Lunch Dates, Weird Dreams, Eclipse, and Other Small Stuff

 I had a couple of dates that I didn't post about last week because I was focused on my anniversary.  I can go months without a lunch date - and I had two just two days apart.  Jeff was in town for work, and I got him for a few hours on Friday - we had lunch and then explored an oddities shop and alternate bookstore (and Spirit Halloween).
Then last Sunday I had lunch with my friend John.  He's mostly an online friend, but we do get together once or twice a year.  We "met" when he posted in the Tallahassee FaceBook group asking if anyone liked Halloween.  Mostly we chat online, but sometimes he asks if we can get together, which - to be honest - I usually dodge.  John is very obviously autistic, and - to sum things up - we've basically been having the same conversation for two years, which can get a little tedious.    I just feel sorry for him.  It's hard for him to make friends, and all he really wants is to get married and have a family, but he's in his mid-40s now and so far has never even been on a second date.  He's just very lonely.  So every now and then I suck it up (and I hate that this is really my attitude) and spend a few hours with him, then feel guilty about said attitude because he's the epitome of sweetness and just so happy to have company.  He also broke my heart once when he said he was glad that we were friends because he felt that he didn't have to mask in front of me, and could just relax.   Anyway, we had lunch and watched the second Wicked movie, which I thought was better than the first.

The night of the 27th was the partial (but close to total) lunar eclipse.  I hadn't planned on staying up for it (the totality was going to be at 12:30) but I was having problems sleeping, realized that it was after midnight, and went outside.  I wasn't sure where the moon was, and it's a bit hard to spot when it mostly isn't there.  I kept wandering farther from the house to get away from the tree cover, when it occurred to me that I also wasn't seeing any stars.  It was completely overcast and foggy.  Oops.  Back to bed.

At the museum I was cleaning the cage of Baxter, a broadwing hawk.  He was hit by a car and only has one working wing.  He loves getting misted, and will try to spread his wings but only can lift one, so he tends to lose his balance.  It's cute, but I realized that I can also learn from him.  He's damaged, and will never fly again - but that doesn't stop him from spreading his wing and enjoying something.

I treated myself to yet another journal.  I love these book with the wrap-and-tie covers.

I keep getting journals- and then not writing in them.  I love the idea of something like Bilbo Baggins's Red Book.  I would like to write my pithy thoughts in a fine Spencerian hand, illustrated with sketches.  But my pithy thoughts aren't much deeper than "See Spot Run," my handwriting is barely legible even to myself, and I say that I can't even draw a crooked line that looks like one.  So this time I'm going to just keep a daily diary - jot down the events and thoughts of the day.  So many times I sit down to write this blog, and have no recollection of what I did two days ago.  We'll see how long this lasts.

I had a rough start to the day.  Last night while I was reading in bed, I had a wee dram (meaning one measured ounce) of rum, which is not uncommon for me.  But I don't know if it was that - or if something I ate yesterday (which was nothing out of the ordinary)- but I woke up at 5 a.m. to answer the call of nature and was dizzy enough that I could barely walk.  I went back to sleep, and woke up at 8 feeling like I had a helluva hangover, along with (to put it discretely) intestinal distress.
In those three hours, I was having dreams which would have made Kafka proud (at one point I was getting in an elevator with a bunch of shirtless pudgy guys wearing shorts and beanies, all of whom had had their arms amputated.  Yeah, weird.
But the last one before I woke up was of Bob.  Somehow I had been transported back to early 2019.  I still had all of my memories from since then.  Of course, I loved being with him again, especially being able to snuggle (how I miss snuggling).  But I realized that I couldn't tell him what was going to happen, or that I had been living over six years without him.

So I woke up this morning sick and depressed.  I stayed on the couch until noon, and then I felt better and my spirits lifted, and it's actually been a pretty good afternoon.  I'm working on the start of the head for a wendigo puppet, and I also have a warp of handspun alpaca ready to go on the loom, but I've been too muzzy headed for those, so I've done stuff like dusting and mopping and scrubbing out the chicken nest box and folding laundry.   I also started to deal with the roof.  It *really* needs to be cleaned off -that flat section is likely covered with leaves and branches.  I've been pretty good about keeping it swept off for the last six years, but there's also that part of me that says going up a ladder onto the roof when I'm here by myself is possibly a stupid thing to do (friends and family have been asking me not to).  For a few nights I've woken up in a panic because I know that it needs to be cleaned off)
Get a grip.  Why am I so shy about sending a text?  There's the really nice guy who cleaned my gutters and roof a few months ago.  He's got a couple of little girls and they got a house they're trying to fix up, so at least at the time he was trying to get some side hustles.  So I kicked myself into sending the text asking if he still does odd jobs, and yes he does, so we'll get that set up.  No need to panic.

Robert and Amanda will be relieved (so will Jeff and Gill).  It just saddens me a little to not think that I'm somehow invincible.  Robert is thinking about applying for a job in Huntsville - about 6 hours from me.  When they were discussing the pros and cons of moving, one of Amanda's concerns was "what will we do about Aunt Ann?"  Which is sweet, but also means that I'm someone to be concerned about.  Apparently they think that I'm not getting any younger.  Sigh.   I told him once again that I loved them, and appreciated them more than I can say - but I'm not their responsibility.

But all in all, it's been a good day.  I've dealt with some things that I've let slide, done a little spinning, and have even been playing online Scrabble with Gill for a couple of weeks, and just recently with a random person who matched up and challenged me.

Happy Anniversary

 19,358 days ago, Bob and I got married.  53 years.
I've celebrated seven of them alone now.  That's hard for me to grasp. I'm slightly horrified, knowing there will be more, that I keep getting farther away from my time with him.

I don't remember celebrating most of them.  We'd wish each other happy anniversary, of course, and usually I would cook a steak.  Sometimes there were trips - big ones to England, Alaska and Italy.  Smaller ones to Pensacola (history tour), Panama City Beach (Seaquarium), Jacksonville (beach and zoo) or even to spend the night at Wakulla springs.  There was the year that we just went and wandered around Lowe's (strange, but he really enjoyed it, just looking at stuff and we talked about how we could use it, and had ice cream afterwards).

The one that really hurts. 2018, our 45th.  When I glibly posted on FaceBook "45 years.  So far, so good."  The last innocent one.

And it will forever bother me that I don't remember our last one, the 46th.  He had started his in-town treatments the very end of July, so it was in August that we were learning the rhythm of going to the clinic,  I was learning how to abide with his dietary restrictions, getting into the pattern of boiling water (he had to drink at least two quarts a day, and because we're on a well it had to be boiled first, so first chore of the morning was putting the kettle on and filling mason jars).  Making a few trips to Gainesville for tests.  Our anniversary sort of fell through the cracks.

You would have thought that we would have marked it, made it special, because we knew it would be our last one.  Thing is - we didn't.  We knew that he was going to go through hell, but it never occurred to us that he wouldn't survive.   I have heard about widows whose husbands left behind notes and letters, trying to give helpful advice.  Bob didn't do any of that - he thought he would be coming back.  We thought we'd have more anniversaries.

Happy anniversary.
I love you
I miss you
Thank you

Lonely? Old Coffee Grinder, "New" Computer

 I had a dentist appointment yesterday (thank goodness, just for cleaning this time).  There is a Spirit Halloween open near to the office, so I planned on going there as well.
As I was driving, I was have the thought that is always on the back of my mind, that I used to be a passenger, chatting with Bob, rather than driving alone.  The random thought came to me:  Am I lonely?  Yes, of course.  But no, not really.  I am lonely specifically for Bob; I miss him desperately.  But I'm not "generically" lonely.  If I can't have Bob, I'm OK on my own.

It's taken me time to get to this point of acceptance.   Take Spirit Halloween.  The first year after I lost Bob I wanted to go, but couldn't face the idea of going alone.  I invited a friend of Bob's went with me.  In 2021, I asked another friend to go with me.  In 2022 the kids were in town, and we went.  2023, 2024, 2025, and yesterday?  I didn't even think about asking anyone.  And when I got there, after my appointment, I realized that I was getting hungry, and there was a Mexican restaurant next door, an unfamiliar one.  And I didn't care, and I don't mind at all going in and eating by myself.  4-5 years ago I would have been looking around at all the other tables, with couples and group, and holding back tears.  Now it doesn't matter.

Just an odd thought.  Today I'm writing about taking care of a couple of things, sort of polar opposites.  One is my coffee grinder that I've written about before: my100 years old cast iron one (that I still use to grind my coffee).  I've been thinking that I should do something about the rust on it.  I'm not interested in a "restoration" (making it look brand new) but I did want to arrest the rust.  So I took some time with a soft brass brush and fine steel wool to remove the loose rust without harming the paint.  To protect it, I melted beeswax into mineral oil, brushed it on, and buffed it.  It now looks cleaner, with a patina but no active rust.  With a little care, it should be good for another 100 years of grinding coffee beans.

At the other extreme, I finally deal with my old desktop computer, which is about 85 years younger.  I replaced it with a laptop about 5 years ago, because it had become glacial.  I can't remember when we got it - at least 15 years ago, and it was on sale because it was being discontinued.  It's old enough that it was proud of being an all-in-one instead of having a separate tower.   I tried setting it up in the cottage for those times that I want to watch a how-to video while I work, but I had to plan in advance, because it took at least 20 minutes to warm up and load a video.  Some time last year I replaced it with a small TV, and the poor old computer has been sitting on the floor, waiting for me to deal with it.  The problem is that I don't understand technology.  Even though I erased everything on it, I have heard that people who understand such things can still somehow get the information off of it (and I had financial information on there, and my tax returns).   The safest thing to do would be to remove the hard drive and destroy it.
Destruction is not in my system.  I keep things until they fall apart.  And somehow I thought that someone, somewhere, might be able to use this computer.  Someone who might know how to upgrade it (replace the mother board, possibly?)  But I had to admit that it was now a piece of junk.  And taking out the hard drive wasn't as easy as it seemed - there were no screws, or any visible way of opening it up.  I finally just worked a screwdriver into a seam, popped it open, and then literally tore it apart with my hands (oddly satisfying).  The hard drive turned out to be a pretty solid thing, but a couple of blows with a pickax gave it a reprogramming that it will never forget.

So there was the yin-and-yang of my afternoon.  Cleaning and caring for something that was working decades before I was born, and will continue to function perfectly long after I'm gone.  And then destroying something because it no longer served its purpose.

Swing, Cardboard Box, Chickens, August

Swing 

Here's a picture of my front yard swing after I remade it two years ago.

I could have taken a fresh picture, but it looks exactly the same today.  After I remade it AGAIN.  That cloth is very expensive water repellent SunBrella (I paid almost as much for the fabric as we did for the original entire swing 30 years ago)).  A few weeks ago I looked out and notice that it was sagging oddly.  Somehow water had gotten into the seat - and not gotten out.  So I had to rip open the main cover seam and pull the sodden insides out.  There's a thick foam inner layer, a thick layer of batting, and then a plastic cover.  It all had to be disassembled, spread out to dry, and all put back together again, mostly by handsewing because it's too bulky to maneuver at my machine.  I debated just chucking it and buying a wooden swing - but this padded sling swing is just sooooo comfortable.  I have sat outside many a time to read and ended up lying down and taking a nap.

So I put it all back together.  I really wanted to mount it to the swing and call this project done.  The heat index was 112.  I could try to wait until it was cooler - but that might be November.  So somehow I did it.  Satisfied, I sat in it for a bit to celebrate, but after a few minutes I decided that no matter how comfortable it was, sitting outside in 112 degrees just isn't the best thing.   But at least it's done (and I've waxed the seams this time).

Box

I am mourning the loss of a cardboard box today.  It was (once upon a time) a very sturdy fruit box.  Some 10-15 years ago, when Bob and I were helping out in the animal kitchen at the museum over Christmas, some fruit/vegetables for the animals came in this box.  Bob asked if he could have it;  he thought the cats would like it.  Strange how memories work - why would I have such a clear memory of him asking for a box - where he stood, the sound of his voice, the person he was talking to (Shelby).  He was right - the cats loved that box.  Lying on top of it, taking naps inside, hiding to pounce out on passers-by - especially when the girls were kittens.  It has stayed in the hallway for all of those years.

But I finally admitted that it had been loved (and scratched) to death.  Collapsing.  Mostly gone.  So today it went to the recycling bin at the dump.  But you don't have something around for a decade plus without it seeming awfully empty without it.

Chickens

I was thinking about my chickens the other day.  People think I have chickens for the eggs; this is sort of true, but to be honest, the eggs are the excuse and not the reason.  I buy them the best possible food - for the cost of that, I could buy all the eggs I need and then some.  Any chicken owner will tell you that you have chickens because you like having chickens

They're good for me.  Any number of articles will tell you that it's good for your health to get natural daylight first thing in the morning, and even to take a short walk.  But without the chickens, would I actually get up and walk around outside before breakfast?  As it is - I have to let them out of the coop and feed them first thing in the morning (well, second thing- the cats get fed first).  Rain, shine, storm, heat, cold - I'm outside. And while I'm out, I look at the sky and the trees and the slanting light and listen to the birds.  And at night, when it gets dark, I have to lock them up again - while listening to the frogs and the whip-poor-wills and seeing the last of the sunlight low and purple through the trees.

And I just like them.  I like their contented little brrk brrk brrk sounds. And the excited "look look look an egg!" brag.  I like the way they come running when they see me because maybe I have a treat.  A couple of them (Frollo and Ginger) like to be scratched.  They're basically happy birds, and they're good for me.  The eggs are a bonus.

August

And now it be August.  July has, once again, been survived, which is all I ask of July.  August is when I start to sense a change, that the seasons are turning - even if day after day our heat indices are topping 110 degrees. Maybe it's the angle of light. Maybe it's the days getting just a wee bit shorter.  Maybe it's all the stores putting out their Halloween displays.  It's just a feeling.

My mood is swinging back and forth between hyper and despair.  Bob and I got engaged in August.  We got married in August.  It was in August that we started spending our days in the oncology clinic, and driving back and forth to Gainesville for so many tests.  I think it will always bother me that I don't remember our last anniversary.  I think we were too distracted to really think about it.  Neither of us thought that it might be our last; maybe it was perfect denial, but it never occurred to either of us that he wouldn't survive.  

I've been feeling homesick.  I'll have that feeling of "I just want to go home" - except that I'm sitting on my own couch.  But if I close my eyes and picture the place that I'm longing for - it's Shands. The hospital.  The last place we lived together.  In the mornings I'd got o the snack area and make tea and we'd look out the big window at the sunrise over Payne's Prairie in the distance.  Snuggling in the bed together to watch Jeopardy in the evenings.  I'd take a break to go out to feed the turtles in the holding pond or take treats to the cat colony I found, then come back to tell him about it. We were together.  I was still married.  That was our last home.  I'm homesick.  Maybe someday I'll go back there, just to walk around, stand outside the ward.   I remember Bob taking me to visit our first apartment before the buildings were torn down,  looking at it, remember our first home.  It would be like that; Alpha and Omega.

I continue.  I rebuilt my swing.  Today I got wild impulse and shampooed the carpets.  Next week I have a trip to the dentist (just a cleaning this time, thank goodness) and I'll go check out Spirit Halloween and maybe the local produce store that just opened.  Jeff will be in town next week.  I found out that there's an oddities store in town and I want to go see it.   I'm playing with ideas for the next puppet (Wendigo).
The seasons are moving forward, and so must I.

Spinning - no Crickets!!

 I have written ad nauseam about the sound of crickets.
That sound I hear whenever I heed the advice (online articles) that one shouldn't spend too much time alone, that one should  "reach out."
So I put the word out - would anyone like to go with me to the theater, to a play, to the Ren Faire, to the comic con, etc. etc. etc.   And what I get back is the sound of crickets.

Still, I do try from time to time.  Mostly just to tell myself "well, I tried."  So recently I sent an email to the Weaver's Guild group and asked if anyone would like to get together to do spinning.

Darned if I didn't get a couple of responses!  Enough that we set up a time and place (a small cafe that welcomes groups).  Double darned if two people didn't show up!  And we had a really nice time - the two of them also had been hunting for someone to do crafting with.

There was even a bonus.  One of the women pulled out her knitting to show us - and a woman in a group at another table come over to look.  She had a Hispanic accent - as did the other woman in our group.  Apparently the group at the next table was some sort of Hispanic meetup, so they all had to come over to say hi, and one of the men pulled out his tablet to show us pictures of his collection of Bolivian and Peruvian textiles (which were amazing).

It was a sort of community connection that you just don't see much anymore.  If I ever go out to eat or for a coffee, everyone seems to have their faces in their phones, even if they are sitting together.  So to have a couple of tables of people actually talking to each other, sharing, was a true delight.

We liked it enough that we even set a date and time to do it again next month.  (That was me - as said to them "If we say we should do this again sometime, we might never get around to it.  How about setting a date?")

Really nice to have conversation instead of crickets.

Spinning Wheel, Cats and Random Stuff

 My new spinning wheel came in, and it is a beast.  A seriously solid piece of machinery.  And yes - it does fit into the 12" x 8" box when it's folded.

This the big sister to my wee Nano. 

I will never stop being charmed by my little one, but it's a bit limited as to what it can spin (only fine yarns).  The new one is much more powerful and versatile, but I got it mainly for one thing - plying.  When you take two or more strands and twist them together.  Spinning you can do in bits and pieces over time, but when it's time to ply, you're sort of tied to it until your finished.  The Nano isn't strong enough to ply, so I use one of my treadle wheels.  The problem is my tendency for fine yarns, which take a lot of twist, so I'll be stuck there, treadling as fast as I can, for at least an hour, or an hour and a half.  Spinning is meditative, with the pleasure of the feel of the fibers slipping through your fingers.  Plying is simply tedious.  But the new Beast has a speedometer, and can hit 2000 rpm, so turn it on and let it rip -20 minutes later, job done.

It does seem like a bit of an extravagance, getting a new wheel mostly for one job, but it occurred to me that I got the Nano some eight years ago, and I don't think I've bought a new spinning tool since then (fiber, yes, but no tools).

That made me think about something else we used to get on a regular basis, but I haven't in eight years:  Cats.

I was originally the cat person.  I had one when I was a kid, but he was killed by a car when he was about four and my Dad didn't like cats and never let me have another one.  I always thought about the day that I would grow up and be able to have a cat.  Then Bob thought he didn't like cats and didn't want one - until about two years into our marriage (our first apartment didn't allow pets).  I was looking at kittens in a pet store one day, and thinking - as I had for the last 10 years or so - "someday when I grow up .. ."  That evening I told Bob we were getting a kitten, and that weekend we went to a cat rescue and got little Algernon.  And Bob was smitten.

Other kittens followed.  Ptarmigan, running away from kids (who were trying to help her) and hid under a bush in the snow, but came out to Bob's warm hands (and into his shirt and heart).  Cheechako, who Bob saw at the edge of some woods when he was driving home from work.  Cats picked up on campus. Cats who just showed up in our yard (Pookha, Apache, Nazgul, Hamish).  Most of the time we kept the balance at six- but eventually seven, then we got Della's three cats after Hurricane Michael, and another cat just showed up (but we found him a home).

Hamish showed up in January 2018 and wouldn't take no for an answer.  We got Della's cats in October of that year.

And that's been it.  No new cats in eight years.  Partly that's choice- I could get all the kittens that I want, but I've made the decision not to because cats can live 20 years and I don't know if I'll be around that long.  But no cats just showing up and deciding that they're mine.  There have been two.  One was right after Bob died - a young coal black one that I, with little imagination, called Midnight, because of his color, and the odd fact that I only saw him if I ever stepped outside at midnight.  He was very friendly, but not interested in food, and I never saw him except at midnight.   There was a tuxedo cat that I saw in the barn from time to time, but he'd take off if he saw me.  I put out food for awhile, but only raccoons got it.  I only saw him a few times.

In all the years we were together, I never fully realized that the person who attracted the cats was Bob, not me.

Odd experience yesterday.  I had a meeting with my financial advisor.  As I was leaving, we were talking about how unhelpful "help" desks were.  And he mentioned that often you end up talking with someone in the Philippines.  I exclaimed that the Philippines were the best - they really want to try to help, and they never put you on hold and then disappear.  "And when my husband was alive, I'd hand the phone over to him - he used to live in the Philippines and they would talk like homies."
I had a weird disconnect - the outer me was glibly making this statement.  At the same time, my inner lonely wolf was pointing her nose to the sky and howling in pain.

On a more exciting note, I saw a gopher tortoise in the yard yesterday.  I suspected that I had one, because I spotted the characteristic dome-shaped burrow.  Gophers are just on the cusp between threatened and endangered, so I'm happy that this one has found a safe place to live.  I hope it sticks around.

Anticipation

 I wrote a few posts ago about anticipation.  About how expecting something (or fearing it) is more exciting than the thing itself.

Tomorrow my new spinning wheel should be arriving.  It's been a wait - I signed onto the Kickstarter in October 2024, so 21 months.

Do I need another spinning wheel?  Of course not. I have three traditional treadle wheels, an antique great wheel, a charkha, a wee Nano Electric Eel Wheel, plus a bunch of handspindles.   Do I even feel a little guilty about the spinning tools I have that haven't been used for months or years.  Yes.

Am I excited to be getting this one (honestly, it's my first new spinning tool in at least 8 years).  Yep!  It's made by the same guy who made my Nano, a tiny wheel that's only 4" x 6" by 4" tall, and definitely not a toy; I've spun many miles on it.  But this new one, called the Fold, is a marvel of engineering (it even has a speedometer).  And it gets its name because it all folds up to a compact package.  It will hold twice as much yarn as my Nano (or my favorite treadle wheel) but it folds up to 5" x 7" x 3.5" tall.

Thursday I had to do some running around town, primarily to get the stitches taken out of my mouth (thank goodness -they were coming loose so I had dangling threads, most annoying).  I went to Michaels, because the Halloween decorations were already out.  While I was there, I spotted a wooden box that looks like a vintage suitcase.

At 11" x 7" by 5", it will be plenty big to hold the wheel, extra bobbins, any accessories, and some fiber.  Which just amazes me.   So after the wheel comes in (maybe tomorrow) I'll take some time to fabricate some internal compartments.

And then, alas - the anticipation will be over.  I'll enjoy having it - but will it be as much fun as *thinking* about it???

Summer Skin and Music

 This is a shout-out to 2027 self, in case I've forgotten how to deal with Summer Skin.
Every summer, I get summer skin.  It starts with the bug bites - mosquitoes, biting flies, and all those damned ticks.  You get a bite, you get a welt, it itches, you scratch, you sweat, it all turns to rashes.  Slather on cortisone cream by the bucket load, and can't sleep for the itching.  Some years I've had scarring that takes months to clear up.
This year, I'm finally keeping it under control - so here you go.

1)  after you're bitten, hit it with a bit of hand sanitizer, followed by benedryl gel.
2)  Inspect yourself, a lot.  Never trust an itch - check it out.  Those damned seed ticks are almost too tiny to see.  Do a good all-over visual before bed (and yes, this means using a mirror to check body parts you'd really rather not see).  Be a good contortionist and go to town with those pointy tweezers.  If it's at a spot you just can't get with the tweezers - that's what fingernails are for.  Gouge that sucker out if you have to - you'll heal.
3) Do more than a visual inspection.  Again - those seed ticks are near invisible, but they can be felt.  Run your hands everywhere you can reach - between the toes, behind the knees, give yourself a scalp massage.
4)  When you shower, don't just lather and rinse.  Give yourself a good scrubdown.
5) a few times a week, soak in a tub of tepid water with a cup or so of baking soda.
6) Sleep in the buff.  Which now feels weird.  For 48 years, Bob and I both slept in the all together, cherishing that skin to skin contact.  After he died, I felt somehow vulnerable and stopped doing that.  Pajamas in the winter, usually a tank top and undies in the summer.  But the skin needs as little stuff touching it as possible, so strip down.
7)  Old fashioned calamine lotion for the itch

It's a lot, but it works.

Music

For the past few weeks, I've been feeling a sense of deep loss.  Of course - I always feel that; it's just part of my everyday life.  But his has been more so - a grieving for a life gone by.  I bury my face in cuddle pillow at night, and mourn.

What would bring this on?  I realized that it was music.  Last month I wrote about getting a new smart speaker, an Alexa instead of my vintage Google Portal - and then finding out that it couldn't play my YouTube playlists.  I decided that was OK - I usually just have music on in the background while I do dishes or other chores.  My usual command has always been just a simple "Play music" and it played something from my liked lists, or something similar.

When I asked the Alexa to "play music" Amazon must have checked my profile, noted my age, and put on music from the 60s and 70s.   Which was a pleasant surprise - music I haven't listened to in ages.  Joan Baez and Judy Collins, Peter, Paul, and Mary.  Cat Stevens, Gordon Lightfoot.  Al Stewart.

Music can really take you back - it's almost as evocative as a scent.  The Moody Blues- listening in my bedroom, in that beginning-of-my-life time just before graduation and leaving for college.  The Who - snuggling with Bob in the dorm.  Al Stewart's "Road to Moscow" - laughing at it suddenly being Christmas morning 1976, when I gave Bob the record of that  album- then opened my gift of the 8-track tape of the same album.
Al Stewart's "Year of the Cat" - the song we danced to in the hospital.

I find myself curled up at night, remembering.  When I had most of my life ahead of me, rather than behind me

"Ubi sunt qui antes nos fuerunt?" 

Which roughly translates into "where are they now, who were here before?"

I don't remember the names of my high school classmates.  I only remember a few of the names (if I really think about it) of my fellow Pershing Riflemen, once closer than brothers.  Where are the people I used to frolic with in the Creative Anachronism group (at least I still know a couple of them)
It's been 6 1/2 years since I lost Bob.

OK, then.  Nostalgia is fun, but you can't live there.  I'm slowly training Alexa on now-Ann-music.  Stuff I've started listening to in the last 6 years:  Geoff Castellucci, Ramin Karimloo, VoicePlay, the Bass Gang, 2Cellos, Colm McGuiness, Chase Noseworthy.

Because I'm still alive, in the here and now.  My life is quieter, but there is a richness to it, to noticing tiny purple flowers, stepping outside at sunset, hearing the frog songs change with the seasons from spring peepers to the summer chorus of tree frogs.  My favorite hour of the day, tea time, when I sit on the back deck (bundled up in winter, with a fan on in summer) to drink tea and read, with a stack of peanuts for the squirrel, and RiverSong with me, and often the hummingbird.  The light always changing through the trees, and the sound of the wind in the leaves (susurration, a lovely word).  This afternoon I watched a storm roll in (although I've learned to come back inside if the thunder starts after I saw lightening hit a tree uncomfortably close).  I have my cats and chickens to care for.  I have my museum work, which gives me an identity and a place to be.  I have my little cottage, a place devoted to creativity.

And to end on a cute note, our new little owl (unfortunately he did not keep the name Quasi and has been rechristened Pippen).  Owls often enjoy it if you give them a shower with the hose while you're cleaning the habitat.  With his little fuzzy head feathers plastered down, his big eye discs and wonky crossed beak make him look like a surprised nerd.

Rambling

 I had a weird thought the other day.
I've often thought about the "bereavement in isolation"that I had to go through because Bob died just as the Covid shutdowns started.  All of the things that you're told - "don't retreat, don't isolate, spend time with your friends, don't huddle at home, go out " -well, those weren't options.

But it occurred to me that it also helped in the opposite direction, a different way of not feeling so alone.  What you hear/read about all the time is how hard it is after you've gone through the trauma of having your live irrevocably changed - somehow everyone else's life seems to just settle back to normal.  Everything is new and different and frightening for you - you don't even know who you really are.  The rest of the world?  Fine.

So maybe it helped that in that sense I wasn't alone.  Restaurants and stores closed.  People furtive and frightened.  Try to figure out how to go to work, how to school the kids, how to deal with a new and strange life.  It wasn't just me.

I was thinking some more about the fun I had at the con with Rocky and people's reactions to him.  Part of it was that I somehow made the transition from "person with a puppet" to "a puppeteer."   When I finished it, and was practicing, I was practicing the mechanics- how low to the ground to hold it, how the secondary motion of his back three legs were working, how to tilt the body, how to operate the front two arms.  But at the con, it was simply "Rocky is excited, or curious, or nervous" and let his actions show that.  At one point, a couple of girls offered me a trinket (little gifts given to people that you think have really good costumes) of an elastic bracelet.  Before I could say anything, Rocky was reaching his arm up and waving it around, and then danced happily after they put it on him.

I watched an interview with James Ortiz (the real Rocky) who said it's not that hard to learn the mechanics of a puppet.  After that, it's acting - just through a different medium.  So it seems fitting that it looks like he's going to get nominated for an Oscar not for special effects, but as an actor.

Monday, I just sort of collapsed.  There is a thing called "anticipatory stress" and I had both last week - dreading the surgery, and hoping things would go well at the con.  With both of those behind me, and nothing external to motivate me (beyond feeding the critters) Monday was just a zero-energy day.  But now this week I'm tackling stuff.  Sometimes I just get an uncomfortable feeling that there's something I've left undone, things I should tend to.  That's when the to-do list gets written and (hopefully) slowly checked off.  There's always the feeling (probably most people do this) that everyone else has their life in order, and mine is just a chaos of things undone.   On the other hand, my lists probably have stuff that most others don't.  There's the usual "set out ant traps" or "refill the soap dispenser" or "replant the hydroponic herb garden."

But there's also things like "rebuild the front swing."  "Try to get the regulator on Bob's compressor to adjust."  "Grab the chain saw and deal with that tree (another one!) that came down across the upper drive."  One of my guardian gargoyles on a post on the driveway fell off.  He's dangling from his chain, so I have to get the right wrench to free him, and then take him to the barn (he's heavy, so I have put him in the car to drive it to the barn, but that downed tree is in the way) and see if I can repair his broken wing.

I'll churn my way through all that, and hopefully by the the creative gears will start turning again.  Because I really loved getting into the flow again.  It's when I feel the most me.

Tooth, Rocky, Anticipation, Letdown

 It's been a busy few days since my last post on Thursday.

Friday I had my oral surgery to put the anchor in for my implant.  That one hurt even more than the bone graft.  For one, I lost count of how many lidocaine injections it took (at least 6).  And the horrible deep slow grinding sound of the drill going into bone.  The lidocaine wore off a little too quickly; on the drive home I was holding the ice pack to my face at every stop light.

At the periodontists they gave me two ibuprofen and two Tylenol before I left.  As soon as I got home I took a vicodine (well, after checking on the chickens and giving the cats they're "Babies, I'm home" treats - the priorities must be met).  The good part - the pain eased off to a tolerable level.  The down side - between the boatload of lidocaine, the Tylenol/ibuprofen, and the vicodine - nausea set in.  I spent a few hours hoping I wouldn't throw up.
So Friday wasn't fun.  Fortunately, even when the various drugs wore off, the pain wasn't too bad.  No more vicodine needed, and only the regular dose  of the other two.

But me, being me, when I got a text from Suzie that evening with "it's OK to say no, and I know you're not coming in to work - but would you feel well enough to come in mid-morning and bring us some fish?" of course I said sure.  We have a new guest animal- an adorable fishing cat - and for her debut day Suzie wanted her to be seen instead of hiding in the back of the habitat, hence needing live fish for her pool.

I wanted to stick around for the Saturday otter encounter because some of the live fish were also going to them, and that's fun to watch.  And, of course, while waiting I helped to finish the diets and clean up in the kitchen.

By then my mouth wanted to come home.

I still went to the Infinity Con on Sunday.  I had put a lot of work into the Rocky puppet and I wanted to show him off.  He was, shall we say, successful.  If I were to just go on my own, it would have taken me about a half hour to walk around the vendor hall.

It took some two hours.  Every few feet, someone would yell "Rocky!!!"  They would want a picture, or a selfie, or to dance, or to "fist my bump."  A couple of people paid me the high compliment of saying that he looked near screen accurate.  The local maker space had a 3D printed model from the official Project Hail Mary file, and yeah - my guy was pretty darned close.

I was particularly pleased with how I got the complex rock texture on his skin.  I had covered his cardboard frame with Amazon packing paper, which I ripped into pieces and crumpled up before gluing it on.  My experiments with the airbrush included holding it parallel to the surfaces, so that it caught on the edges of the irregularities.  I finished by dry brushing just the top surfaces, and the result is surprisingly good.

After a couple of hours my mouth was starting to throb a bit.  Rocky isn't heavy - about three pounds - but even that can add up over time.  And, of course, with my luck, there had been a heavy rain and when I pulled into my drive there was a tree down and I had to deal with that to get the car to the house.  It's always something. 

But now it's over.  It's been fun for the last month letting myself obsess over the movie, listening to interviews and behind-the-scenes, finding more of James Ortiz's work, practicing with the puppet (he moves surprisingly well).  Now . . . he gets stored with the others (I'll likely hang him from the ceiling).

All this has had me pondering the concept of anticipation - which is often either the best or the worst part of anything (depending on what it is).  I was dreading my surgery - I'm not that fond of pain, and I don't like having stitches in my gums. Which is why when they had a cancellation and I could get it over with three weeks earlier than scheduled, I grabbed it even though it would interfere with the Con (the con would have been a lot more fun on Saturday - that's when all the cosplayers show up).  I was dreading it, and I wanted it done and over with.  I didn't want to think about it any longer than necessary.

Anticipation works in the other direction.  Thinking about something fun coming up is a big part of anything.  Simple things like getting a package.  A vacation, or Christmas.  Being part of a theatre play.  The run up to it is exciting.  If you're lucky, you really enjoy the thing or the event.  And then . . . . it's just over.

So between that, and my mouth being sore, and it being a rainy day - I pretty much did diddly-squat today.  Everybody got fed, and the dishes washed, and the litterboxes cleaned, but that's about it.  For today, that was enough.

July 9

 Once again, it's July 9.  The pivotal day in our lives.  The day that Fiona died and Bob got his diagnosis.

I always associate it with this picture, taken 20 years before that pivotal day in 2019.  Bob and Fiona.  Now they're still together, and they've left me behind.

I usually give myself this day to mourn.  Sometimes I just go back to bed after taking care of everybody in the morning.  Sometimes I read, or just sit, or just be.  Take this day to stop living my double life, with an outside person bopping along, admiring little flowers, dancing to music, while there's a corner of me curled up and sobbing.

Unfortunately, I got text from my periodontist that I had to go pick up some medications in preparation for my surgery tomorrow.  At least while I was out I got myself some yogurt, cottage cheese, and ice cream for the next couple of days.

It's still just so frustrating.  I tried, I really did.  When you're young and in love, you don't think 30 or 40 years in the future.  But somewhere along the line, I realized that I came from a genetic line that had people lasting into their 90s, and Bob from a family that rarely made it to 80.

So.  I made sure that we ate well.  Good food, but healthy.  High on the good stuff, low on stuff like chips and soft drinks and desserts were for weekends.  We used to hike a lot - there are some nice trails just a few miles from the house.  When his knees started to give out (a problem with being larger than the average bear) I suggested that we get kayaks.  When he  discovered that the FSU intramural pool near the museum could be used by anyone, he suggested that on the days that I worked he could come by when I got off and we could go swimming for an hour.  Of course I said yes - but if I'm honest, after being on my feet working for four hours what I really wanted to do was eat something and collapse instead of swimming laps.  But swim we did.

He was one of the healthiest people to check into Shands hospital.  Weight reasonable (face it, he was big).  Lung capacity good.  Heart good.  Stamina good.  Blood pressure good.  Blood sugar good.  Whatever they could test, good.

Eat right.  Get proper sleep.  Exercise.

Die anyway.

Fuck July 9.

Six Month Summary

 Arrrrgh, another frustrating afternoon of technology.  I discovered that another victim of my switch to digital internet is that my wireless printer can't connect.  I don't print that often, so after a few hours of trying everything I just ordered a cable to connect it to my laptop.

Today I cleaned off my work table.  Rocky is officially finished.  I'll miss being that involved.  Hopefully I'll find another project.

Time for the 6 month 2026 summary, or What I Have Done So Far This Year.

My life sometimes feels like that as I walk along, the life behind me quietly crumbles away.  Sometimes I can't remember what I did this morning, much less in the last few months.  And if you were to ask me if I've done anything, I'd say "not much, really."  So it's good to look back and realize that I've done more than sit on the couch, scroll FaceBook, and wait until it's time to go to bed.

So I scanned my blogs so far this year, and there have been some things.  Starting with reading:  21 books so far, of wide ranging topics.

I've made some stuff:  A couple pairs of linen pants, the Forest Walk Shawl, a costume for the Ren Faire, and, of course, Rocky!  I was given a mountain (30+ pounds) of alpaca, which I washed, sorted, and mostly gave away.  I've spun some of it.

I started wearing Bob's ring, which still feels a little strange, like signifying that I'm now married to myself.  But it seems to have given me the strength to let go of things.  I finally did the paperwork for the jeep trailer to officially sell it to Rik (actually, I traded it for a sheep for the museum).  I had to gird my loins for that, because it was in his name, so I had to go down on the paperwork as "surviving spouse" and I hated that.

The kayaks are gone.  I had to admit that even my smaller one was too heavy for me to manage, and kayaking alone is, well, lonely.  Best that they go on to new lives.

The biggest heartache was giving up the jeep.  It will be cared for properly now, but that empty barn still twists me up inside.  With it went Bob's collection of GI water cans, and gas cans.   As long as things were going away, Rik came and got some of Bob's ammunition (enough to supply WWIII and the zombie apocalypse). The room is a bit emptier without those ammo cans.

I went to two plays:  The Play Goes Wrong, and The Midsummer Night's Dream.  I went to a card weaving class, and a drumming class.   I went to the Ren Faire.  I also gave  talk on wool to the Weaver's guild.

A couple out-of-the-ordinary things, like driving a couple of hundred miles to bring a young owl to museum, or helping to dig out a wolf's den.

I had the oral surgery to start my implant (with the next one being in a couple of days).  I also had the Reclast infusion for osteoporosis, which knocked me on my butt for a couple of days.

I finished the 1084 virtual walk of the length of England, and quit doing the walking challenges.  I did a total of five of them in a row, ranging from 100 miles to over 1000.  But it got to be a bit of a slog.  More than that - I kept track of my steps on my phone, and I was starting to feel like I was glued to it.  It's liberating to go check on the chickens, or get my mail, without remembering to grab my phone.

I did some upgrades.  I got a small TV for the cottage so that I could watch how-to videos (or, while working on Rocky, listen to interviews and behind-the-scenes).  I got a new CD player because my vintage one was having problems.  My TV in the house started getting vertical lines down the screen so I replaced it.  And I switched from cable to digital internet (not any better, but less than half the cost).  I got a new Alexa dot (because my old smart speaker couldn't talk to the digital internet)

I learned how to put hubcaps on a car.  I learned (well, the basics) how to use an airbrush.

There were a couple of social outings with the family, the really fun one being when Zeke was coming to Tallahassee for swim camp, and staying in the dorm where Bob and I used to live, and where we got engaged.

There's the Cliff notes for 2026 so far.  Apparently I'm not just sitting at home, waiting for the days to go by.  Not bad.

I Am Roooooocky!

 Well, the Rocky puppet is about finished ("about" because I'll probably keep tweaking him).
I can't remember when I started making him - somewhere around the end of May.  Life kept happening and I'd *think* about working on him, but not much actually got done.  But eventually the momentum picked up.

I've loved working on him.  I did a deep dive into the movie - I'd listen to interviews and behind-the-scenes while I worked.  Rob had printed me a miniature Rocky that I used for a guide.  Could I really make something out of Amazon boxes that didn't look like it was, well, made out of Amazon boxes?  Something that looked like this bizarre alien? Can I learn to use (and clean) an airbrush?

It did get frustrating near the end when I was stringing him up. Marionettes are a pain.  You think you have it balanced, and then you tweak something and it throws everything else out of whack.  It's awkward trying to hold something up, and work on it.  My back staged a protest and I had to walk away.  The next morning I thought to put a couple of sawhorses on my workbench with a pole between them, and the controller bungeed to, so he could dangle at eye level while I worked.

I took him to Gill's yesterday so she could take some videos, and I have to admit - I pretty much nailed it.  I saw where tweaks had to happen (I removed the lower part of his front two legs and rehung them).  But we had a lot of fun.

Rocky knows that humans get excited over football.

And he observed how dogs behave.

The Infinity Con is this weekend, and Mike predicts that I will be mobbed.

And then it's over.  I'll hang him up somewhere.  

The distraction has been good for me.  I've been having fun, giving in to obsession.  But also still feeling that familiar tightness in the chest, that feeling of frustrated helplessness.  The end of June was when Bob got the tests that eventually let to his diagnosis.  Best to stay busy.

There's a blog that I follow (The Gusset) that I have for years, but there was a two-year hiatus after her husband was diagnosed with cancer.  Then she came back.  It's an artsy little blog, talking about tapestry and baskets, and gathering wild materials for projects.  She illustrates it with fun watercolors of her and her dog.  But this one stopped me in my tracks for a moment.  She was talking about the pleasure of eating asparagus on toast while standing at the counter, reading a book.

"I love living alone."  I even commented on that, and we had a short exchange.  As my comment read -how many widows would say that.  Of course, she would want her husband back, as I want Bob.  But that's not an option.  And one option - the one she is exploring, as am I - is to realize that you can enjoy living alone.  Living life on your own terms, learning who you are, without those daily little adjustments that come with another person under the roof.

It can be lonely sometimes, of course.  But if I'm honest - if I can't have Bob, I'd rather be alone with my cats and my chickens and my woods.  I don't want the distraction of another person hanging around.   But we both came to the conclusion that yes - weird as it is to admit it - we enjoy living alone.

I still wish I had the other option.

Falling Carrots, Swim Meet, and Other Ramblings

 I saw a carrot fall from the sky and land a few feet away from me.  That's not a common occurrence, so I enjoyed the Kafkaesque moment before I observed that an enterprising squirrel had stolen a carrot stick from the beaver's habitat, only to drop it when he ran up a tree.

I earned my Good Aunt points last Saturday.  The kids were in town for Zeke's qualifying swim meet and I went to watch for a little while.  Apparently the way qualifying meets work is that you're there for three hours in the morning, of which your own kid will at four various times do his laps, for a total of about two minutes of swimming.  This is repeated in the afternoon, and then again the next day.  The rest of the time the parents sit in chairs and do whatever.  Heat index was 104.  I earned my minimum Good Aunts points by going for the morning three hours, and then treating them all to lunch afterwards.  (BTW, Zeke qualified for his areas, so the kids get to repeat this is other cities, lucky them)

My new airbrush came in, so I went through the learning curve on it.  It's not quite the same as opening a can of spray paint and, well, painting.  You have to thin the paint (and learn how to make the thinning solution).  You have to figure out how much to thin the paint (exactly how thick is milk?).  You have to figure out how to clean the airbrush, and how to make the cleaning solution.  And figure out how to use it.  But it was fun, and the Rocky puppet is now painted and put together, and hopefully tomorrow I'll string him up and figure out how to make him move.

Small sigh.  I keep reading that it's important to have a social life, and to make new friends.  It seems that for me the best way to make a new friend is to go to the cottage and build one.  I had a moment this week -someone posted on the local Maker Space page a question of "Does Anyone Here Make Puppets?"   Bingo!  I immediately posted back that yes, sometimes I make puppets.  And what type was she interested in?   I was set - maybe we could exchange messages.  Maybe get together to talk about puppets and puppet ideas.  Heck - maybe build together.

Or perhaps my comment would be met with the sound of crickets.   At least I tried.

I had another one of the "who the hell am I" moments.  When I realize that I'm not the same Ann as when I was Bob-and-Ann.  I've often talked about rarely having drive myself - I sat and knit, or chatted, and somehow we got where we needed to go.  When I started driving myself, it was strange to try to figure out how to get around in a city that I've lived in for 45 years (granted that it's constantly changing).  But after that morning swim meet,  I followed the kids to their Air BnB so Zeke could change, and we went to lunch together.  Then we went back, and I headed home.  On the way to the BnB, I had noticed a street name, and through "cool - that street will take me to Capital Circle, and then it's a straight shot home."  I used Google maps anyway, and it gave me a slightly different route - and when I saw that street name, my thought was "there's a Wawa gas station on the corner, and I can treat myself to an iced coffee."

Since when do I carry maps in my head?  Who is this person?

Fortunately we don't seem to be getting hit with the massive heat wave that's covering a lot of the country.  We're just having normal heat - which is about the same that everyone else is getting.  I had an interesting thought about it on Tuesday, the day the heat index hit 111.   I had been reading an article about how astronauts have to become re-acclimated when they come to back to Earth.  Not just the physical rehabilitation, but the psychological - too many people, too much stimulus, too much just everything after being in a confined area for months.  The line that got me was "gravity seems like a theatrical performance."

That's how I feel about the high heat - it doesn't seem quite real.  It is, in fact, surreal.  You step outside, and you look around for a fire, or a grill, or *something* to try to see where it's coming from.  Heat like this doesn't just happen, does it?  It feels artificial.  A performance is the perfect way of putting it.

And we're just in what's called the Florida pre-heating stage, so I guess I'd better settle down for a long run.

Air Brush Frustrations

 Today was frustrating.
My plan was to start painting the Rocky puppet.  Specifically - use an airbrush.  I've only used one a couple of times, the last being about 8 years ago.

In theory, it's a simple tool.  In practice, I'm overly intimidated by them.  I think it's because Bob was highly skilled.  He owned several (of which I gave a few away, mostly basic, and a high-end one to my brother).  I kept a basic Badger, and the high-end Iwata.  He used for different types of painting (broad shading, fine lines).  I remember him messing around with needles and various parts and it just seemed over my head.   A few times I asked him to teach me, but the problem is that when you're really expert at something it's hard to teach a beginner (imagine trying to tell someone how to breathe, and they're asking you what do you mean by lower my diaphragm and expand my rib cage?  How do you do that?)

Today was going to be The Day.  I grab the Badger and the air compressor.  Step 1: Connect one end of the air hose to the compressor, and the other to the airbrush.  That's where I stalled out - for hours.  There were several air hoses there, and various adapters, but there were none that could connect to both the airbrush and the compressor (I tried every possible configuration, even cutting some fittings off to see if I could put others on - but the hoses were all of different sizes.)

I had a flashback to that time I used it.  I had borrowed the compressor and Badger (which is actually mine; it used to be my father's) and headed to the cottage. Then I came back up with "How the heck do you hook these together?"  He looked at it, said "oh - give me a minute," turned to a parts drawer, did some incantations, and handed it back to me, ready to go.  I asked him to show me what and how he had done it, but he was busy and he said it was OK now.  I remember saying "but what if you're not home sometime, and I want to use this?"

Well, he's not home, and I want to use it, and I can't find a damn thing in that parts drawer to make it work.

So there's that day down the drain.  And I really wanted to learn how to use an airbrush.  I considered the high end (expensive) Iwata.  I'm pretty sure I don't want to have my learning curve on that.  On the practical side, it's designed for finer work,with a small needle.  I'm going to using craft paint, not specialty airbrush paint, and it's recommended using a larger needle.

Like giving up and spending $30 on an Alexa dot after spending too many hours trying to get my old Google smart speaker to work, I admitted that Dad's Badger is probably 35-40 years.  A new basic airbrush, with the hose and all the accouterments, is $30.  It should be here soon, maybe tomorrow.

And, of course, all this fussing was done in Bob's room, with the emotional load there.  It's been particularly rough this week.  I realize that I didn't write about Tuesday afternoon, when Rik came over to drag out a few hundred pounds of ammunition (have I mentioned that Bob liked having a stash?)  He was also looking at other stuff (at one point pulling a knife off of a shelf, where it was tucked in with a vintage steam engine and a tile with an imprint of a grizzly bear foot).  He studied it for a moment, and said "Miss Ann, that's a Randall made knife."  A skinning knife, looks like it was never used (and Bob didn't hunt).  I have no idea where he got it.  When I asked what a Randall made knife was, the short answer was "worth about $600. "  Just sitting there.

Just poking through Bob's stuff (and especially having someone else poke through it) makes me incredibly twitchy.  Bob and I were (I still am) pretty territorial, and we always respected each other's stuff and territory.  Even in our first tiny apartment, where we ate off of the coffee table so we could have the dining table for our hobbies, he had his side and I had mine.  He never would have dreamed of looking in my purse.  I knocked before going into his room (the door was always closed to keep the cats out).  He knocked before coming into the cottage.   I remember seeing Bob tighten up when his parents visited and his father would go in his room and (without asking) just pick stuff up to look at it.  

Going in there, digging through his stuff, just poking through it out of curiosity, seems terribly invasive and disrespectful.  But ammunition deteriorates, as do the guns.  A lot of that stuff is collector's items.  And it needs to be sorted out, and, well, go to collectors.  Rik has the connections, and he's a dealer.  I know it needs to be done, but it still bugs the heck out of me.

So maybe the new airbrush is a good idea.  It will have all the bits and pieces, and instructions, and I won't be digging around trying to figure out what I need, and if it's there.  I won't be using my father's airbrush, or Bob's.  Just mine, no strings attached.

Three Cool Animal Observations

 Nothing earth shaking here, just three things that I saw and want to remember, so that next year when 2027 self looks back, she'll thing "Cool!"

This was all at the museum.  The first thing was when I cleaned and refilled a snake's water dish.  Apparently he appreciated it, because he crawled in for a nice soak.  I have often seen snakes coiled up in a water dish, but never watched one get it.
It was oddly meditative to watch, because it was like tracing a labyrinth.  He first went around the outside edge, and spiraled inward.  When he got to the center, he reversed, and making a second layer of himself, spiraled outward until all of him was coiled up in the water.  A very calming thing to watch (if you're not the type to get freaked out by snakes)

The second was when I was cleaning the habitat for the great horned owl.  It's common to find a feather or two, but yesterday he had dropped one of his leading wing feathers.  The engineering on those is fascinating, and explains the silent flight of owls.  The leading edge has a tiny comb-like structure that breaks up the air.  The feather on the trailing edge are soft and wispy.   I didn't get a picture yesterday, but here's one I took of a barred owl feather a few years ago.

 

I've seen pictures in books, of course (which is how I knew what to look for) but it's not the same as holding it in your hand.

The third shows the human urge to share something that you think is really cool, but something that most people would go "yuck" and back away.  Theo (who works at the cafe) found a huntsman spider whose egg sac was hatching.  She really wanted to share her excitement, so she put in in a plastic container and brought it to the animal kitchen.  I didn't know that huntsman spiders carry their egg sacs.  But there she was, with a tiny hole in it, and dozens of near invisible spiders coming out.

I didn't take a picture, but here's one of spider with egg sac from the web (how appropriate.)

So the spider and the babies were duly admired, and then safely released.

That's it.  Just three moments that made me pause, go "Oh, wow" and feel a sense of wonder.

Rocky!

 I've noticed a odd thing.
I am a maker.  Which means I make stuff.  I always have been; there's usually an ongoing project or two, sometimes being set aside and being revived later.

The odd thing is that, important as it is to me, it seems to be the one thing I rarely write about.  Sometimes I post a finished item, but that's about it.  Of course, in theory one should keep notes, or journal, or somehow document a project.  I've tried - I've got a few handwritten journals started, and abandoned.  I tried writing a separate project blog -haven't posted there in almost a year.  I tried an app called Milanote, which is pretty cool because you can import pictures and color pallets and make notes.  I haven't touched that either.

I was pondering about that, and I realize that I write *a lot* - this blog, my scribbled legal pads with Wordle games, random thoughts, to-do lists.  But when I'm making something - head working with hands, thinking, testing - that's when I go non-verbal. It's a different part of my brain.  And one that doesn't want to be corralled into words.

So just a few words about the latest puppet.  Like a few hundred thousand other people, I've fallen in love with Rocky, the alien from Project Hail Mary.  Which happens to be a puppet.  So I'm making a puppet of a puppet.  My challenge - I'm doing it out of Amazon boxes and packing paper.

It's been different from my other puppets.  Usually they just come out of my imagination.  They come to life and develop a personality about the time you put in the eyes.  But in this case I'm making a known character, already with a personality, who doesn't have eyes or even a face.

Step one:  Basic structure of cardboard, with some pool noodle details -body and one arm pictured here.

Step two:  cover with packing paper, which helps a lot.

All five arms are made, and he's been put together.  Next step: painting.  Then string him up.  But it's slow going.  I don't work on it at all on my museum days.  In theory, I get home by 1:00 or 2:00, which should give me the afternoon free.  In practice - after being on my feet 4-5 hours, most of which is outside (heat index 100), I'm knackered.  I come home, shower, eat, and crash.

Side note - I have developed a bit of an obsession with James Ortiz, the head puppeteer and Rocky's voice.  To be more specific, I have a bit of an obsession with his hair.

Random other stuff.  The new little owlet is settling in.  I love that he still has his fuzzy baby feathers on his head - so I got him to look down a little for a good picture.

I've been feeling oddly OK for June.  I'm waiting for the familiar sense of despair that I get every year to set in.  I think of June as being the last Innocent Month.  The last month that we didn't know anything was wrong.  My only June 2019 blog post was me holding a fuzzy baby vulture, with no idea of what was shortly to come.  It was in June that Bob went in for his ordinary annual exam, and things were anything but ordinary.

So I tend to stress out in June (last year I had to go on the antidepressants, but I had also lost Stumbles).  My usual coping mechanism is to get outside - but June is when the heat first hits, and I feel trapped.   I'm waiting for that now-familiar wave of feeling helpless in the face of what is coming -but it hasn't happened.  The early summer heat is here (temps in the 90s, heat indices 100+) and I'm tolerating it oddly well.  The other day I was on the way to the cottage to work on the puppet, but I looked over and realized that I couldn't see my lemon tree.  It was surrounded by the feral bamboo, and covered in the equally ambitious Virginia creeper.   So instead of the puppet I ended up grabbing various clippers and an hour later my tree was free.  I was a sweaty mess, of course, but I felt fine.  

Which, in June, is a bit weird.

Internet, Roadtrip/Owl, Alexa

 Things still aren't slowing down.
Last post I had gotten my new Xfinity Router.  The "setup in 10 minutes" actually took only about a half hour - mostly.  I got it going, and had to change wifi names/passwords on all my devices - not a huge task, because that means a phone, TV, and my Kindle.  And my smart speaker.  Ahem.
I've mentioned my smart speaker before.  Rob gave it to us to try to get us into the 21st century.  And I use it - a lot.  No - it doesn't turn on my lights, or set my thermostat, or make my tea.  But it starts my morning with a weather report and the news, and the rest of the day I use it as a radio, and it's nice if both hands are busy in the kitchen and I need a timer I can just yell it out.

That speaker (used to be called a Google Portal but now it's a Nest) is likely 8-10 years old.  The screen died a couple of years ago but I never watched videos in the kitchen anyway.  But otherwise it still worked.  Until day before yesterday, when I tried to connect it to the new router and it just didn't happen.  Long story short - after about 3-4 hours of trying different things, using YouTube, Reddit, Google searches, ChatGPT, and various resources on Xfinity* I had to admit that the two technologies were just too out of synch with each other.

*At one point, after a long exchange with the Xfinity chat bot, it finally suggested that I try the live chat (human being).  After a long exchange with the live chat, they gave me a phone number to call.  When I called, the phone robot said their representatives were busy and I should try live chat.  I finally talked to a human who did his best, but we both finally gave up.

I ordered an Alexa dot.  That was Monday.  Tuesday was something Completely Different.  The museum was getting a young barred owl from a rehabber in Central Florida.  We're about 4 1/2 hours away.  Everyone else was busy, so they asked if I could go meet him halfway in Lake City.  I don't like driving, but it's pretty much a straight shot of about two hours.

I had A Plan.  We were to meet at 12:30.  I planned on getting there (A big gas station at the junction of I10 and I75) by 12, so I could allow for any traffic and rain (it did rain), and be able to walk around, have a sandwich, and generally relax a bit before driving back to the museum.  I pull in at 11:50 - and the guy and the owl were already there.  So we did the hand-over.  Because of the rain and overcast it wasn't too hot, but I'm never leaving an animal in a car for more than a few minutes.  I hit the lady's room, grabbed a coffee and a bag of nuts, and headed back to the museum.

It was a long day - but isn't he cute?  Only four months old.

When I got home, my Alexa had arrived.  I set it aside to grab a shower and a leisurely late lunch/dinner.  Then what the heck - set up the Alexa dot.  Honestly - not much to it  - until I asked it to play my music.  The main thing I use my smart speaker for is music.  I have YouTube premium, and all my playlists are on YouTube music.  How was I to know that Alexa doesn't support YouTube music?  Heavy sigh.  I would need to switch to Amazon music.  And if I want to make a curated playlist, sign up (and pay for) Amazon Music +. What a bother.  So I packed it back into the box.

This morning I went on line to submit for a return.  It's back to the Google smart speaker for me.  All I want is the equivalent of the Alexa Dot.  The Google mini is about twice the cost.  This time I think to ask if it can play YouTube music.  Sure - no problem - just cast it from your phone.  Fornicate that.  If I have to use my phone, I'll just play music on it.  

Fine.  Apparently I need the Google Nest.  Hmmmm.  $140.  And I have to go to the bother of returning my $34 Alexa Dot.

I walk away and go to the cottage to work on my puppet.  And think about how much I am married to my YouTube playlists.  Honestly, not really.  I don't have "curated" lists.  I just have songs lumped together.  When I'm listening, "Hillbilly Bone" by Home Free might be followed by "Le Val de Amour" from the Notre Dame musical, and I like it that way.   For $106 I think I can manage to create a new playlist.  I've got that started, and I even got the morning routine programmed in (day, time, weather report, and headlines).

I did have to change the voice.  The default Alexa voice is so perky and upbeat that I knew first thing in the morning I would want to grab that speaker and strangle it.  I have a more mellow male voice on it now.

So in the last two weeks I've set up a new TV, a new Xfinity router, and a new smart speaker (also a new CD player but all I had to do was plug it in).   That's enough.