Mid September

 Two weeks without a post.  I sort of blanked out.  At least it's not as bad as when I blanked out for most of 2021.

I think it was just too many things at once.  My brain confuses easily.  It seems that I often go weeks without much happening - and then it all happens at once.

To recapitulate: Friday, August 25 was The Golden Wedding Anniversary.  I celebrated, I cried. So many memories, so sad to not make any more with him.

Saturday August 26 was Jeff's visit, when we did the escape room.  So much fun.  Such a sense of loss when he drove off, back to Tennessee.  Especially this time of year.  For many years (10+) in September we would have been in almost constant contact, designing the trail, props, costumes.  We all would have been in each other's hip pockets for the next 6 weeks.  Now - he was in town for meetings, and had several other friends he had to go see on this day, so I was grateful for the 4 hours.  Still  . . .

Sunday, August 27.  Mischa passed away.  Today I was talking to one of my long-time coworkers at the museum, and talking about how they don't even do the Halloween Howl any more.  I pointed out that of the main crew of 6 for the Haunted Trail - Rob and Jeff moved to Tennessee, Bob and Mischa passed away, and Gill is pretty much disabled.  I'm the last "Sick Puppy" standing.

Monday the 28th I was doing hurricane prep and trying (not very successfully) not to worry.

Tuesday the 29th I spent most of the day at the Museum helping to prep for the storm.  I normally work Tuesdays and Thursdays - but I went in Wednesday to help "unprep" - get the animals moved back, clean the carriers, etc.  Then my normal work day Thursday.

And then I seem to have blanked out for a week.  The week of Sept. 4-10 happened, but I don't really remember it.  I did at least do the repairs on the chicken coop and moved the girls back in (I haven't seen Miss Sassy Raccoon for a couple of weeks).

Monday I had to get routine bloodwork done, but rather than coming straight home afterwards I treated myself to a lunch out, a wander through World Market (got some good coffee beans) and then the Spirit Halloween just to play with the animatronics.  I've been downsizing and getting rid of so much stuff for the last three years that I thought I could bring one small thing into the house, and picked up a flask for my Kraken dark rum.

Otherwise I worked three days in a row at the museum because they're still short of volunteers and this was the week that the ceiling in the kitchen was being torn out and rebuilt - so all the animal diets had to be done on tables outside.  The work "chaotic" doesn't begin to describe it but we got it done.  And today I am feeling empathetic.  I have mentioned my friend Los before, who lost his wife and since then has not missed a single day doing FaceBook posts of trying to remember their lives together.  Today is the third anniversary of her loss, and he's really torn up.

The fun thing of the last two weeks is that Ebaida and I did a really deep dive into The Hunchback of Notre Dame.  We read the book (unabridged), compared it with a movie, and then watched a French rock opera musical based on it - which was an amazing production.  We both liked it so much that we took advantage of technology and watched it together so that we could comment throughout.  (it still amazes me that I can do stuff in real time with someone in Egypt, with no more than the normal internet charges.  I still remember waiting until 9:00 p.m. to make long distance calls because the charges were lower then, but you still talked fast and kept the calls short).  Our discussions were so intense that even now that we're finished, it's sort of hard to let it go.

Rambling done.  Two busy weeks, and one lost one in between.  All caught up.

September

 The start of another month.  

It's really been quite the week.

So, last Thursday, at midnight, I opened that wine.  The cork turned to dust as I started to put in the corkscrew, so I didn't have much hope for the wine.  But we had also capped it with sealing wax and apparently that protected it.  I had to pour it through a strainer to get the cork bits out of it, but it was surprisingly good.  A sweet red, still tasting of blackberries.  I toasted Bob, and had a good cry.

Friday I was just sort of quiet.  I had my filet, rare, and ate some cake.  But did a little housecleaning, because Jeff was in town for meetings and coming to see me Saturday.  It just feels so strange now to think of someone coming into my house - this is the first time since my friend Diane was here in January.  

We tried an escape room.  I've always wanted to try one.  We were lousy at it.  Both Jeff and I are pretty smart, but the clues were just sooooooo obscure.  But it didn't stop us from enjoying ourselves.  Then we went to lunch and had the comfortable talk that people can have when they've been friends for 20 years.  About how the two of us, and our friend Gill, feel that we've lost our identities.  Jeff and his husband moved to Tennessee almost two years ago, and he still has the displaced person syndrome.  He telecommutes his job in Tallahassee, so hasn't made work friends.  They bought a house that needed a *lot* of work, which they did themselves, and about the time they got that in order it was discovered that he had serious heart problems and needed a quadruple bypass.  So he hasn't been able to establish himself as his own person there - he's just Rob's plus one.

Gill has been disabled for 6 years now.  I was talking to her recently - and she said that it hit her that people that she's met in that time (she has a small but successful baking business, so meets customers, many of whom have become steady ones) don't know *her*.  The person who used to be a dog trainer, could walk 10 miles a day doing it, could eat anything she wanted.  Not this person who needs a cane, with multiple other issues.

And we talked about missing the Halloween Howl.  Two old war horses, hearing the call of fall.  We tried to remember how damned much work it was, how exhausted we'd get building the trail, and even more exhausted taking it back down again, the 12 hour a day weekends, working after our day jobs.  Dealing with the volunteers.

What we remembered was the chaotic creativity, the vast possibilities - slowly narrowed down as Halloween ticked closer.  The feeling that we were creating something bigger than ourselves (and it was - in those two days of the Howl, the trail would bring in some $10,000 for the museum).  The nights when we would light a small fire on the trail after building all day, roasting some hot dogs amid the sets and props. 

That moment when you just said you were finished - it was Time.  A couple of hours before the trail opened a couple - Mischa and Maria - would show up.  Maria was a great trail actress.  Mischa had a wonderful sound system (he was a member of a bluegrass band so had all the audio equipment) that he would set up, and then he would also become a haunter.  We knew that the Time Had Come when the dark Gothic music of Nox Arcana would begin to echo through the woods.  The people waiting in line would get excited.  All of the actors would take their places.  There was that great pause before the line opened. (I've heard that actors who play The Phantom in the Phantom of the Opera get that feeling when those first chords come crashing down).

The trail opened, and the screams began.  It was wonderful.

So Jeff and I talked of old times, and good friends, and then he had some other social calls to make.  

Sunday I got a call from Suzie (at the museum).  Her voice was tight.  "Oh, Ann," she said.  "It's Mischa."

Heart attack at 57 years old.  He was fit (among other things, captain of an underwater rugby team), slender - my brother described him as the guy who was 7 feet tall and six inches across.  But shit happens.

Jeff was on his way back to Tennessee by then.  I called him that night.  Like me - he couldn't believe it.  "Mischa?  Mischa Steurer?  Mischa Steurer the physicist?  The tall one?  The one who did the Howl?  That Mischa Steurer?"  Because how many people named Mischa Steurer can you know?

So as well as aching for Chris, who lost her husband less than a month ago, my heart bleeds for Maria.  I feel for the ones who are left behind.

That should have been enough for one week, right?  But not at all.

There had been some "weather" forming south of Cuba.  It became a hurricane.  Then a stronger hurricane.  That was aimed right at us.

I spent Monday through Thursday at the museum, putting in a long day on Tuesday (Hurricane Idalia was due to strike early Wednesday morning).  All of the animals except for the farm animals and wolves had to be moved into carriers and brought inside (tricky when you're talking about eagles, bobcats, and cougars).  Things had to be tied down or reinforced.

By Tuesday night Idalia was a Category 3 - and likely to become a Cat 4, and headed into Apalachicola .  I finished my own preparations - lots of water (without power I also don't have water, so as well as drinking water for myself and the animals I filled 5 gallon buckets in the bathtub with water for flushing toilets).  Lots of frozen water bottles in the freezer.  Batteries in all the flashlights.  The power pack charged up, to be used as a charging station for the phone.  Food that didn't need cooking.  I got out the battery operated fans and the little propane stove, and moved the yard furniture inside.  I brought the cat carriers to the house in case a tree came down on the house and I would need to secure the cats and chickens.

And then, what the hell, tried to get some sleep.  I had moved back into the bedroom after my anniversary, but for Tuesday night it was back on the couch, because the bedroom addition has a flat roof and an annoying tendency to cave in.  I dozed off and on.

I will admit to being scared.  We have weathered several tropical storms and hurricanes - but weathered them together.  I remember the absolute disaster of the yard after Michael came through four years ago.  I didn't want to face the storm alone, without the reassuring safety that was Bob.

5:00 a.m.  Category 4 and headed to the bay.  Landfall within two hours.

I woke up again at 7:00 a.m.  Nothing much was happening.  The storm had made a curve to the west, dropped speed, and come ashore through a lightly populated area.

Of course I feel for the people in the path. There was massive flooding in the coastal areas, and widespread power outages. But there could have been widespread catastrophic damage and deaths.

The worst of the wind and rain was over by noon, and I headed back to the museum to help move the animals back and clean the carriers and do the normal making of the diets.  By then I was starting to get the shakes over the near miss, so it was good to get out among people, working and feeling like a part of the team, rather than being alone.

My normal workday was Thursday, so I did that, with some more post-storm cleaning.

Today I seem to be lounging on the couch, although in a bit I'm going to get up and undo my storm prep.  The buckets and tarps and carriers will go back in the barn, and the cookstove and fans back in the emergency supply box, and get things back to normal.

Whatever that is.

Leaning Into It

 I realize I'm making a big deal of this anniversary.  Well, I want to.  The Golden Anniversary, 50 years, is a big one.

I've learned different ways of coping over the last 3.5 years.  When and where necessary, you suppress/distract.  You go through the motions, do what needs to be done.  But full-time suppression and denial isn't mentally healthy.  Hence, the "leaning into it."

I keep remembering one of my scuba diving experiences.  There was a place on the island that we could only dive when the weather was good and the waves coming from a certain direction because it was very rocky, sharp lava.  This one day, being quite lovely, we had a large group dive.  But the weather and waves switched while we were out, with the waves crashing against the rocks.  Those who could made it to shore, ditched their gear, and then, holding hands extended a human chain into the water to help the others out.

It only took me a few crashing waves to realize that if I fought this (at the time I was maybe 16 years old and weighed about 110 pounds) I would get picked up and smashed against the rocks.  The trick was to give in; swim like crazy between the waves, and then when you felt the surge coming in, simply flatten yourself against a boulder and let the wave break over you,

And that's where I am now.  A big wave is coming, and I'm going to flatten out, let it wash over me, and then be able to go on. 

I'm prepared.  I have a small beef filet for my dinner.  I bought a cake today (dulce de leche tres leches).  I also bought a bottle of my favorite Kraken black rum.  I bought some pastries for breakfast.

I dug out the 50-year-old bottle of blackberry wine.

If I'm still awake in an hour, when it's officially the 25th, I'll open it.  If not, some time tomorrow.

I saw Chris at work today; she came in because a group is having a two-day conference in one of the museum meeting rooms and she had to come set it up.  I wished I could have hugged her, held her.  I could see her pain.  I didn't - because I know that she is fragile and trying to hold herself together and could be easily broken.  She said she had been thinking of me, knowing that I had gone through this.  I saw her falter, and all I could offer was "Breathe."

So that's it.  I'm going to read, have a glass of wine (maybe - it might be only suitable for pouring down the drain) and spend one last night on the couch.  Tomorrow I will cocoon.  Then it's pick up the bootstraps again and forge on.

More Anniversary Ramblings

 I'm regarding these anniversary posts as my "message in a bottle" posts to Future Me.  I've been frustrated because I've gone over my August posts, both in this blog and my previous one  - 13 years worth, and I wrote very little about anniversaries.  We had them, we enjoyed them, we enjoyed being married - but except for the big ones, really didn't do much.

I'm back to sleeping on the couch again.  There are times (like I did in March) when the fact that he's gone is more than I can handle and the bed is just too damned empty.  The couch is comforting, with that solidity at my back.  

The front office manager at the museum, Chris,  just lost her husband.  He wasn't feeling well, went to bed, and that was that.  My heart breaks for her.  Sometimes I wonder which would be worse.  The sudden unexpected loss like this (or my friend Los whose wife simply dropped from a pulmonary embolism) or my experience of sitting in a hospital room for three months watching him die.  It may be that there isn't better or worse way.  Like the words of wisdom from my friend Greg - grief isn't a competition.

The very beautiful "Let A Physicist Speak at your Funeral" drifted by on FaceBook. https://www.iflscience.com/ask-physicist-speak-your-funeral-0-23899  

About how nothing is ever lost - not a photon from him that landed in your eye, not his energy.  It's all still here.

What caught my eye this time was the sentence "as your widow rocks in the arms of her loving family  . ."

Yeah, right.  How about "as your widow lies on the floor alone, screaming, and no one knows or will come near because there's a plague going on."

I have a friend who moved back in with her parents about 8 years ago, first helping to care for her stepfather until he passed, and then for her mother until she also passed a year ago.  After you lose someone, even if you're the executor, there's nothing you can do for a couple of weeks until the death certificate comes in.  She flew home to visit her biological father and half-brother and wife.  At one point they asked what she wanted to eat.  She was telling me "I told them that I couldn't think.  I couldn't even make that much of a decision.  I was empty."  So they just put food in front of her.

I remember feeling that way.  And with no food put in front of me - well, there were some days that I simply didn't eat.  I couldn't tell the difference between grief pain and hunger pangs anyway, and didn't have what it takes to get up off the couch (or the floor) and go to the kitchen.  (And yet - somehow the cats and chickens and squirrel got fed)

But now, three years and change later, I realize that it simply doesn't matter.  Would it have been nice to have that support?  Maybe - but it makes no difference in the long run.

But in the short run, I hope someone is helping Chris.

Memories of Anniversaries Past

 Bob and I never made much of a fuss over our anniversaries.  We enjoyed them - wished each other happy anniversary, sometimes with "well, made it through that year - want to sign on for another one?"  We didn't do the go-to-a-fancy restaurant thing because neither of us particularly liked fancy restaurants.  What Bob wanted was a steak, and the best way of getting a steak exactly as you like it is to cook it at home.  Also at home you can pick up the bone and gnaw on it, and swipe up the last bits of juice with a piece of bread.

I'm trying to remember them.  There were the big ones, of course.  For our 10th we went to England.  Alaska on our 20th.  Did we do something for our silver anniversary?  Maybe - but I don't remember.  Neither do I remember our 30th - that was the year that I had gotten fired, and had gone back to school (and classes would have started by our anniversary).  The 40th I wrote about - that's when we went to the zoo and beach at Jacksonville.

I remember a few random ones.  The time we booked a room at the Wakulla lodge - it seemed so decadent to take a "vacation" 20 miles from home.  But there was the riverboat tour and walking on the beach and he got into trouble playing checkers.  The lobby at the lodge had a beautiful view of the springs, and there were inlaid marble checkerboards.  I had envisioned a friendly game, gazing into each other's eyes, quiet conversation about our lives together.  He was into strategies and competition and won every game not long after we started.

We went to the Seaquarium in Panama City one year - mainly to spend some time with a friend who had just moved there.  We actually kept quiet about it being our anniversary, because she had just come out of an ugly divorce and we did have some sense of tact. (It was this same friend who later found out that we could go in the pool with the stingrays and we did that a few years later).

I did find an old blog post for our 38th.  Bob had said he would handle everything and surprise me.  It turned out to be a drive to Pensacola to look at Ft. Pickens (a fortress built in 1816), The Air History museum, and a good scale-model shop.  Sort of a Bob-themed trip.  But the surprise was that he booked a room in a beachside Hilton with a heart-shaped Jacuzzi tub, and a good seafood restaurant next door.

I can't remember which year we declared it to be the Power Tool Anniversary, because we bought a chop saw.  That was for me.  I couldn't use the chop saw that we had - the safety was in an odd position, so I couldn't hold it down and be able to pull the trigger (or whatever it's called) at the same time.  So if I was in the middle of a project and needed a cut, I had to go find Bob, ask him to stop whatever he was doing and come make a cut for me.  Very annoying.  So I got my own.

Speaking of power tools - there was the "stroll through Lowe's" anniversary.  I think it was even my idea.  Bob liked poking around and looking at stuff.  Every time we went to the hardware store, there was a bit of wandering, but of course we were there because we needed something for whatever we were working on, so we didn't stay long.  But that day - we went without needing anything, and just wandered the aisles.  Looked at all the tools - some we had never heard of.  Just poked at stuff to see what was there.  Confused the people who asked if they could help us find something by saying "just looking."   I think that was one of his favorite anniversaries - years later he would say "remember the time . . . ?"

The one that bothers me, though, is our 46th.  August 2019.  No matter how much I wrack my brain, I remember nothing.  Bob was having his preliminary chemo then, but having no side effects.  We were making a lot of trips back and forth to Gainesville for consultations and tests.  We must have done something.  Maybe I cooked a steak.  Maybe he asked if I was ready to sign on for another year.

We didn't know it would be our last one.

Anniversary Thoughts

 11 days without a post.  That's a change from my compulsive writing.

It's partially due to the heat - I've just been brain dead.  I think the ultimate was this past Monday, when we finished up making the animal's diets and were walking out doing the feeding and commenting that the heat just seemed surrealistic.  I checked the weather app: temperature 98, heat index 118.

But mostly my thoughts have been racing around uncontrolled, and I can't get them in enough order to write.

My wedding anniversary is in 8 days.  It will be my fourth without Bob.  I don't even know what I did on the other three; nothing worth writing about.  I probably cooked a steak in his memory.  But I can't handle the thought of this upcoming one.  For one thing, I realized that I'm thinking  of it as "my" anniversary, not ours.  We had 46, and I've had 3, coming up 4, on my own.

But this is the 50th, the Golden Anniversary.  We had plans of going to Norway.  So about now we should have been deciding what to pack, finalizing plans, going through our usual "why the hell are we doing this and is it too late to back out" thoughts that we always had before a major trip.  We were going to stand side by side on a boat and look at the fjords.

I have a bottle of blackberry wine that we made before we got married (yes, I made wine in the closet in my dorm room).  Most of it we drank, but somehow didn't get around to the last one, and we jokingly set it aside, saying we would open it on our 50th anniversary.  So I will (though I doubt if it's still drinkable).

I remember when we celebrated my parent's 50th.  At one point, Mom said "I'm not old enough to have been married for 50 years!"  And Dad countered with "I'm not old enough to be married to someone who's old enough to have been married for 50 years."  I was looking forward to saying that.

So I've been crying a lot at odd times.  Everything is a trigger.  I just want to shut down, but that's not really an option.  I keep trudging forward, with no idea of where I'm going.

I never know what's going to hit me.  A few days ago I noticed an odd hot smell when I turned on the dryer.  It hasn't been that long since I cleaned out the lint clog, so it likely wasn't that.  I don't particularly trust dryers ever since a friend had a dryer fire and it burned down her whole house, so I wasn't going to ignore it.
I pulled the dryer out from the wall and saw the problem - there was a rip in the dryer duct, so it was venting into the kitchen instead of outside.  Easy fix.  It was a lot longer than it had to be, so I took it off the dryer, cut back past the rip, put the attachment ring onto the the new end, and reattached it.  Easy peasy.  Then I had a breakdown.

First, because of my standard "That didn't used to be my job."  But it was actually because of the tools.  There's a tool chest in Bob's room.  And because Bob kept anything that was useful, it was a jumbled mess.  It was tricky to get the drawers open, then go digging through to find whatever, and trickier to close the drawers back when finished.  So a couple of weeks ago I dumped out all the drawers, sorted out the tools that I might actually use (yes, needlenose pliers are useful - but I don't need a dozen of them) and tossed the extras - which was a lot of them - into the donation box.  So when I needed a medium-width slot screwdriver and a somewhat hefty wire cutter, I just opened the drawers and grabbed them from where they were lying in a neat row, and put them back when I was finished, closing the drawers.

But the lack of the jumbled mess just about broke me.

OK.  Deep breath.  In through the nose, out through the mouth.  I can do this.

Watch out for the glimmers.  It's a term I saw, and like.  It's the counterpoint to triggers.  Glimmers are those things that give you a moment of happiness - be open to them.

This morning I was actually going to be on time to work (I usually seem to walk in about 3 minutes late).  I locked the door, pulled on my work boots, grabbed my purse and my water - and then I saw that my box turtle had come for a visit, with her neck stretched out and her head up, looking at me - "maybe you have a snack?"  So I had to put everything down, unlock the door, and go get her some food.  It was worth it.

I think I've written before about a suggestion to snap a picture of something that makes you smile.  For me, it's usually nature related.  While I was cleaning today I was laughing at Petrie, our education screech owl, because he's getting ready to molt and looking a little disheveled.

I was even able to share a glimmer.  I was cleaning the small aviary where we have several more screech owls.  There were some guests there, enjoying themselves, trying to get some pictures (the owls are tiny, and tend to stay in the back of the habitat).  I was chatting with them, talking about how screeches can have serious attitudes out of proportion to their size, and show them my favorite picture of a mama glaring at me while holding her wing over her chick.  One of the women said "I wish you could take my phone and get a close up."

I thought for a second, and said "sure, I can do that - come around to the gate."  There is usually an owl or two in a nest box, so I opened it up and got some great shots.  She and her friends were ecstatic, laughing and imitating the owl's expressions.  And so grateful to me.  Simple pleasures.

The owls were so crazy looking that I had to get my own shot.

I don't know if the tall one is demon possessed, or just needs coffee.

Writing helps.  I feel a little better just getting it out.  The next week is going to be rough, but I'll get through it.

 

Rambling Again

 I was thinking that it had been far too long - weeks, maybe? - since I had written.
Uh - it's been a week.

Still having a problem keeping a grasp on time.  I had to take NokoMarie to the vet for her annual checkup and was talking to the "new" vet there.  I've been going to that office for over 40 years now - originally it was Dr. Sanders and Dr. Hall, and later they were joined by the new vet, aka "the kid," Mike Pridgeon.  Dr. Sanders has retired completely and Dr. Hall is now part time - I was teasing Mike, telling him that I would always think of him as "the new kid."   I was trying to remember how long he'd been there.

25 years.  Yikes.

I've survived another July.  I've always felt that if somehow I made it through July I would manage the summer, which makes no sense because August can be unbearable, along with September and part of October.  I think it's because up through June it's not so bad, and by August I've either acclimated or just gotten resigned, but July makes me a little crazy, getting cabin fever, feeling like there's a monster ready to waterboard me the moment I open the door.  I purposely keep the air conditioning to a minimum (usually 78 degrees - any higher and the house wouldn't get dried out enough), and get adjusted.  One day last week I even had my afternoon coffee out on the back deck - 94 degrees, heat index 100 - with a fan on, it wasn't bad.  (Not today though - 95 degrees, but heat index 110 and dew point 78 - I'm staying inside).

Maybe it's that feel of a slight shift, the light at a bit of a different angle, the days a tiny bit shorter.  And all the Halloween stuff showing up in stores.  I love the Halloween stuff.

Catching up with the week:

Some excitement last Sunday evening.  A major storm rolled through.  I like storms, the chaotic energy of them.  The back deck is well protected, so I was sitting out there.  Suddenly there was a major explosion in the woods in front of me: lightening strike.  Enough that my eyes were blinded for a moment, my head ringing (*not* good for my chronic tinnitus).  I felt the pressure hit my chest, smelled the ozone and the burning wood.  I opted to come back inside.

That was followed by another scare.  I went in later to feed the opossum and my flying squirrel Dingo.  Dingo had managed to escape his cage.  He's clever that way.  Normally when I go in I hear him running around and then he'll come scampering across the bookcase and bounce over to me because it's possible that I will have a peanut.  But I heard nothing.  Not even when I made little tching sounds.  I searched.  Finally I turned back the bed covers and found him almost non-responsive, eyes cloudy.  Granted - he's a small animal, and now 9 years old.  But still . . .

I got him back in his cage, and was able to give him a little sugar water by syringe.  He could move a little, but he was uncoordinated and disoriented.  I was with him the entire night - as well as the sugar water, I remembered that he liked the special milk that I fed baby squirrels when I raised them, and I still had some powder, and he drank some of that.  So every hour or so I got a little more into him. By 4 a.m. he accepted a piece of walnut.  By 6 he could move almost normally, and his eyes had cleared.  A couple of hours later he seemed well enough that I went to work (not sure how useful I was - I am well beyond the days of being able to pull all-nighters).  He seemed fine by the next day.  I remembered once, a couple of years ago, that I saw him have a seizure, but then he recovered in a couple of hours.

Ragu, aka Waggy.  This past spring one of my friend Christy's sheep had triplets (unusual for that breed).  One was a little runt.  Christy and Rik are very pragmatic about their animals - they are given great care and lots of love, but whoever isn't kept for breeding stock or sold for same end up in the freezer.  But the museum needed another sheep.  I still have Bob's car trailer that I'll never use - but Rik wants it.  So with a little old-fashioned bartering little Ragu will now lead a long and spoiled life on the museum farm.

My poltergeist is still around, although he is slowing down a little.  I think it's because I do clean up everything daily.  Mostly now it's down to the whisk brooms, rubber strips, and a few feathers.  Sometimes there's something extra - a package of sandpaper or a shed snake skin (not sure where he got that).  The past couple of mornings he hasn't even bothered with the whisk brooms, just the rubber strips and a couple of feathers.  The AC is on in the cottage only when I'm in there, so maybe it's even to hot for Geist.

I've had the post-project malaise after finishing the griffin but spent some time just cleaning up in the cottage (I've found that cleaning up, just sorting and touching my stuff, will sometimes get the project urge going).  I spent a few enjoyable hours just playing yesterday with random stuff (a small plastic skeleton, some foam core, a picture frame) and made a simple automaton.  Just something a little different.  I might go back later and put in some landscaping or even a little friend.

I've always loved these little folk art toys, and it gave me a chance to use my scroll saw and get my brain wrapped around how the cams work (the lower one is egg-shaped and off center, so the skeleton goes up and down as well as around and around)

This is super simple, but I still needed to make it to try to understand it.  I have realized that grief fog is a real thing, and long lasting.  In many respects, 2023 has been very hard in that respect.  I huddled in the previous years (Covid was a good excuse).  2023 I've gotten out a lot - two trips, working the Highland games, 3 circuses, the Comic Con.   Which is all good - but it underscores that I'm doing it all without Bob.  And that hurts.

It made me think of my rattlesnake bite.  Rattlesnakes have neurotoxin as well as hemotoxin, which meant that all my extremities were pretty numb for a few days.  It was about 5 days after the bite (I was home by then) that I told Bob "I have good news and bad news.  The good news is that the feeling is coming back into my leg.  The bad news is (insert gritted teeth and pounding on the bed with my fist) "the feeling is coming back into my leg!!!"   It hurt like hell at that point.  But slowly got better, and now (15 years later) it's just a tingling in my right ankle, especially when the weather changes.

So I'll keep moving forward, and maybe someday it won't hurt so much when I do.