're all fair game.  I've tried keeping the coop doors mostly closed to keep it dark in there (they can still go out to the scratch yard during the day). I changed to a different nest box.  I tried putting artificial eggs in the nest to see if pecking those would discourage them.  Now I'm just checking every hour or so to see if I can get an egg before they do.  If I find a bird on the nest, I shut the coop doors so no one else can get inside (and then have to remember to set a timer so I don't forget her).  I feel like I'm playing tug-of-war to get any eggs.  When I lose, I have to clean the gloppy nestbox.  I lose a lot.

This means war.  I made a couple of chicken bombs - I blew out some eggs, filled them with a mixture of mustard, chili paste, vinegar, and salt, and put them in the nest.
Me:  mwa ha ha ha ha
The Chickens:  Mommy made us tasty treats!!!!!

Sigh.

I'm *still* waiting on my ring.  It was supposed to take three weeks.  They had called after two weeks to give me the price estimate and get the go-ahead, so I was hopeful it would be soon.  After another week (when the three weeks was up) I called.  I got the "oops" call back.  The ring had not been moved from the "pending" box to the "work on it" box, so he said he should have it done within a week.  They're closed until Wednesday, so fingers crossed that I get it back.  Like someone with phantom limb pain, even after a month I can still feel the absence of the ring.  Even after this mistake, I'm going to put myself through this again.  I've been keeping Bob's ring in a box, but it occurred to me that I could have it cut down so that I can wear it.  I haven't found any other jewelers in town who do the work in-house instead of sending it out, so I hope this will go a little faster.

And now it's dark, and mid-April, so I must go out to sit with the fireflies.

Untethered

 I've been feeling oddly untethered.  Sort of free floating.

For the past almost 2.5 years, I've been doing the online Conquerer walking challenges.  They're fun, and have motivated me to get off my backside and move.  You pick a challenge - say, to do a Day of the Dead walk in Mexico, or hike Hadrian's wall in England. You pick a time frame-which will tell you how many miles a day you have to log.  When you finish, they send you a quite nice medal (actually enameled metal).   I did two walks of only about a hundred miles each, one at 180, and then a big one (around Iceland) of 830 miles.  Then I decided for the really big one - the 1084 miles from Land's End to John o' Groats in England.

In my previous walks I set my goal at 1.5 miles a day, 7 days a week.  Honestly, easily achieved.  For this one, I upped it to 2.5 (2.6 actually, to get the math right).  I had 424 days to do it, and it did in in 400.  I also learned that getting that extra mile a day turned into a real slog.  I don't like wearing anything in bracelet form, nor did I want to buy anything just for this, so I let the Fit app on my phone count my steps.  That meant that I got a little (a little?  More like totally) obsessive about keeping my phone on me at all times, even just in the house.  I could also enter steps manually - for instance, I know that from the house to the chicken coop  round trip is 150 steps, so if I ran out to check for eggs and forgot the phone I could enter it manually.  But it got to the point that if I checked on the chickens, then realized that they needed water, I had to count the steps from the coop to the faucet and back so I could enter those too.  I would get annoyed with myself if I ran out to put something in the car, and then realize that I hadn't picked up the phone.

But it's done, and I'm free.  But it's feeling a little strange not to have my phone in my pocket all the time, and just leave it on the table.

I'm also floating because March 30 has come and gone.  That weird feeling of living in 48 years simultaneously, while leaving the last 6 years blank, has gone.  I'm back to being just me now.  But I remember how I was floating the first couple of weeks of April 2020.  I had been three months living in the goldfish bowl that was the hospital room. I wasn't even supposed to use the bathroom in the room - that was for Bob only.  I had to go to the public bathroom outside of the ward.  That was a little embarrassing at 3:00 a.m., wandering down the hall in my jammies with everybody knowing where I was going.
Then, suddenly, I was back here, alone in the woods.  I could use either bathroom. I had a kitchen to cook in.  I had total freedom (well, as much as anyone could in those first days of the Covid shutdown).  I damn near exploded from all that pressure suddenly being gone (I think I did a few times.)

I'm also feeling untethered because my ring is still at the jeweler's (I had hoped they would be done by now).  I'm having the setting removed so I can just wear it as a plain band.  When I first had to stop wearing it (and before I took it to the jeweler) I would sometimes at home slip it back on just because my hand felt too strange without it.  Even now, almost a month later, I can still feel it (or feel it's absence) like some amputees still have the ghost limb syndrome.  Heck - I can even see the ghost ring.  The indentation in my finger, and the faint scarring from wearing a ring there for 54 years.

Soon, I hope, soon.

Cat news.  RedBug lived under the bed for two months after his amputation.  After that, he stayed in the bedroom for another month or so.  Finally, in February, he started venturing a few feet out, and by now he's back to his old normal self, even managing to get up on the cat shelf.

Such a relief.  I was hoping that I hadn't saved his life, only to have him always be afraid to come out in the open.

As he emerged back into the house, Hamish started acting up.  It was sort of to be expected; he and RedBug have never gotten along and Hamish probably enjoyed being the only boycat.  And the more Redbug emerged - laying on the couch, snuggling with me, getting on the shelf - the more Hamish acted up.  He seemed stressed/agitated.  Would walk around the house meowing (very annoying at night).  Even more annoying - to the extreme - he started spraying a lot, everywhere.  That got old really fast.  I tried not to get angry, thinking this was just jealousy.  I gave him a lot of attention, played with him, gave him treats.  But he just wouldn't settle.

Then it hit me.  Acting up.  Acting stressed.  Behaving badly.  Meowing a lot.  And the kicker - ate like crazy but not gaining any weight.  I ran him to the vet and asked to get his thyroid tested.  Yep-crazy high.  Fingers crossed that the meds to get that under control will help settle him down.

A few posts ago I mentioned seeing a friend and coming home with a spinning wheel and a ridiculous amount of alpaca. That huge bag turned out to also have a tanned sheep hide, and a sheep fleece which I inspected and then tossed in the ditch for erosion control.  That still left about 20 pounds of alpaca to sort, skirt, and wash.  I'm still not done - I think the stuff is breeding in that bag.  To give an idea of the amount, this is about 2 pounds after washing, laying out to dry.

I had an oddly meta moment this week.  The library is having its annual comic con in August, and their theme this year is sea monsters and mermaids.  It might be time to make another puppet.  I was perusing Pinterest for sea monster ideas. I came across a series of pages that looked very much like some books that I own on mythical creatures and dragons.  In theory they are made for kids, but I love them.  The pages are sepia and look worn, the writing is cursive, and there are a lot of fun things like envelopes that you can open to read letters.  These pages were of fantastical sea creatures.

If you're lucky on Pinterest, the poster will show links to the original pieces.  No such luck here.  I checked the two publishers that I know do this sort of book (Spiderwick Press and Candlewick Press).   I was getting determined - I *really* wanted to add this book to my collection.  Google Lens didn't help.  So finally I turn to my chatbot; I showed it a couple of the pages and asked if it could find the source.  What I got back was "I really hate to disappoint you, but those images are AI generated.  There is no book."

There is something very surreal for an AI to be apologizing for something that is AI generated.

That about sums up the past week.  April is filling up- there's a play I want to see, I have to get my dexa and mammogram (oh joy), the museum is having the annual volunteer party, and I have to try to find someplace to get my oil changed and the car checked out.  The last makes me sad - for 21 years I took my car (first the old Honda and now the new one) to the dealership, and had no problem.  But they've gotten sloppy - year before last they broke the clips on my hubcaps (they replaced the two that fell off - the other two I've got held on with zip ties) and last year they caught the underskirting of the car on the lift and ripped it loose - and then got annoyed with me when I pointed out that it was dragging on the ground and insisted that they repair it.  So that long relationship is over.

And so (in the words of famous diarist Samuel Peeps) to bed.

March 30

 It's almost 10:00 a.m.  By now Bob has stopped breathing, I have stopped screaming, the Chaplin has talked with me.  I've packed up our stuff from the room, and walked away from the body that once held Bob.

And suddenly "we" became "I."

Six years in, and I'm still figuring that out.  My father had a very dominant personality, and Mike was an extraordinary person, so for my first 18 years I was "Chalifoux's daughter" or "Chalifoux's sister."  I was just Ann for my first term of college, and then I became Bob and Ann.  So it's understandable that Ann, as a singular person, is still working things out.

I feel myself coalescing back into one person.  Starting in February, I felt myself splitting up, somehow.  Simultaneously living in those 48 years.  It got harder as this day grew nearer.  Last week I went to the periodontist, then stopped for a sandwich and coffee on the way home.  I read my book and listened to conversation all around me, but could sense the ghost of another me, sitting across from him.  On the way home I drove past Momo's pizza, and my chest hurt as I knew that in there was a different Ann, with Bob, laughing over our famous "slices as big as your head."

Now she's just somebody that I used to know.  And the ghosts of Ann are fading away now, leaving the new, now six-year-old Ann to live her new life.

And, once again, the reward for surviving year six - is that I get to go on to year seven.

As always, my love

I love you

I miss you

Thank you.

March 29

 Well, this day has come.  I spent it rather quietly.  Mostly, I've been sorting that mountain of alpaca that I was given.  It's a quiet and meditative task, a good thing to be doing.

I've found myself thinking of a woman who was on the Roads Scholar trip a few years ago.  I thought of her as bird-like, petite and perky.  When we were talking, I mentioned that Bob and I had been a bit scandalous because we moved in together a couple of weeks before we got married, which was still a shocking thing in the early 1970s.  She got a mischievous look on her face and said she moved in with her husband on their first date.  Her husband is still alive - in a care facility, because his Alzheimer's got bad enough that he was sometimes violent and she couldn't handle him anymore.  So he's there, and doesn't know her, and she travels.

I can't imagine losing someone that way.  But maybe I can, just a little.  In previous years, I said this was the day that Bob and I said goodbye.  That's the way I would have wanted it to be.  I wish we would have looked each other deep in the eyes, said "I love you" and said goodbye.  But it wasn't like that.  I kept trying to get his attention, to get him to look at me, but he sort of brushed me aside and was focusing on the nurse, asking him to get on with it, get the morphine drip going,  I know that he was afraid, and that he wanted to get it over with, and that the toxins in his system were messing up his mind - but I wish he had said goodbye.

Today is the day I lost him.  Tomorrow he will stop breathing.

Countdown

 It's almost here - the time that all the timelines I've been living for the last month or so converge onto that moment of March 30 when Bob quit breathing.

I can relax now.  I give myself these days.  March 27 was the last day that we were going ahead, doing everything, hoping that something would happen.  On March 28, he sat up and yelled "It's over.  Let it be over."  He would have gone on morphine that night, but I begged him to give me one more day - one day for both of us to think it over, to not do this impulsively, to realize that this was the ultimate permanent decision.  On the 29th we said goodbye and they started the morphine drip, and on the 30th he quit breathing.

I have found, over the 6 years now, that I can deal with anything, as long as I know that I'll have these two days to fully mourn.  I don't know what I'll do - maybe continue to sort and wash that mountain of alpaca.  Maybe mostly sleep.  Or read.  It doesn't matter.  I have wine and rum and carrot cake.  As long as the cats and chickens and squirrels get fed, I don't push myself to do anything else.  In the past, I've sometimes even covered up the clocks.  I just simply quit and rest for a couple of days.  I mourn the 6 years that I should have had with him, and feel gratitude for the 48 years that he gave me.

Look! A Baby Wolf!

 You never know when it will hit.

I was at work at the museum today, inside a building called The Discover Center, with stuff in it for kids.

There were a few books on the table, with this one on top.

And suddenly I heard Bob's voice:  "Look!  A baby wolf!"

That was a shtick he had for years.  When he wanted to distract me from something, he would point and go "Look - a baby wolf!"  And, of course, I would play along and look.

For example:  Say we had gone out for a hamburger.  He would look past me, go "look!  A baby wolf!"  I would turn around and look - and, of course see nothing,  Then I would turn back, and some of my fries would be missing and he would sit there with a totally innocent look on his face.

I miss those moments.

Plan C Day, Ring, Spinning Wheel, Renaissance Faire

 March 23 will always, I fear, be Plan C day.  This was the day that the doctor was firmly non-committal when it was becoming obvious that Bob's second transplant had not taken, and I asked her what the next step would be.  After she left, I looked at Bob and said "I don't think there's a Plan C."  And there wasn't.

I found a jewelry store that would talk to me about my ring.  Melting and recasting isn't recommended - because there is also solder involved in the setting, it could contaminate and weaken the gold, especially since it is a small ring.  They could put a new setting and diamond in it - but I don't want that; it simply would not be *my* diamond, the one that 19-year-old me squealed when they chose it.  So what they are going to do is cut off the setting and file and smooth the ring.  I should get it back in a couple of weeks.

It's still bothering me so much not to have it, psychologically of course, but also physically.  I didn't realize how much I fiddled with it, just touching it with my thumb.  And my fingers on either side were used to feeling it there.  My hand just feels weird.  Before I took it in (and leaving it there was so hard) I would sometimes put it on in the evening just to de-stress and be able to feel it again.)

In other news, I came home with a spinning wheel last week.

 A Rick Reeves (one of the iconic names in spinning wheels). Handmade, red oak (weighs a ton), double table Norwegian style.  But I don't particularly want it, and don't plan on keeping it.

Here's the story.  A woman who used to be a neighbor (about 30 years ago) tracked me down.  They're moving out of town, and she had some fiber (alpaca) that she wanted to give me.  She also wanted to know if I knew anyone who wanted a spinning wheel - she got this beauty, but doesn't use it much.  I said I knew someone in the weaving guild who might be interested, but their budget was around $500, and this wheel is worth about three times that much.  When I got to her place, and we were talking, she said they were moving in three days and she really didn't want to take it with her, so would part with it for $500.   At that price, I know that I can pass it on at some point, so home with me it came.

Also, "some alpaca" turned out to be about 30 pounds.  Guess I'll be busy sorting/washing for awhile.

The Renaissance Faire was this weekend.  I got my outfit finished - I took it as a challenge to use only stuff that I had on hand.  I had a beige sheet - so that got dyed green and made into a skirt.  Some paprika linen became a bodice, and brown linen for a witch's hat and belt pouch.  I needed a belt - so I strung up the loom and wove one (in the background of the picture with the hand.

OK - I did buy one thing, but it's to go with my puppet and not specifically for this outfit.  The dragon uses the "fake arm" illusion.  Normally I just use a stuffed glove, but I wanted to upgrade.  I bought a poseable hand (normally used for manicurists to practice on).  It was, of course, a dead pale "flesh" tone, but I did some painting and texturing on it.  I also covered most of it with a fingerless mitts (and wore the matching mitt on my real hand).  It was surprisingly effective.

  Here's the whole ensemble, with dragon.

It was a lot of fun - after I finally got there.  They weren't expecting the turnout that happened.  When I got close to the Fairground (at a point that I would normally be about 5 minutes away) I sat in a traffic jam for one and a half hours.  I had made the outfit, rigged the arm, gotten dressed, bought my tickets online - so what the heck, somehow I was going to get there.

I think the three months of living in the hospital room, just sitting and waiting and sitting and waiting  rewired me.  I *never* used to be able to sit still, or wait for anything, and if a line was going to be more than 15 minutes long I would strongly question how much I wanted something.  Now, if a long wait comes up, I just sort of shut down.

I also immediately gave up my plan of eating fair food.  There wasn't a single line less than 30 people long, and I had done enough waiting for one day.

It was a smallish Faire (it's an organization that does Faires, but this was their test one in Tallahassee) but fun.  There was jousting (guys in real armor on real horses) live music, jugglers, fire eaters, circus acts, storytelling, and dancing.

I had my dragon.  She was important.  Without her, I would have been there by myself.  Walking around, looking and enjoying stuff, but also being aware that everyone else seemed to be in couples or groups.  With her - there were *lots* of interactions.  Lots of photographs taken.  Lots of compliments, of course.  A chance to talk to other makers.  I got to feel like I was part of something.  It was fun.

I needed that - to get out, talk to people, get outside of my own head.  For the last month I've been feeling myself shutting down, being disoriented (when it gets dark and cool outside, I sometimes think it's fall and forget what time of year it is).  I just want to sit and wait things out - without really having anything to wait for.

In a week, 2020 self will get up, take a last longing look at the empty shell that use to hold Bob, walk out of the room and come home.