Listen, Listen, Do Not Hasten!

So...what am I thankful for, exactly?

2011-11-25T10:52:00.000-08:00

Whoever came up with the -- aphorism? quote? saying? old saw? -- my brain is not working so well today, so I don't know what this actually is -- but the phrase, "It never rains but it pours" was thinking about my day yesterday. Hang on to your hats because it is a long story. Okay, here we go.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. I was slated to celebrate Thanksgiving with my cousin Mickey and her family, at her house. My part of the meal was to bake five pies and take them with me. Now, pies are best about eight hours after they are baked, so the best thing to do is to bake them the night before, and then they can have cooled and settled and be ready to transport and to eat. So I had assembled all my ingredients, and was ready to get home from work on Wednesday night and begin baking.

I arrived at home, checked the mail, changed my clothes and was in the act of tying my apron strings, when floomph! The power went out. It was about six pm, so already quite dark, plus raining so overcast, so there was no light visible anywhere. Blackness. I began immediately to light candles since I have quite a few around the house, and soon had four tall tapers in the kitchen lighting it quite well, and I began to make pie pastry. I soon had the pastry for five pies prepared and divided and wrapped in plastic wrap, waiting for the power to come back on so I could start baking them! I had just started to mix the pumpkin custard, when the lights came back on. Total outage time: about one hour. Not so long, in the overall scheme of things, but an awful lot of time when you are supposed to be baking five pies, one after the other, and your oven will only hold one at a time.

So this sort of explains why I was too busy and too tired at the end of the evening to go and sit at the computer -- I just went to bed, and therefore did not notice until the following morning, Thanksgiving Day morning, that my computer was not able to gain access to the internet, and therefore I not only had no e-mail access, but also no phone service, because my phone service is computer based.

So, the long and the short of that story is that I have just now gotten off the phone with Quest, for the second time this morning (you see I had to wait until I came in to work before I could call them -- no phone service at the house!) and the first time they hung up on me, after I had finally convinced the Indian woman who answered that I was, indeed, a Quest customer, even though I was not calling from that number. And they are unable to assist me, because I am not at the computer in question. She was able to tell me that it is merely a connectivity problem, since the signal that the modem is receiving is full and strong (I had told her that already) and that the computer was just unable to recognize it. Guess I'll be trying agin when I get home from work.

The other half of the raining-pouring story, however, is that when I woke up on Thanksgiving morning, my stomach was hurting. Or at least, my interior abdomen was hurting -- who knows what organ -- and it had bloated me hard and tight and was making it very difficult for me to move around or do anything except curl up into the fetal position and gasp. This has happened perhaps four times in the past few months, and each time has seemed like the end of the world (or at least my corner of it) and after about an hour and a half, has faded away and left me feeling fine. It does not strike after any specific food (this time I had drunk some chocolate milk, but wasn't eating because, duh, Thanksgiving!!) nor after any medicine, although I had thought that possibly I was taking too many of my acid reflux prevention pills, and had cut back on them. I did manage to dress and comb my hair and all, since I could not call my cousin and tell her that I wasn't going to make the drive to her house since a) I had no phone service, and b) I also had the pies.

However, when I got there, I was quite incapable of bearing the loud, hot, crowded aspects of her house, full of happy noisy people, so I managed to pull her aside and tell her that I was going to leave immediately, and why. She was unwilling to allow me to go quietly home and suffer until it got better, and extracted a promise from me, that I would go instead to the emergency room. And then find a pay phone somewhere and call her.

Oh, boy. What IS it about emergency rooms? This was Thanksgiving Day afternoon, and I was the only person in the waiting area, and I was in significant pain, and I had medical insurance. Surely they should have whisked me back to a room immediately and given me a bed to curl up on! But no, I had to go back out to the waiting area, and sit on a molded plastic chair for at least half an hour, until the same woman who had taken my information came out and called my name, as though the room were full of people, and she had no idea which one I was. I then was able to curl up on the bed, since it was another lengthy wait before the doctor (who was at least ten years younger than I) appeared and made a humorous remark about overeating my turkey and stuffing. I was able to tell him with only a little sharpness that far from overeating, I had not, in fact, eaten anything that day, but had merely drunk some coffee and then some chocolate milk. "Oh, then you must be lactose intolerant," he said. "Well, since this is NOT the first time in my forty-six years that I have drunk milk, I don't see how that can be right," I said, only slightly sharper. But he was prodding my (hard and distended and so painful!) belly, and said that since I had already had both appendix and gall bladder removed, that really only left indigestion to be causing this degree of bloat. And I should go and see my regular doctor about getting an appropriate diet to follow, byee! Happy Thanksgiving!

This morning, I am slightly better. Still painful but no bloating, no appetite, but no feeling of horror at the thought of food, and some sadness that I missed the dinner at Mickey's, since Billy's turkey is always the very best. And five pies! All made by hand! Sigh...

It is, however, a beautiful blue Fall day! Sparkled with yellow and russet and maroon, as the leaves continue their flamboyant parade. Or something like that. Sorry, my descriptor is not working so very well this morning.

And tomorrow is, at the very least, another day!

Records

2011-11-23T09:24:00.000-08:00

Today is pie-making day. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I have accepted an invitation, once again, to my cousin Mickey's house, for the Mistler family Thanksgiving, and I am bringing the pie. So when I get home tonight I am assembling and baking pies. Two pumpkin, an apple-walnut-raisin, a blackberry custard and a pecan. Five pies. Putting them together will be the easy part, but baking them is going to take hours. So I will be up late. Me and Sir Andrew Aguecheek.

I am really, REALLY enjoying my sweet little new camera! I take a picture or several with it every day, and I have had it for a month (nearly) and it still has not needed to be recharged. Very happy about that! I am sending pictures to everyone I know and posting them online, and really enjoying owning a camera! For the first time since I was a teen-ager. I love making records of things.

I'd Like to be In One

2011-11-16T14:54:00.000-08:00

This is the week that I am on jury duty, and yet I have only been in the Jury selection room for half of one day. Much better than the process in Multnomah county, fifteen or so years ago! Although that room was much more comfortable, with couches and a television and shelves of books to read (all trash, but still...)

This room had only stiff upright chairs, although padded, and about half the room had tables to sit at. I was called in the first jury-go-round, and lined up in careful order and walked over to the courthouse in careful order, and filed in to the jury seats in careful order. And then the judge spoke to us for awhile, and the two attorneys spoke to us for awhile, and then I did not get selected to be one of the six they needed. So back we went, but instead of settling down to wait until five, I caught the bus back home. I approve of this system! And then I was able to call in last night to find out that my number had not been called for today, so that was good too. I will be glad to do jury duty every year, if this is how it is! But I would like to actually get on a jury occasionally!

I would like, I think, to be on a jury that had some meat to it -- a murder or a kidnapping, with high-priced attorneys and lots of evidence that had to be kept track of. You know I enjoy reading (and watching!) coutroom dramas, well, I'd like to be in one, as well.

Big and white and soft

2011-11-09T09:37:00.000-08:00

Nameless Agent came into my office to ask me if I knew the whereabouts of some office furniture today.

"Do you know what happened to those big white overstuffed chairs?"

I reminded Nameless that I had started working here after the move from the Division Street office.

"So you haven't seen them? It's a couch and two chairs or a loveseat or something. And they are white overstuffed chairs, really soft and comfortable." Nope, I said, I had never seen them, but they could ask Doug when he got off the phone. So in a few minutes, Doug hung up.

"Doug," bleated Nameless, "Do you know what happened to those big white overstuffed chairs?"

"What big white overstuffed chairs?" Doug inquired.

"From the Division office, you know the ones from the waiting room area? Big and white and soft?"

"Noooo..." said Doug thoughtfully. "I can't picture them. Can you describe them?"

"Well, they're white."

So Late and So Loud

2011-10-30T17:18:00.000-07:00

I really only have one complaint about this apartment, it is so perfect for me. I mean, yes, it's shabby outside, and yes, the deck is sort of rundown. And the landlords themselves are nobody's joy. But as for the apartment itself? Nothing but great things to say about it, except for one. And that has just recently begun. Only for the past month or thereabouts. It's my downstairs neighbor.

See, when I moved in here, in October of whatever year that was, 2009, I think, (wow, I missed my two-year anniversary!) a little old lady lived below me, named Helen. She was a little, bent woman, very polite and civil, and pleasantly friendly, but not outgoing, and she drove an enormous Cadillac. But sometime about two or three months ago, she quietly disappeared. I was out of the house when it happened, so I don't know if she moved to a nursing home, or dropped dead, or what. I wasn't even aware she had left until the painters started having their radios on loudly while they painted. One day I was home from work early, or something, and heard them, and then I knew she was gone.

And then the new tenant moved in. I have only seen him through a glass darkly, so I have no idea how old or young or dark or fair he is. I'm assuming he is youngish, cuz his parties last all night long (but that could be forty-ish, too). Anyway, he sleeps in the larger bedroom, as do I, so he is directly below me. And, not unlike my ex-husband and son, he has the TV on all night. Or at least, he goes to sleep with the movie playing. I am not in the room with him, of course, so I don't know whether he is awake or asleep -- his snoring has never drowned out the dialogue. And it isn't on when I wake up in the morning. BUT! the other night when I couldn't sleep for several hours, it was still playing below at one-thirty. So the muffled swoops and bangs and screams and surges of background music keep me company until I fall asleep. So far it isn't dreadful, it doesn't keep me from sleeping, but it does annoy me while I am awake.

So! First official complaint: late-night movies in the bedroom. And it's not that I don't like movies, as we all know, I love them. I am leaving to go and see The Rum Diaries in a few minutes. It's just that it makes me feel sort of getting-even when I hear the floor creak as I walk around. It's a very creaky floor, you know, and I used to walk so softly, thinking of Helen below me. But now I tromp around like a big dog, because he leaves his movie on so late and so loud.

Early Autumn Morning

2011-10-29T13:42:00.000-07:00

What a gorgeous Autumn day, pale blue sky, bright thin sunshine, cool air, and colors, colors, everywhere. This change was dramatic and overnight, and everything is some russet shade now, from pale yellow through to flaming scarlet, and every shade in between. I am really enjoying this Saturday so far, partly because I got up at my usual time, instead of lolling abed for longer in the mornings, as I have been doing lately. This morning as I woke, I was confusedly thinking that there was something going on about the Rand family, and a tall clothes cupboard, and someone's nephew going to jail...? And all that being expressed, somehow, in the beeping of my alarm clock. Strange, (shaking head) how one's sleeping mind can weave a tale. Instead of waking me up sharply and cleanly at the sound of the beep, as I always used to.

However, in spite of the dreaming, I was up and about in the crisp lovely morning, and got my packages mailed at the post office, and then walked over to Sully's and ate French toast and sausages and drank that gorgeous, award-deserving coffee, all before anyone in my building was even awake. I love that feeling. Like I know more about the day and the world than anyone else.

Now, of course, it is early afternoon, and there are sounds coming from the other apartments, thumping and scuffling from downstairs, and a door closing...a muffled voice...

Crrrunch, crrrrunch, crrrrrunch.

2011-10-27T17:37:00.000-07:00

Ice on my windshield, I said yesterday, without a thought to what it might mean. And today I was gawking away like a mooncalf at all the suddenly -- overnight! -- bright orange and flame red and golden yellow trees. And being amazed at the crisp crrrunchiness of the leaves drifting to the ground all around. It wasn't until my drive home that it hit me: ice on the windshield, dummy!

All Day Long

2011-10-26T11:08:00.001-07:00

Goodness, it has been over a month since the last time I wrote. At first thought it doesn't seem nearly that long, but then when I think twice, it seems even longer. The idea of having a blog and keeping it up to date seems far off and foreign to me. Can't tell you why -- perhaps I am merely getting older with each passing day, and my memory is becoming more and more aged. Or there may be any number of other reasons -- we may never know.

In any case, part of the reason that it has been so long is because of the recent events in the life of Joe. They were big, and important, and filled my whole window for a few weeks. But he asked me not to tell anyone about them, so I'm not. And trying to think of what to write about when I couldn't write about that? Like trying not to tell someone that their hair is on fire.

It is a chilly morning today! My last entry was about the dreadful heat of this past summer. And it was dreadful, too, but isn't it interesting, how rapidly the memory of weather changes? As I sit in comfort (in my cardigan) and think about summer, I can pooh-pooh the idea of buying one of those portable, mount-in-your-window air conditioners, like so many of my neighbors did this past summer. I hate air conditioners because of that -- walking past so many windows with air-conditioner vents spewing hot air out onto the walkway -- ugh!

But I repeat, it is a cold one today, and there was ice on my windshield this morning. Only a bit, and soon succombed to the heater, but there it was. Forty degrees this morning, and still only 44 out there. I have yet to turn the heat on in the house -- holding out until November, is the idea, but if it is still this cold, or gets any colder in the next week, I may just give in. It is hard to get out of bed when you are so very cozy and delicious and you can tell by the numbness of your nose how cold the bedroom is. Takes me less than an hour to get up, make coffee, shower, dress, make lunch, do the hair, and walk out the door, but that hour is getting slimmer by the day as I snuggle down for one last ten minute snooze.

Did my grocery shopping last night -- bread and milk is all I ever really need, and a few non-food items like eye pencil or shampoo. But last night I gave in to the used-meat bin, and bought myself a tiny, fat little sirloin steak. And I will grill it tonight, with a baked potato -- yum. Looking forward to that. I also baked some chocolate chunk cookies, which are quite tasty, although the bottoms burned. I'll do another panful this evening, and put the shelf up a notch, see if that helps. This is pre-mixed cookie dough, that came in the food box, but it is gourmet and all, so I gave it a try. And it's pretty good -- they have a faint caramel taste that I frequently try to achieve with brown sugar and brown flour, but have never managed like this. Don't know how they did it, but it probably involved caramel flavoring, so. At least I'm going to tell myself that.

I had dinner last Friday with my friends Alan and Jody, and I'm afraid I was not a very polite guest. I mean, we had a very nice visit, and all, but the dinner contained several items which I do not enjoy, and so I just did not eat them. It was an orange meal, by the way, just happened that way, with no intention -- and I told them about the Marquess of Malyn, from The Whispering Mountain who loved gold and would only eat yellow food -- and his unhapy guest, the Seljuk of Rum: "Alas, alack, more yellow comestibles!"

The next day, I had a date for dinner at Dina and Mark's house, and had planned to get up and bustle about the house, getting a great many chores done before driving over there. Instead, I got up and sagged limply about the house, revelling in my bathrobe and pajamas and standing-on-end hair, enjoying the feeling of laziness that comes with eating in front of the computer, and later, of making a banana cream pie without doing the dishes first. And then, at about 12:30, the phone rang, and it was my cousin Mickey, saying she was on her way over and let's get some lunch. So THEN! I had to do a great deal more than I had even intended to do all morning long, and get it done in forty minutes! So I look around my clean and shiny kitchen now and bow my head in thanks to Mickey.

So at four I left the restaurant and walked back home with Mickey, and then at four-forty-five, I drove away to get to Dina's by five. So it was pretty much a day of play. All day long!

Take the Newspapers Out!

2011-09-11T14:00:00.000-07:00

This may be the hottest of the hot days yet. I walked over to the Farmer's Market, and before I even got to the end of the second block I was sweating. Actually, noticeably sweating, with liquid sweat running down my sides. Pretty unpleasant. But I continued on the few blocks more, and did a short walk round at the Market -- looking at jewelry and drinking pineapple juice and then heading home. But I was so weak and damp and enervated by the heat, that I stopped off at the library on the way. Two hours later, the air-conditioning has completely changed my world-view, if not my life.

For the past two weeks, the weather has been so dreadfully hot and still that the most I have ever been willing to do in the house has to be done while sitting still. So I can read and write and occasionally wrap a package, I can talk on the phone a bit or send an e-mail, I can watch a movie or drink some juice. But I cannot take out the garbage, wash the dishes, vacuum or put clothes away, cannot make the bed or fold towels or iron things. Easy to tell this, all you have to do is look around the apartment, where piles are rapidly accumulating. The dining room and the bedroom, in particular, are disappearing under piles of various types.

As a result of this world-view change, now, I feel as though I could easily go home and fold the laundry from the various piles in my bedroom, sort and throw away the various vegetables and what-not left over from the food box, and definitely take the basket of newspapers out to the recycling bin. Who knows, though. My energy level has risen as my body thermometer descended, but the opposite might just as well be true. They might even occupy the same container inside me, so that the absence of one guarantees the presence of the other. I am so looking forward to the lovely grey cool rainy autumn which is just around the corner. And I am not looking forward to the idea of a globally-warmed globe.

Today is September 11th, the ten-year anniversary of the terrorist attack on the United States by al-Queada. The comics page was full of references to it, and so was my Facebook page. I'm not about to forget it myself, since it was not only the first time America has been attacked by a foreign power since 1812, and cost many citizens their lives, but also because it was the beginning of the end for me at the MAC, thank you, Michael, who could not resist the opportunity to fool a bunch of people whom he had never met, through me, so that I would look stupid and take the blame. I still cannot believe that he called me at the office, from the den where he was watching television, and told me that the latest news was that Disneyland had just been struck by an airliner, killing hundreds of children and their families, and when I had passed this along to my co-workers and bosses, burst out laughing and said he had made it up, and weren't we all stupid to believe such a ridiculous story. I didn't pass along that last, but they all felt it anyway, and turned their obvious and justified anger and offence onto me. After that, my firing by Elda was merely a matter of time. So it is hard to think of this tragedy without also remembering Michael, which I am able to go days and never do.

Yesterday was Second Saturday, so I headed out to the Westside office and set up the food for the class. I took along some canteloupes and muskmelons from the Box, and sliced them up, and they were all eaten, so that was good thing. Then I went out to a brief breakfast with Mickey, and then we went to begin getting ready for Mavis's birthday party, which Monica throws at Mickey's but is supposed to completely cater herself so that Mickey is only required to provide a locale and some tables and chairs. It started out very miserably (I felt) since Billy was very grumpy and crabby and Mickey was not helping at all, but being very in-his-face. The temperature kept rising and rising and there was nowhere cool to be, even though the house was so much cooler than the outside. After I had sliced the remaining melons, a watermelon, a pineapple, celery and peppers and a roasted chicken, I couldn't hide indoors anymore and went out to join the horribly hot fray.

The children were the only ones who enjoyed themselves, it seemed clear to me, even though there were a great many people there. There was a sprinkler and a slip-and-slide, and they were running around in the bamboo forest, which must have been cooler than the open field. I listened to one remarkably stupid conversation between two mothers about what they would, and would not allow their children to do by themselves, because I was too stunned-by-heat to leave my chair. When finally the last person left, and we dragged ourselves into the house, I was a little more cheerful, and much cooler, and ended up staying until nearly eleven.

The woman on the computer next to me has a habit of sighing loudly every few breaths and muttering curses under her breath, even though she looks totally normal and intelligent and a lot like Elizabeth Moss. Don't know what the problem is, since it doesn't look like she is finding out that her child was killed, or that she owes someone a huge sum of money, or anything, so I think I will merely draw this to a close and go on home. See if my bright and vivid energy lasts beyond the three blocks and into the house. I am determined at least to take the newspapapers out.

Sleepy Sunday morning

2011-09-04T12:32:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning, and I'm at the Retirement Home, enjoying the peace of a Sunday morning. Or at least, what remains of the peace since the neighbors are here, working on a weekend-fix-the-house project, which requires constant music. And they like repetitive alternative-type stuff, over and over. Arg.

But it is beautifully blue-and-gold with a warm sun and a cool breeze. Faint smell of neighbor's bonfire a pleasant backdrop to my mother's air fresheners. I went for a short walk this morning with my first cup of coffee and enjoyed the mist still filling the trees and lying low in the roadway. And now I am sleepy again, even though is is barely noon. Mom and Dad will soon be home from church, but I might sneak in a tiny nap before they make it. I'll bet we are having store-roasted chicken for lunch! Mmmm...

Spent the pre-church morning having some fairly interesting conversations, one with each parent. With my mom I was discussing the value and/or lack thereof of multitasking, and how much of the various things one was doing at the same time one could retain or pass a test on. That seemed to be her method for ascribing value to something. I was saying that while reading a book, even one I was very interested by, I would feel as though part of my brain was empty and flopping about unused, and I would want there to be something else going on, to occupy it. Therefore, I would often get up, go to the computer and at least have e-mail present to my peripheral vision, which seemed to do the trick. Mom complained that unless I was fruitfully reading both book and e-mail, it was the wrong thing to do. And I know that the prevailing wisdom of the moment is that a human being is not capable of ingesting (?) two streams of information at the same time, but I'll bet that's coming! How long has it been since we were unable to read and write, to speak, to walk uprightly?

With Dad, I was discussing several things: the new prevalence of autism, the way public schools are set up, the downsides in the long run of agribiz, the way any school of thought or scientific discovery seems to affect the world forever, but they are all temporary, as anyone looking back down history can see, quantum physics, health care and the lengthening of life.

YA-AWWWN -- think I'd better go lie down for just a minute....

The lowest it has EVER been

2011-09-01T21:46:00.000-07:00

Well.

I am pleased with myself.

Yes, I am.

I got my electric bill in the mail yesterday (paid it today, while I still have money -- some things haven't changed) and would you like to take a guess at how much money they were asking for, from me? Bearing in mind that it has been hotter than a big dog all this month, and I have had two fans going all night long every night? No? No takers?

$47.

That's forty-seven dollars.

FOR-TY-SEV-EN-DOLL-ARS.

That is the lowest my electric bill has ever been, I do believe.

Driving a blue sedan

2011-08-31T17:52:00.000-07:00

Last night I closed the sliding glass door. It has been open for several months, but last night, as I shivered while going around turning off lights preparatory to going to bed, I closed it. Is the Summer over? The Summer, meaning this period of still, hot, merciless weather is over, I do believe, and hallelujah! I like my blue skies to be bracketed between little showers in the night, and to have the occasional breeze moving across them. I like my temperatures to nudge the thermometer up around eighty, and that is hot weather, not 95 and onward. I like a cool, temperate summer, which is why I live in the PNW.

This morning, as I was driving to work, my eye was caught by a flash and I looked up the road, as I was slowing on Hwy 224 before turning down the circular descending on-ramp to I-205. It was a large black SUV, which had been several cars ahead of me as we made our way up the highway, and had just passed the on-ramp when it braked, slid over to the side of the road while all its red-and-blue flashers came on. I caught the tiniest corner-of-the-eye glimpse of it turning, or backing, or something, as I disappeared around the corner onto the ramp.

Then, I moved from lane to lane until I got into the farthest left, and began to speed up to catch up with traffic, which was really moving that morning. When suddenly: zziiiiip! a small black car, very low and speedy zipped horizontally across all four lanes into the fast lane and came right up on my tail. Very, very close. I sped up, then looked to see if I could get over to the right (I was doing about 70, and can't go much faster, the car starts to wobble) but could not, momentarily, and the little black car was hanging right there on my tail. Several seconds passed and then zziiiippp! all its previously unsuspected red-and-blue lights came whirling on and there it went, once again, rapidly, horizontally across four lanes, and right up on the tail of another car, which -- you know, looked a lot like mine. So they were all out there looking for someone, and he was driving a blue sedan.

Are any women missing?

2011-08-27T06:23:00.000-07:00

There is definitely something about hot weather that affects my sleeping patterns. It's not even as hot as it was, but still, even with fans blowing on me, it's pretty warm. And although I turned off the light before eleven, and settled down to the book-on-tape with just a sheet over me, I still woke up, rolled over and turned the CD back on two times. And here it is quarter past six and I am up with a hot cup of coffee, typing away in the silent morning. The occasional squawk of a duck is the only sound there is. I'm going to want a nap later on, though.

The man next door is building a large, two level deck. It is an ambitious project, and one which he is trying to do well. I have watched him working on it for a few weeks now, and it is still only a frame, both because of its size, his onliness, and the fact that he keeps making it more --well, elaborate is a word which implies excess, so I don't mean that, although I guess it could be. I don't really know what is required for the floor of a deck, but this is as carefully criss-crossed and squared up as if it were the floor of a house.

Today I need to mail a book or two, wash the dishes and take a walk. Those are the only things I need to do today. Wow. And last night I finished the good (great! excellent!) book I was reading, so that will not be pulling at me, either. Although I did promise myself a re-read of certain parts. I love you, Lev Grossman! So a trip to the library is indicated as well.

Hey, last night I was in the office after hours, since I had had to stay past five (if I have to stay past five, I wait until after six to leave, cuz otherwise, traffic). Doug had gone home, and so had all the agents, and I was just playing some computer game or something, when Nameless Agent came in. He has always looked slightly disreputable to me, since he is untidy, overweight and his hair is just a little too long to be controlled. But last night he was worse than ever, with a large purple area on his face, (which could be the symptom of some health issue, or could be a large bruise)and a reddened and infected-looking set of scratches on his lower jaw. He was surprised to see me, and said something fairly unintelligible about why he was there -- something about Tiffany, so perhaps he is leaving -- and then I left. I've been wondering, since, if he was in a fight or attacked someone or something that I should have reported? Not that the police department would welcome the report if I called it in: "Hey, I saw a guy with some scratches on his face -- you got any missing women?"

Wax on...

2011-08-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

So -- if I were to wax my car with turtle wax in the little can -- you know what I mean -- would it be possible to remove/cover-up/lessen the look of some scratches in the paint? The liquid wax they spray on at the car wash does not seem to have any effect on these -- but then wax-on/wax-off wax does have some sort of mild abrasive in it, that should do something towards that, wouldn't you think? Commentary, anybody?

There was rain in the night, the edges of a small thunder-and-lightening indulgence (which I caused by asking for it! Really!) and my windshield was covered with small round drops of water, very round since they were touching as little of the waxed surface as they could manage (hot lava!) and when I began driving fast, they started flying up the windshield and off into the ether. Very pleasing to me, as I drove through the fresh cool morning, looking at the lavendar-backed clouds covering the sky...sigh! Happiness.

...Let it run all over me...

2011-08-23T06:45:00.000-07:00

The rain began last night at eleven. I was already in bed, but jumped out and went to the window. It was too dark to see anything, so I hurried out and into the living room and out on the deck and leaned on the rail. It was definitely raining. Lightly, but the air was so still that it was still falling straight down. No breeze at all -- usually there is a cooler air coming in right ahead of the rain, but not this time. Rained most of the night, though! Or at least the times I woke up, it was still raining.

And now the air coming through the window has a washed feeling. The temperature has dropped, it almost feels cool, and the way air in Portland ought to feel. That is, of course, merely my opinion, but then this is where I voice my opinion, isn't it?

Made Glorious Summer

2011-08-22T18:04:00.000-07:00

Now this is weather! This is the sort of summer day I think of when I think of a summer day. Not this 90-95 degree horror like we have been having, brassy blue sky, pitiless sun -- but the sort of day the Pacific Northwest is famous for, and will continue to be, ceteris paribus, world without end, amen. 78 degrees -- pale blue sky -- fluffy white clouds here and there -- grey skies when I got up this morning, and even a hint of rain warnings, although none fell -- THAT is a summer's day! Ahhh.....

2011-08-11T15:42:00.000-07:00

Made it out again this morning! 45 minutes. I'm hurting (all over) slightly less. But boy, oh boy, that was really some kind of crippling pain, and to have it all over me! I can still press on myself almost anywhere and have it hurt. Wondering if it were a result of the massage I got last Sunday? Half an hour, and she was really working on me. But that was only on my back.... Seems unlikely.

One more day of access to historical records! Gotta get a lot done by then.

What Will I Eat When I Get Home?

2011-08-10T13:07:00.000-07:00

Oh, dear, it is to laugh.

Last night, as I washed out the large Tupperware bin that had held my bean-and-Polish-sausage soup, I thought, "I don't want to get up and make a sandwich tomorrow -- or, no! I'll get sushi for lunch!" And went happily to bed, and got happily up, and happily left the house, where my wallet was not in my purse, but was sitting on the desk beside the computer screen. So -- I have no cash, no bank card, no identification. I could not purchase anything from anybody. Ruling out sushi, hamburgers, clam chowder, or, really, anything else.

I get nothing for lunch!

Not that it will hurt me, although, as the clock hand inches toward one pm, my stomach is gearing up to begin complaining. I look forward to a couple hours of grumblings and carry-on.

So what will I eat when I get home...?

Keeping this up!

2011-08-09T10:48:00.001-07:00

Another walk this morning -- slightly longer and more sweat-producing. I enjoyed it, though. Need to come up with something quick to make and eat, but also satisfactory -- no cold cereal, for example. Cuz I am going to be hungry in the mornings, if I keep this up. And I WILL!

Endorphins = Nap

2011-08-07T14:40:00.000-07:00

It is a delicately lovely sunny Sunday, still cool at two in the afternoon, even with a golden sun shining down. I am trying to talk myself out of a nap, and into a trip to the library. Don't know yet which of me will win.

I had a massage this morning over at the Farmer's Market -- two hours ago -- and I have been trying earnestly to convince myself ever since that I am NOT DRUNK. Not drunk and not stoned, because my head and body are trying hard to believe that I am. I guess it is a result of all the resultant endorphins that are created during a massage, which probably tickle up the same parts of one's brain. In any case, I am feeling good. Might have to take that nap, though...

Step Three in Rugs

2011-08-06T10:40:00.000-07:00

Last night I stayed up until midnight so that my next post would be on its own, not connected to the one before, and I made it, and then COMPLETELY forgot what I had been intending to write about. All I could think of was Gordon's gin, and how interesting that was, and how good it tasted. Wrote a couple of paragraphs about it as I was waiting for whatever it was to come back to me, but it did not, and I finally went to bed.

This morning, however, I got out of bed and walked out into the kitchen to put the water on for coffee, and as soon as I stepped into the hall, I remembered. Why yes! Step Three of the Great Rug Project has been completed! I have found and purchased the hallway runner!

Now, it is not perfect -- not my imaginary rug, which was going to be shades of brown and blue, and a minimum of ten feet long, and not more than two feet wide. This one is shades of brown and red -- sort of a deeper, darker maroon red, with a patterned edge. And it is shorter -- maybe eight feet, and wider -- maybe two and a half feet.

But it triumphs all OVER the place in one regard, and that is the price! I paid five dollars for it at the Silly Army! Cheapest yet! So very cheap, that if the perfect hallway runner should ever turn up, I will not hesitate to buy it, since five extra dollars is nothing! I am very happy with this one, however, and smile every time I set my foot on it, or even think of it!

Excelsior!

Walkies

2011-08-05T09:01:00.000-07:00

Mischief managed again this morning! Well, not mischief exactly -- but I got up at six and went for a walk around town, got some coffee, and got home half an hour later. So half an hour of steady walking -- that's good, right? Right, indeed. I will never be a thin person bursting with energy -- all my life, I have never been that -- but I can and will be a healthy middle-aged woman, not a heart-attack-victim-in-waiting.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

2011-08-03T10:32:00.000-07:00

It's the third day of August, and I am back in the office after a week of vacation. I have piles, PILES of work to catch up on. Piles. Three large ones! But I am finding it hard to settle down and trudge on through. So I am taking a few minutes to think about this past week, and remember its gloriousness, in hopes that when I am done I can sigh briefly and turn to.

My beloved sister Ruth arrived on Saturday morning at the train station, which I still think is one of the greatest buildings in the city, in spite of its modernization. I did not recognize her for a moment, and she also looked right past me, even though we were both looking eagerly about for one another. In my case, it's because I am so much fatter than when she saw me last, and have cut off my hair. In her case, it must have been because I'm unobservant, cuz she certainly looks just like herself. I took her home to my sweet little apartment and was very gratified to find that she likes it almost as much as I do, and was walking around exclaiming in a very heart-warming way. Especially liked the deck, which was surrounded by fluffy green leafy branches and very pleasant to sit on in the warm afternoon. We drank lemonade and ate sour-cream-blueberry coffee cake and talked and talked. The next day, Sunday, we had breakfast at Sully's, outside on the sidewalk, which was also very pleasant and enjoyable. Then walked over to the Farmer's Market, where Ruthie got a chair massage and I bought some marionberries to make a pie for the trip to Ocean Park. Cousin Mickey came over and spent the afternoon making us laugh. Thai food finished off the day. I was very full when I trundled off to bed, or to couch, for accuracy's sake.

The drive up there was the shortest yet -- I was still looking for the third mountain range when we came down the slope into Astoria -- surprise! Nice to have someone in the car who isn't driving, so she can tell you what things say, sing along with the music in harmony, and respond to your remarks. We got to Ocean Park about fifteen minutes early and did a little shopping at Jack's to give Mom and Dad time to brush their teeth and comb their hair. They were very happy to see us, especially Ruthie, as they see me every month. (Of course they like me best, though.)

We went to the beach that afternoon, and I signally overdid it on the walk, which is still having its effect on me, a week later. I strained my calves in walking through dry sand, always a bete noir of mine, and my back somehow as well. Too bad, because that kept me from being able to be very active the whole week. My calves are still sore enough to make me groan when I stand up, and I can't turn my head all the way to the left. Unfortunate! I had been planning on this week meeting all my exercise needs for the whole year! I was still very able to enjoy talking with Ruthie at night (we shared a room) and eating meals with my parents and with Ruth's husband Tom and son Sam who drove up on Thursday. I made three pies while I was up there, and directed Sam through one as well. On our last night there, Dad and Sam made Sidewalk Tacos, which were absolutely delicious and I ate three. Sam is sixteen now, and is six foot two. The tallest person in the room!

I read many of my mother's collection of paperbacks, drank lots of tea, ate the best pie in the state, watched a couple of movies with the gang and talked and talked and talked. To everyone, but mostly to my sister Ruthie, who is my best and dearest friend. It was very restful. I got pink and freckly and my hair is a shade lighter than it was when I went up there. Only one day was rainy, though several were overcast, but for the most part it was sunny and bright, but not hot. SO perfect!

And now -- I turn with a tiny stifled sigh to the first of these large piles of paperwork.

I'll exercise you

2011-07-17T19:25:00.001-07:00

Ohh, dear, the Plan for Today has resulted in me being in fairly serious pain. Ow ow ow. Really truly pain, too, though not as bad right now as it is pretty darn certain to be tomorrow. Oh, I dread getting up so much that I almost don't want to go to bed. Stiff, sore, creaking and aching. So many of my muscle groups are stiff and hardened and Painful. And all from working on cleaning up the house! And not working hard, either, not lifting extremely heavy (just mildly heavy) things, not rushing around, just plodding along. And lots of resting! But I guess when you are as out of shape as I am, this is what you get for any sustained exercise. I wish I could wish this feeling onto anyone who tells me with cheerful idiocy that I just need to get some regular exercise. I'll exercise you.

The Plan for Today

2011-07-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

The clock has just struck noon (struck? I do not have a striking clock anymore -- which is where that expression comes from. My birdsong-playing clock has just Baltimore-Orioled noon, is what I actually mean. The bird pictured at noon is a Great Horned Owl, but somehow this clock skips one bird a day, and always ends up, twelve hours after being reset, with the Baltimore Oriole at noon. Anyway, moving on.) just indicated noon, and I am very happily enjoying the rain.

It is RAINING. Straight downward, in geometrically straight lines that are slicing down through the air like a scimitar blade, if scimitars were only straight and not beautifully curved like they are. I could say "sword blade", of course, but "scimitar" is just one of my favorite words, and goes so much better with the word "blade". I think because "sword" only has one syllable, like "blade".

In any case, I have just returned to the house from the deck, where I was sitting out in this gorgeous (scimitar) rain, reading the Sunday Oregonian and drinking Bay Bridge Merlot, which I bought in a small bottle, only slightly larger than a beer bottle, for two dollars. Costs a lot more than a beer bottle would, though, but then I never drink beer, (bottled or otherwise) so the point is really moot. I've only taken two sips so far, so the bottle is still a little too heavy to drink comfortably from, but it feels quite delightful to have it right in my hand like this. I feel like a wino. Or like a rough sleeper, or whatever we call those who sleep out of doors because of their addiction to alcohol, when being careful not to hurt anyone's feelings. Not the alcoholic homeless' feelings, either, but usually some completely separate person, who has never had either an addiction to alcohol or the need to sleep under a bridge. PC, that's what it is.

I had breakfast, this lovely morning, at Sully's, in spite of the torrents of air-slicing (scimitar) rain, and enjoyed it no end. The coffee was not quite up to their usual, and my first few sips disappointed me sadly, but then I grew accustomed to its perfection-lacking, and enjoyed it at the level it was. Which was pretty darn good, and still better than Starbucks or, in fact, anybody's. I was reading a book which so far (only 73 pages into it) seems excellent, and I may be noting it down later as one of my Approved books. Does that sound suitably pompous? Perhaps Approved for Humanity -- better? Called "The Magicians." By Lev Grossman.

In any case, the food was excellent, as always, the service was attentive, and I really enjoyed my plateful of multi-colored toast and apple butter while listening to the conversations of those around me. One gentleman, a fire-fighter (possibly retired) started three sentences with the words "When I was a little kid in Miami" which I enjoyed, but the most wonderful part was a plump, balding, middle-aged man sitting with two women, one of whom was his mother or aunt (that age, anyway) and the other of whom was his sister or wife (also the right age, and mildly affectionate). He was telling the two of them some story about someone buying books, in the past, books which are currently highly valued because they are old editions. Hold that thought. But you know, money was harder to come by, then, and a little bit of money went a long way by today's standards. He understood that, too. Where he went wrong was in speculating in awe about how hard it was for "them" (didn't catch who he was talking about) to buy these old, valuable books -- "some of 'em were even first editions!" -- with their little bits of money, at the prices these valuable books would command -- today. He didn't think far enough to get that the prices would have changed, too, that "old books" are valuable because of their age, which requires the buyer to buy them after that. Not back when they were new, and just basic books. Delightful to hear this.

So, the plan for this afternoon and evening is to make a shopping list for later in the week, complete the task of sorting, ironing and putting appropriately away all the laundry in my room (about three-quarters done), vacuum the house, and possibly clean off and polish the low dresser in my bedroom. And, otherwise, eat and drink tea and rest and read and go to bed early. That is the plan for today.

Don't know what I want

2011-07-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

Someone in this neighborhood is frying ham.

It's quarter past eight in the morning, and the air is quite still of any human noises -- although I did hear a car start up and drive away, somewhere, a while back. But I got up at seven when my phone rang, and no one else has opened any doors, started their showers or called to their children since.

But someone IS frying ham. Mmm, gorgeous smell. Almost makes me change my mind -- again -- and walk over to Sully's for a hot breakfast. Although, as I consider it, the taste of frying ham is not nearly, nearly as good as the smell, which is absolutely magical. My knees got weak before I had even identified it, and saliva ran rapidly into my mouth. Which is a thing that never happens to me, so there you are.

See, my plan for the morning was to get up when the alarm went off at six, shower, and walk over to Sully's in the pleasant warm sunny morning, and eat a lovely breakfast, cooked for me and brought to me on a plate while I sat at a corner table and sipped their prize-worthy coffee and read my book and looked about me. But then I couldn't fall asleep last night, or even get comfortable, and listened to the Book on Tape for an hour before the CD came to a stop, and even then it still took me a while. Don't know how long, I stopped looking at the clock, but kept my eyes closed until the magic happened. So, then I didn't want to get up this morning, and kept hitting the snooze button. Until the phone rang.

And when I looked out the window and saw that not only had it rained in the night, it was still raining, gently, softly, desultorily -- and I did not feel like a rainy walk was quite what I wanted. So here I sit, having finished my own coffee, my shower, and the scrub-down I felt compelled to give to the deck railings while I was out there this morning -- and I don't know quite WHAT I want.

Sorrow and relief

2011-07-11T07:51:00.000-07:00

Wow.

Okay, am I far enough away from this that I can tell you about it without weeping? Cuz I am at work, you know. Can't be leaking and swelling and turning bright red here at the front desk.

Okay. You know Joe moved back in with me, supposedly only for a few days, but I told him he could have a month, and then later told him he could have another. We were getting along, but I was growing increasingly unhappy at the state of my apartment.

And then I went to my parent's place up in Ocean Park for four days, and Joe stayed home. He is a grown-up now, legally, and so I told him that as a guest in my house, I expected him to be appropriate and discreet in the people he had over and the things they did (I actually said, "No parties and no drugs, right?" and he said, "Right.") and that whatever transpired I wanted all signs of it to be gone by the time I got home. On the day I was leaving, I called Joe and told him I would be home in about three hours, so it was time to start picking things up and turning the dishwasher on.

Well, for sheer stomach-turning disgustingness of the mess the kitchen and bathroom were in when I arrived at home, hot and tired, to find no Joe, he wins a prize. The counters were mounded high with crazy stacks of dishes, half-eaten food, glasses half-full of juice and sticky spills running down the fronts of the cabinets, garbage and more dishes, tilting this way and that. The hot kitchen smelt strongly of sour milk and rotting fruit. And over the whole thing was a large cloud of busy fruit flies.

Shall I describe the bathroom to you? I think not. It will be even harder for you to imagine, unless you are a parent of an unaware teen-aged boy, with unaware teen-aged friends. Suffice it to say that I was still cleaning black greasy handprints ("Nick was working on his car!") off walls, light switches, cupboard doors and towels for days. I couldn't even look into the sink.

So. This was the last straw. I called Joe. He answered. I told him to come home that very minute and clean the house. He sullenly agreed. FIVE HOURS later -- midnight-thirty -- he showed up. I told him that I was in bed, that I did not want to be kept awake by the noise of him cleaning, that I would go to work tomorrow, and when I came home, the house would be clean and all signs of the weekend eradicated. I said that this was the last straw of my willingness to believe him when he said he would be responsible for something, and therefore, he would be moved out by Friday, and hand over his key. He agreed, and apologized, really as though he meant it. But STILL! It was unbelievable. Hang on to your hats, though. It gets worse.

The next day, when I got home from work, Joe was there, with a friend. I could hear the dishwasher running. I asked him, was the house clean?

"Uh....no."

So I turned around and left, telling him that I would give him half an hour, and then be back. He protested that he only needed twenty minutes, but I said half an hour, and the kitchen, bathroom and living room must all be done (I had left a list for him of all the things that I objected to, since I knew he would just look right past them).

When I arrived home, Joe and his friend were leaving, were actually outside the apartment and coming down the stairs. I didn't make a big to-do in front of the friend, who was not at fault (hmmm, wonder if that's why Joe broght him along?) but asked if they were done, and Joe said yes.

When I went in, I saw that it looked at first glance as though a lot had been done, but that with the exception of throwing away a lot of garbage, pushing the dishes back into the corner of the counter, and turning the (half-full) dishwasher on, Joe had done very little. The bathroom was untouched. Still cheese in the living room. Real cheddar cheese, I mean, not slang for a mess -- but a sharp knife and the block of cheese siting on top of a speaker.

Anyway. I'm growing weary of telling this story. Let me sum up. I was unable to get Joe home for the rest of the week. He kept coming in while I was at work, taking showers and making the house more untidy, and leaving before I came home. His phone does not take messages, so I could not even get in touch with him. After some hard thought I realized that since I had thrown him out, I should clean up the rest of the mess myself, treat him kindly, and be ready to stand my ground when he tried to avoid leaving.

So. At 7:45 on Sunday evening, Joe turns up. Tells me that he is moving in with his friend Nick, and that Nick's father is fine with it. Then says, "But I can't take my stuff over there tonight, so I'll leave it here and pick it up tomorrow."

"Nope," I say, firmly, but feeling my stomach curl up. Here we go! "This is the last day of the week plus weekend. You gotta go by end of day today."

"Okay," he grouches. Then he hangs around in the bathroom for a long time, then comes out and hangs around in his bedroom. Then the bathroom again, then takes a shower. Finally he calls through the house to me, and says that Nick has a girlfriend over, and so Joe can't take his stuff there tonight. Can't he please leave it here, just until tomorrow?

I point out that he has had all week to figure this out, and now it's the end of his time. I'm getting shaky, and take the phone out on the deck to get some encouragement from my mother, who gives it to me. I mean, he has plenty of money, and if worse came to worst, he could get a motel room for the night. But he has had seven days to figure this out, and has just been partying and sleeping late all week, figuring, no doubt, that I would cave when the time came.

But I did not.

Then there is his dresser -- a small Tupperware thing. He says that it won't fit in his car. I offer to follow him over to Nick's with a load of stuff in my car. He accepts, then refuses, and says to throw the dresser away. I say, in that case, I will keep it, since drawers are always useful.

Now he's finally worked himself up, and he's Angry. Anger has a special force for Joe and his father, acquitting them of all responsibility. Like being really drunk in England. So now he's stalking back and forth and slamming doors and yelling insulting things as he goes out the door. When he finally leaves, and I lock the door behind him, he is yelling, "Fuck you, Mom! Fuck YOU!"

Baby that I am, I immediately begin trembling, and call my mommy. I get Dad, who calms me down, and tells me I've done the right thing. And I know I have. I'm not going to start second-guessing myself (she says, second-guessing away like mad).

Anyway. I am sad, but I am also really relieved. He is out. He is gone. And although he could easily break in, I don't think he will. I will fix the door he knocked off its tracks and the map he tore (although I mourn that, since Niels sent it to me from Denmark) and then go on getting the house clean and aired out (reeks of old cigarette smoke now)and ready for Ruthie.

Quiet

2011-06-24T13:56:00.000-07:00

Here it is, two in the afternoon, and not a single turned-in packet of paper. Not one. Usually Nameless Agent turns them in by the bucketload, but he has been here all day and not a single one.

Ah, de mi.

I do dust

2011-06-23T16:03:00.001-07:00

Oh, heavens, I think I must be a very lazy person. I know I am, in fact, the laziest of people. I will live with a situation that is uncomfortable, inefficient, ugly and smelly, out of sheer laziness. This has all been brought home to me for the last few days, by reading the ten year's worth of blog by John Bailey. Here is this man, whose blog starts when he is 59, and he is constantly "clearing things away" or "washing down the shelves," or "giving the floor a good going over with some Flash." I'm halfway through the third year of this, and even though he rarely mentions it in his blog, he refers to it in a way that shows this is a regular process. And of course I know it is for most people.

I've just been comparing myself with the few people whose houses I know well, and feeling fairly okay about myself -- about my public self, anyway, since my private self will do almost anything not to have to get up from her chair once sat upon. When I sit down in front of the computer, I always take a book along, since otherwise I am stuck with the bookcase I have there (full of favorites for just that purpose) and that would never do, but once I am sitting, I'm not going to want to get up and go get it, so I'll HAVE to read one of those favorites!

In my leather chair in the living room, I have a box next to the chair which is for holding magazines and crocheting projects, and so on, but it is full of empty envelopes and bits of wrappers and so on, because it's there! And Heaven forbid I should have to actually get up and walk the two steps to a trash container.

And then of course, there is the pan in my sink, in the kitchen, the baking pan which was full of rhubarb and strawberry cobbler. It has been in the sink, full of water (changing all the time, at least) since May 20. And today is June 23rd. More than a month, and it has survived several washings-up. I will get down to just the dishes in the sink, and then give up.

And my public self is hardly any better. Hardly any. I do dust.

An extra chin

2011-06-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

I am drinking cranberry-pomegranate juice, and loving it. It is yummy-yummy, mmm-mmm-mmm. Last night I drank a very tall iced glass of it, with the addition of two ounces of Irish whiskey, and a large bloop of heavy cream. Now that was eyes-rolled-back-in-the-head DELICIOUS, and I very nearly made myself another one. But I'm not a hardened drinker, and I was alone in the house on a Monday night, and cream is very fattening, so for all these reasons I did not.

What is it that pomegranate juice contains that makes it so very healthy to drink? I know it contains some appalling amount of sugar, being the sweetest possible fruit juice. But it's also full of vitamins and folic acid, and some sort of antioxidant. Prevents cancer and cures heart attacks and beats off strokes. Something like that. And cranberries are anti-bacteria. So I'm doing myself a mort of good, unless I add the cream and the Jamesons. THEN, I'm just giving myself another five pounds and an extra chin.

Apres le deluge

2011-06-17T10:42:00.000-07:00

Hooray! The phone just rang! That was the first call of the day, at 10:41. I am alone in the office today, too, no others here even for a moment. Find myself watching anxiously for the mailman, just to make sure I haven't been abandoned by my race.

Crunch, crunch, crunch

2011-06-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

One of the agents who works in my office -- we'll call him Nameless -- has several habits that cause a reaction in me, among them a determined and exhaustive cracking of every finger joint in every possible direction. Really. Every direction.

Well, he has another habit -- one which really causes every nerve of mine to stand up and shriek aloud. We keep a few bowls of candy in the office, it is my job to keep them full of mixed candy, and I enjoy that part of the job. Right now there is a slight preponderance of hard candies in the mix, peppermints, butterscotches, tropical fruits, etc. Lots of suck-upons. And Nameless picks one up, unwraps it and chews it up right there and then. He is swallowing its pulverized form as he reaches his office again. CRR-RRUN-NNCH, CRR-RUN-NNCH, CRUNCHY, CRUNCHY, swallow. I can hear his teeth splintering into shards as he does this. Brr, shudder!

Like a good apple

2011-06-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

Feeling good today -- oddly, and very noticeably, better than I have felt for the past several weeks. Yesterday was a good day, and today is also one, even though I haven't left the house or indeed showered yet. My hair is currently soaking in fresh lemon wash, and I'm sorting and folding sweaters in my room, listening to an interesting book on tape. Even the sorting and discarding of too-small clothing is not distressing me, although as I do, I am noticing that there are several articles of clothes that I never even wore, so rapid was my inflating. I am saving a few pieces that I really like, in case I am ever able to deflate, at least partially, this rotundity which now houses my person.

It is not upsetting me, though, not at all. I am eating slices of cold chicken breast, as I walk to and fro from room to room, and burning candles all over the house to freshen the already crisp and chilly air -- the sliding glass door was open all day and night for the past several days, and a few windows as well. I do like that sensation -- to walk into a room and breathe completely fresh air. Not just perfumed with room freshener, not with any faint trace of we-have-been-here-before, or re-filteredness about it. Just purely, crisply fresh. Like biting into a good apple. Not waxy, not soft, not wooly inside -- but right off the tree, hard and crunchy, bursting with sweet-sour juice and chilly on the tongue.

Worse comes to worst -- I'll get along

2011-06-08T10:58:00.000-07:00

It is a lovely day again today, although overcast and grey as to sky -- cool and breezy, over an underlying warmth. Lots of green visible through the door from my desk -- I'm at work. Doug is in his office selling the company to a new agent, and the maintenance men -- John and son Hans -- are switching out the light fixtures all over the office for new ones. This is actually a lengthier and more intrusive process than one might have thought, since it involves large ladders all over the place and large boxes of gear, since the light fixtures are the whole 2x4 foot process, with ballast boxes and all. Nonetheless, the light they give off is so much nicer -- it has a pinky-yellow glow, instead of the pale blue-ish glow, it seems to light the area much more, and give the walls a more welcoming color. AND uses less electricity!

Financially, however, I am in very bad shape these days. I just saw that I am overdrawn at the bank, by $35 more than I actually am, since they slap on a fee whenever that happens. I cannot do anything about this, either, since I will have no more income until the fifteenth of the month and that will be taken up with several other payments. But it will be covered then. I just hope that I can manage to avoid any other fees being attached. More than a week, though. Hmmm. What can I sell, and to whom?

I am also started on a payment plan with the IRS, to pay my State tax, which starts on the fifteenth. So strange to owe taxes! I was really quite surprised. Now that I know that is going to be possible, I had better save towards that every year, and not end up like this again.

And, although this is not really my worry, I have been getting calls at work from a collection agency that claims I am still responsible for Joe and his rent at Clipper Ridge, even though he signed a second lease. This is a three thousand dollar debt. And the woman is a hateful person. Now, I know collections agents often are, as part of their job, but she, I think, is, at all times. I would hate to meet her.

Okay. Feels better to have written that down. I complained about some of this to Mom and Dad when I was there this past weekend (so lovely!) and to Ruthie on the phone, but no one knows the whole story but me. Doug would instantly offer to lend me money, so can't talk to him about it.

Anyway -- if worse comes to worst, I will just go and live with Mom and Dad in Ocean Park!

On the kitchen counter

2011-05-25T14:10:00.000-07:00

So I haven't been complaining abut Joe lately -- don't think I've even mentioned that he has moved back in with me. Temporarily, and all, but still.

However, if you were a young man who had moved back in with your mother, and were living in her office, with all your stuff in a corner there (having abandoned ALL your furniture -- ALL) and she was allowing you to live with her temporarily, as long as you followed certain rules strictly (these few rules were small and obvious {seemed so to her, at least} such as not turning the baseboard heat on, or leave the lights on or the water running or your clothes in the dryer. Somehow, though, every time you saw her she was grinding her teeth with all of them that you had broken, Every. Single. Day. ) and you had felt the need to smoke a little pot in her house, strictly against those few rules, and had carefully and quietly created a neat and tidy little bong out of materials she had lying around, and used it, greatly to your benefit and peace of mind, would you then leave for the night, with that tidy and carefully constructed little bong SITTING ON THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN??!!

Doing some re-reading

2011-05-23T15:35:00.000-07:00

I LOVE Dick Francis.

Long day, happy ending

2011-05-22T19:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, besides being the Big Fat End of the World, was Calhoun's eleventh birthday, and was celebrated at the community center in Montavilla, which was just a block or two from where I lived for a few years as a baby, while my father was going to Multnomah School of the Bible. (Digression -- why on EARTH do you suppose they were pretentious enough to name it that?) You might ask why, when both Calhoun's father and his mother live in Milwaukie, we were celebrating his birthday on 82nd and NE Glisan -- far from the home stretch. I do not know the answer to this pertinent question. I did not really know the details of the arrangements when I said I would be glad to go and asked if I could bring any refreshments, or I might not have gone. It was a long day. But Mickey and Kevin and Ensai (Calhoun's sister) and I had fun talking in the kitchen while the boys played in the gymnasium, for hours. And when it was finally over we drove Ensai home and then got very lost in first Ladd's Addition and then Brooklyn, looking for 17th Avenue to take us back to Milwaukie. I had suggested taking Woodstock, but both Mickey and Kevin disagreed with me, so I sat back and watched. I was in the back seat, croaking "We'll never get out! Never!" as we wound around and around in Ladd's Addition, and Mickey was driving, but she was cheerful and patient and no one got mad!

Anyway, after dropping off Kevin and Calhoun, we went to the Hawaiian restaurant behind my house, and ordered some appetizers, and while we were waiting and chatting, a girl of about seven with white-blonde hair approached me. She addressed me, but was stammering and sort of milling about, vocally, as I was taking her in, and before she finished a sentence, I cried out, "Natalie!" And it was -- her sister Emily and their mother, whose name I cannot recall, came over too, and chatted briefly. Natalie was two years old, the last time I saw her, and Emily six --they were two of my daycare children. I got several tight hugs from Natalie, and a shy stiff one from Emily. So the day ended very well indeed!

Good thing I was wearing a robe

2011-05-15T09:27:00.000-07:00

Remember when I first moved into this apartment, and I was interested in the large and silent house next door? The House Next Door! Sounds like a movie title, or no, maybe a pocket book. Empty or not empty? Did someone live there but never came into any of the rooms on the back? Never turned on any lights in the living dining room or master bedroom?

Well, for nearly a year now, we've known the answer to that question, and have lately been watching The Man turning it inside out in a rapid change of all its lines. Very like what they did to our old house, which is now gorgeous and brand new and absolutely like every other house on earth. This house as well, which had a long, wide glowingly green front lawn, surrounded by huge old rhodies and beds of daffodils and hyacinths and multi-colored tulips -- very Pacific Northwest -- was being tidied, and all its special edges cut off. Then the back yard, which was shorter, without any lawn because of the huge fir trees which keep it almost completely dry, but also pretty much sun-free, opened onto the creek. The first thing they did was to take a load of enormous rocks down there in a flatbed truck which they simply drove in right over and through the bushes on the side of the house, and laid them all in the water just outside the edge of the yard, and filled in between them and the yard with gravel.

It is now a very tidy water's edge, especially as the second step, a tall iron fence, kept the ducks and geese from just waddling in. They still fly in, if they want to, but it does take a lot of extra effort, and the ducks mostly don't bother. The geese do, though, especially this year's crop, which as I may have mentioned before are Hysterical. Really. In its true meaning, too, I don't mean funny. At least one of them is clinically hysterical and she/he infects the others with unending Honking Panic which can continue for half an hour at a time. Very, very annoying. So there is a lot of panic-stricken Escaping and Pursuit involving lots of Flight to the Rooftops and it is all scored with Blind Unreasoning Honking. And from the roof, if you are not a very smart bird, you flap down into the yard, before realizing that now you can't get out to the water without a great deal more flapping and honking to get back up onto the roof, or possibly clear the fence from the ground, which is not easy and really makes you honk, long after you have Escaped and Thwarted their Evil Plans.

Anyway. You see I got a little carried away there. I liked the geese until this year.

But as I was saying, now they have begun working on the house, either preparatory to selling it, which seems by far the most likely, or to moving in themselves, which could also be, since there is only ever one guy out here doing all the work, even though he has access to all kinds of large equipment. Hard to imagine any individual having that kind of spare cash, especially in today's recession. And you would also assume that his family would have moved in already as well, to save on whatever their rent must be wherever they would be living. No, it has to be a revamp company. Perhaps times are tight enough that they can only pay one guy, and also put him up in the house...?

Because this morning, when I got up and put the kettle on for my coffee and was standing at the window looking out at the rain-washed morning, in all its typical colors -- deep dark greens, vivid glowing greens, assorted pale greys, backdrop of blue -- so very recognizable and beautiful! -- I was looking down into the yard next door, at the mini-caterpillar tractor and the mini front-loader and the large pile of railroad ties (hmmm, that's new) lying next to the side of the house where all the holly trees -- sadly overgrown -- had all been dug out and disposed of yesterday. Also a pile of long black piping -- like a new septic tank system or a water feature (which would be a real waste of money, since the house is right on the water already) and all the places where the smaller bushes and clumps of flowering plants had been dug up or skinned off and loaded into the truck and carted away. Anyway, as I stood looking sleepily at all this, and wondering vaguely with my pre-caffienated brain what the overall plan was, I realized that, standing on the opposite deck with a large steaming mug in his hand and staring back at me in startlement, was the worker guy. Took me several seconds to realize that we were looking right at each other and move away. It's just a very, very good (and lucky) thing that I was wearing a robe.

Tell me NOW!

2011-05-05T11:32:00.000-07:00

What is the deal with hyacinth blossoms? I mean how the color drains down and out of them once you've picked them. Of course, this is the fourth day of this bouquet, and I'm really NOT complaining -- it was a gorgeous, fagrant, eye-rolling-back-in-the-head handful of Springtime. But I'm curious. This is the fourth day, and the top three-quarters of the stalk have faded to nearly white, while the lower fourth is much darker purple -- exactly as if the color is slowly draining down the stalk. What's up with that? Nobody online seems to know -- at least, no answers to this question have appeared -- I could spend longer doing some actual research, but I'm a victim of the minute-and-a-half mentality, as far as looking things up. Tell me NOW, or I'm not going to care!

Obvious computer note

2011-05-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

Brief Note: It is very interesting to see how computer usage picks up in my neighborhood, according to time of day. This is Sunday morning, it's about ten am, and everyone is my building is either still asleep or making no sound. When I first sat down at the keyboard this morning, I was able to just whiz through things -- movies played with no problem, I was able to jump from screen to screen, just as if I were at work, on their modern and up-to-date server! And so it has been until now, about ten, when other people are up and at their computers. Slowing right down.

I've noticed this also right after dinnertime, when people have come home and are watching their shows or surfing Facebook or whatever. Everything slows way, way down.

Thanks for the memories

2011-04-30T10:36:00.001-07:00

It is a gorgeous Saturday morning, and I am sitting at the computer, having finished my coffee and my hint-at-breakfast, and listening to the sound of contented ducks ( small squeaky grunts) and watching the sky get brighter and brighter -- and I'm sad.

And I am going to write about it, because I want to, even though I know it is my own doing and all, so it can't be fixed and I can't blame anyone, but I just feel like writing about it, and so I am.

This was all brought on by my finding people on Facebook (who weren't there the last time I looked -- more than a year ago) who had been, in the past, before my horrible marriage, my very dear friends. They were a family who attended the church that I briefly attended when I first moved to Portland -- I met them there, and then they hosted the "Small Group" in their home in Northeast Portland. They were a young couple with a small boy, when I met them. Both of them became my dear friends, but especially Him. He was (also!) a Monty Python fan, and almost every visit would devolve into a quote-fest, or have one (or both) of us singing "Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam..." to the point that even his kind-hearted, sweet-natured wife would protest. "Oh, don't get started on Monty Python!" she would beg, and even leave the room. We would look at each other guiltily, but sooner or later, something would happen and one of us would whisper, "Help, help! I'm being oppressed!"

I went to their house once a month for dinner, and babysat for them whenever they went out together -- which wasn't very often, they being a devoted family. And we had many long discussions about god and life and the future. They both knew that I was ambivalent about Christianity (at that time -- or at least I was comfortable claiming ambivalence, instead of outright repudiation) and we talked that over, too. I was so perfectly comfortable with them. And when their second child was born, they asked me to be there with their little son to keep him calm, so he could witness the birth. That was the first birth I ever saw -- little Micah, although his name at that point was Keegan. And She had at least two other pregnancies while we were still close -- one which was twins and resulted in miscarriage, and one which resulted in Rebekah.

When I met my ex-husband-to-be, I took him there for a visit, first thing, and then several weeks later again, with Joey this time. Wow, it's hard to imagine that I felt so good about Michael (having not the faintest idea who he was) that I freely took him to Their house! Even when I took him to visit my parents, only a few weeks later, I was anxious. But no anxiety at Their house!

Anyway, when I had fled Michael, and the Marriage, and was safely at my parent's house, I tried to find Them, even though they had moved to Idaho, and I didn't have any contact info for Them. There was no such thing as Facebook in those days, either! But it was important to me -- they were friends who had avoided the whole marriage debacle, since they had moved to Idaho almost immediately after I married, and I counted on them for understanding and support and love. I was eager to love them, as well.

So when I found their number and called, I was close to tears before She even picked up. But I recognized her voice at once. I was SO HAPPY to hear it. She was polite and gracious, but not excited, or even pleased to hear from me. She said, in a very few sentences, that since I had left the church, she didn't think they would need to be seeing me again. Have a nice life, good-bye.

Which, at the time, a very bad, bad time in my life, absolutely crushed me. I wasn't just devastated at the loss of my son, and horrified at the thought of my ex-husband, and completely freaked out, and all, but I was also swimming in guilt, because of all the lying that I had done, at Michael's orders, to back him up, or to keep people from knowing what went on in our family. Some of my friends have forgiven me joyfully, and some have forgiven me with a little haughtiness and some, like this family of dear friends, have not forgiven me at all. Or at least that's how it seemed to me at the time. It could have been merely that they had become more rigid in their faith, after all those years of isolation from the rest of us. That certainly happens. Could have had nothing to do with my marriage at all.

So I've been keeping them out of my head for the past five or six years, only occasionally bringing them up in conversation, telling some humorous story about Him or the little ones.

Until today! When I stumbled across his so familiar face, on Facebook. His two oldest sons are married now. Little Micah! Whose first seconds of breathing life I saw. Married. And they have a fourth child, a daughter named Hannah. I hope they are as happy as they look to be. I truly do.

Thanks for all the happy, loving memories!

It's just funny

2011-04-25T09:45:00.000-07:00

It is remarkable to hear the difference in tone of voice when I let the person on the phone know that I am not merely the phone-answering girl. The woman I just spoke with was a perfect example. She asked for Nameless Agent. I offered her, instead, his cell-phone number. She accepted it, but asked in a bored, impatient voice, for our "relocation specialist". I said we did not have one and asked if I could help her. She said (so impatiently!) that she was So-and-So, with Such-and Such, and they needed a contact person in our office, because we weren't even on their LIST and she needed to send over some Blah-Blah packages, if Nameless Agent and they were going to be able to do business. Was it POSSIBLE that I might know who that contact person should be? I replied that said contact person would be me, that I was the office manager, and would be glad to accept her Blah-Blah package. Her voice rose several notes. "Oh!" she said. "Oh, really! Well, do you have an e-mail address?"

Now, I know this is nothing to do with me and my geniosity. There is no way they can know anything about our office, and I have certainly suffered through idiotic and untruthful and petty-minded phone-answerers in my time. It's just funny.

Where is Patrick O'Brian when I need him?

2011-04-18T16:02:00.000-07:00

Beautiful, beautiful day! Sky a vivid blue, clouds brilliantly white, lots of pale golden light filling the air -- cold and brisk, but still gorgeously sunny! And another year slowly creaks up and over the top, and is about to begin on the slow-at-first-but-then-moving-faster-and-faster roller coaster ride of the year!

Three goslings had hatched this morning as I left for work -- I'll bet there will be more when I get home. The parents are extremely crazed with trying to scare me away from looking at their babies -- when they were still in the egg, the mother merely hissed at me if I leaned over the rail, but now! Both of them lift their wings and lower their heads threateningly and HISS!

Otherwise, I am just sort of marking time for the day to be over and for me to find myself in my comfy chair, in my comfy apartment with my steaming hot cup of tea and plate of crsipy toast! And something to read...gotta find something that is as interesting and seductive as a Dick Francis -- so maybe I'll pull down a Patrick O'Brian. The Surgeon's Mate is my favorite -- or no, The Ionian Mission -- or perhaps The HMS Surprise -- no, no, The Nutmeg of Consolation -- well. One of them. Since those were my favorite books of all time since 1996, I can fall back on them when I need to be weaned! So -- tick, tock, tick, tock...

Angles of light

2011-04-16T09:10:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning -- hair up in a towel, steaming cup of coffee, the sound of the dishwasher doing its thing -- I can also hear the ticking of the living room clock. Otherwise the day is still. There were ducks squawking earlier -- as I sat up in bed I heard them through the bedroom window, but now they are quiet and still, swimming silently around in neat little angles on the surface of the water. The branches, which have been nearly invisible all winter, grey and spidery against a grey surface, are now very visible and lovely: light green, yellowy-green in tiny balls or spots or fluffs against the pale green, grey-green water. And it makes me wonder. It cannot actually be that the water is a different color in the spring, it must be that the quality of light is different -- more light, since it is later in the year. But I don't quite believe that, either, since I have stood looking out the window at all times during the day, in the winter, when it was easily as light out as it is now, and never saw the water this color, which is true-greeny-grey. I would like to have a dress made of material that color...

Perhaps it is the angle of the light. That would make a difference, wouldn't it? Different angle reflecting different bits of color differently onto my eyes? Someone? Anyone?

Friday! Friday! Friday!

2011-04-15T23:04:00.000-07:00

And I'm not even a party-girl or anything like that, I won't be drinking or dancing or staying out late (although I am staying UP late; it's after eleven) but just knowing that I have two empty days in front of me. Empty, empty. I will merely sit around and read and drink tea. Ahhhhh.....

Yes.

April Fourteen

2011-04-14T19:13:00.000-07:00

Today is April 14, and the first day since March 1, that I have not had a Dick Francis book to read. An unread one, I mean, since I have about twenty DFs hanging around the house, but they have all been read by me. In fact, I think there are only two left for me to read. Whimper...

These books are some kind of good, too, whether they are mysteries or revenge stories -- really, the only two kinds he writes -- they are good and very magnetic. Very. On March 16 I wrote a note to my mother saying something like "As I begin reading my eleventh Dick Francis novel..."

Today is also April 14, the day after my son Joe's birthday, since he turned nineteen years old yesterday. Wahoo! And he is trying to make a new start, with his schooling, and his housing and his uncle and his money and his drug use. So I should be glad about that. And glad that he apparently doesn't want to lie to me for any length of time, since he certainly will lie to me. Can't tell you how awful that makes me feel, sort of a sucking away feeling of all that is good between us, since if he will lie to me, then we have no relationship. But then on the other hand, (brave smile) all teenagers lie to their parents, especially about drug use, and he did tell me about it, just not until a month later. Whimper...

Today is also April 14, three days after Doug's father died. Yup. Poor man. He was trying to get the obituaries put in the newspapers today, AND get his father's belongings packed up and moved out of his condo, AND meet his uncle who was flying in for the funeral. AND it was raining. AND Nameless Agent was there with his baby daughter, milling around and taking up time.

Today is also April 14, my cousin Rhys's birthday. He would have been 45 today, if he had not died a week ago. The same age as I am. My silly brown-haired cousin with the sideways smile, and the endless stream of ridiculous sounds and made-up words and annoying noises. What was the one? "Eeeee - shneebert!"

Today is April 14. And I feel that I deserve a cup of tea.

Crash Boom Wallop

2011-04-12T11:09:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in my big comfy chair, in my clean quiet office, watching a show on Hulu, and reading a book at the same time. It was evening, and I had just turned the little frog lamp on, next to the computer screen. Still pretty light outside, but dim within. When suddenly, from the direction of the front of the house, there came a loud, crashing, thumping, reverberating metallic blow kind of sound. I sat up -- got up -- turned on every light in the house as I walked quickly around looking for whoever/whatever had just bashed something very hard IN MY HOUSE. It was a three-part sound -- semi-familiar, so I knew I would recognize whatever had made it as soon as I saw it. But nothing. Nothing fallen over, nothing on the ground that should have been hanging on the wall, no broken pieces of anything anywhere. I got a little shivery as I walked around, since this sound had been very loud and definitely IN THE HOUSE.

But no evidence of anything. The kitchen counters still had un-put-away food from the food box on the counters, and there was some of that on the floor in the dining room, but nothing that I hadn't put there.

I went back to my chair, and sat down and thought about it as I read and watched with the front of my mind. It couldn't be anything I needed to worry about, right? Cuz there was no sign of anything or anybody. I had finally decided lazily to forget about it, when ka-BOOM-thump-crash-rinnnnggg! There it was again. This time I leaped up and ran out into the hallway and turned on all the lights, and huried around the rooms. But NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL.

This time, however, I did not go back to the office. I started putting away food in the kitchen, sorting out the "keeps" from the "give-aways" and this time putting the "keeps" away on shelves in the pantry or the fridge. In the course of doing this, I had to run some water -- perhaps I was making tea to help me with my task -- and noticed that sort of underneath the dishes in the sink -- several pots and a cookie sheet -- were two burst-open tubes of biscuit dough.

I stared at them for a moment before I realized what they were. I had taken them out of the food box, and stood them on the counter next to the sink. And they were so close to bursting already, that a half an hour later they had burst open, flinging themselves into the sink, clattering against the cookie sheet and the pots and the bottom of the sink, making that dreadful sound, and neatly covering themselves with the toppled-over sheet! First one and then the other. The metallic wobble of the cookie sheet was the familiar part of that noise. Still seems amazing and humorous when I think about it.

Spring, ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling, Spring!

2011-04-10T09:31:00.000-07:00

Today is The Day! Today is the day that I got up and went to the kitchen to make my coffee, and while the kettle sputtered and shook and rattled on its way to boiling, I stood and looked out the window at tiny green tips on the ends of the branches. Spring is HERE! Soon the view from the window will be obscured by a multi-level panorama of leaves, hiding the parking lot and the apartment building, and leaving only the surface of about half the pond. It will be lovely and very private, just me and the ducks, and I will LOVE it! 'Course, I do anyway, as you may have noticed. But I have been looking forward to this for weeks now, so I'm very happy to see it.

Yes, very happy. Which is good, since a very sad thing happened recently. Or at least, something that would have been sad under other circumstances. Which, in it's turn, made me sad, to think of them. But I'm getting sort of backwards here, so let me just say that my cousin Rhys, my first cousin, who was only half a year younger than I, and who lived with my family for about a year when he was fourteen, has just died. It was not unexpected -- he has been an over-the-top alcoholic for about twenty years, and has completely destroyed his interior organs -- but it also was unexpected, because he is the same age as me. And was my friend when we were children. And my half-and-half, friend/enemy, just like any sibling would be, when we were older and lived together. And I haven't seen him for years -- only once when he was a grown man -- so in my imagination, he is still a fourteen-year-old boy. A silly, annoying fourteen-year-old boy, who made ridiculous noises and laughed immoderately at them, and if we betrayed our annoyance, did it again and again. He did love it when I read aloud, and would sit and listen to anything going. Loved Watership Down, and would ask questions about rabbits after. What did I think rabbits thought about? Do rabbits, in fact, think?

And now he is completely gone from the earth. His son lives, so some of his DNA survives, but that is not Rhys. None of his memories of childhood remain. Remember flying those wind-up planes on the sunny corner of the street, Rhysy? Remember? Running along underneath them, with our faces turned up to the sky?

So. John Rhys Murray, April 14, 1966 to April 5, 2011. Rest in Peace, cousin.

Out of the mists of time!

2011-04-01T13:28:00.000-07:00

Wow -- this might be the first time in -- well, in years, don't know how many, and can't even begin to think back to the last time -- so, years, that I have had a classic attack of fibromialgia. It's my right arm, pretty much all of it, but mostly from the elbow down. The top half is only gently tinged with an outline of pain, in that familiar way, but the lower half is nearly visibly aflame! And yet, if I keep the arm constantly moving, (like now, typing rapidly) I can almost keep the pain sub rosa, almost keep it so unidentfiable that I could almost deny having it. That is, if I hadn't just noticed it while my arm was still. It centers in my wrist and my elbow. The palm of my hand feels stiff and swollen, and my fingers don't enjoy flexing. My forearm also feels stiff and hot, and I cannot quite locate the pain with my other hand (that almost made me laugh, it was so very familiar). Can't clench my fist. Elbow, also, faintly throbbing with heat, and aching where it touches the desktop. Shoulder, also, though more mildly. Now, why? I have not had any sort of emotional issue today. Been quite calmly and happily answering the phone and entering my data, and reading my book. And while I know it didn't always come as a result of emotions, it did so frequently, that it hardly seems fair to come without them.

Want my COFFEE!

2011-03-30T09:29:00.000-07:00

From my bedroom window this morning, I could see four blooming trees -- two pink, one fluffy white, and one silver grey. But still no green. Not even the smallest little tips of new leaves. It's still March, though, so I guess I am being impatient.

Wednesday morning, and Principal Broker on vacation. It's class day, and Nameless Agent is teaching it --or presiding over it, since he got someone else to teach it, some mortgage dude. It's also scheuled to start an hour later than usual. Which has me feeling awkward and off balance. Make the coffee? Don't make the coffee? I'll wait until ten, but I WANT MY COFFEE!

Straighten that Curl!

2011-03-15T11:34:00.001-07:00

Okay -- tell me if you think I am being an elitist snob about this. A woman that I know wanted to sell her haircare accessories and beauty products. She told me that she was selling her "hair curler that straightens." Thinking about that, I asked if it had interchangeable parts? You know, could you take the wand off and replace it with one of those flat things that straightens?

"No," she said, looking at me strangely, "It just straightens. It doesn't curl. I have curling irons for curling with."

"Oh," I said. "You called it a curler that straightens, is why I asked."

"It does," she said with exaggerated patience. "It straightens. That's what it does."

"But doesn't curl," I said, just making sure. "It's a curler that doesn't curl."

She walked away, giving me a wondering side-eye, and later showed me the ad she had printed up. It was headed, "Straightening Curler."

The Hesitation Waltz

2011-03-10T14:49:00.000-08:00

Today is one of those typically Spring-like days of gorgeous, sparkling hesitancy! The weather is doing the Hesitation Waltz. Right now the sun is shining in all its golden glory, the sky is blue, the clouds are white, it looks gorgeous and warm, but there is also the added sparkle and diamantine brilliance of all the droplets of water clinging to leaves, dancing on the edges of branches, flashing on windshields, because it just this minute stopped raining, and raining hard. Ooops, and there it goes again, sun disappeared behind a cloud, warmth gone, a cold grey sickliness overtaking the warmth and golden strength of just a moment ago. And I know it will happen again and again -- has all my life -- it's Springtime in Oregon!

Never-Changing Coming of Spring

2011-03-07T08:45:00.001-08:00

Daffodils! Glowing golden clumps of daffodils in full bloom! I saw several this weekend on my few short trips out here and there. Spent most of the weekend in, though, cuz of my visit from Jeannette! Very nice to see her, and have her see my apartment, which was really, very nearly clean. Really. Very.

But yes -- lovely though it was to see Jeannette and talk over Joe's recent behavior with her, I was talking about daffodils and their gorgeous lemony-yellow trumpet flowers. There is a fat clump of them growing just a few feet from the entrance to my apartment building. I used to wonder about how they grew in clumps like that, wondering why people planted so many so closely together. But then I figured it out, after planting some myself. The bulbs split and spread. So if you have, say, three bulbs, planted neatly together in a small triangle, they will bloom like that for the first year or maybe two, but then one or all of the bulbs is going to split when it arouses itself from it's long winter nap. And the split could send up another few daffodils on the outer edge of the triangle, or into the midst of it. And then the next year, now that you have, say five daffodil bulbs, the split gives you, say eight. And then fourteen. And then twenty-six. So five years after you planted this small group of bulbs, you've suddenly got a very fat, tightly packed little crowd of bulbs, blooming like crazy, and all in this same small spot. More or less.

Anyway, I am very happy to know that they are out there. Very happy to know that my life is going to continue, like the never-changing coming of spring, until it ends, and then I will not be around to know it and will not be sad or miss anything, because I won't be around! To know it!

So THAT's what I mean, when I say or I sing!

2011-03-05T15:33:00.000-08:00

It is Saturday, and the first Saturday of the year that actually feels like Spring! It is not raining, the air has a slight buoyancy to it, just a bit of lift, a smell of Spring. The silly geese are building their (soi disant) nest on the roof below my balcony, which brings their loud and ridiculous mouths a lot closer to my ears than usual. This morning, as I lay in bed until seven-thirty (scandalous!) I could hear them as though they were in the bedroom with me, squawking repeatedly, on and on and on. Makes me really wish for a BB gun.

But! I am being distracted by geese and their stupid ways. Today is the first day of Spring! I know, I know, -- not technically, not legally! But REALLY! The camellias are blooming all over the place! The daphne is blooming! There will be hyacinths and daffodils and crocuses any minute! And it FEELS like Spring! For the first time this year. I was paying attention, this time! And I noticed it!

Are you my driver?

2011-02-24T17:13:00.001-08:00

Strange thing happened today, at the post office. I was there to mail a few books off to BookMooch people, and the place was nearly empty. Just me and the man in front of me. And then a woman hurried in with a whoosh of air. "It's snowing!" she said. "Snowing but not sticking. Snow, snow, snow!" I turned and looked at her. She was shorter than I, and probably a few years younger, with shiny brown hair, a pleasant enough face, and a large bosom, which was unconfined. She was wearing a stiffish jacket, however, so it wasn't terribly noticeable. I smiled and turned back. And then got my turn at the counter. While I was dealing with the postal employee, I saw this woman staring at me from the line. Really staring, too, and really at me. Not with any sort of rigidity, or frozen glare, or anything, just looking directly at me without turning her eyes away. It made me a tiny bit uncomfortable looking back at her, so I looked away. Then I got my change, thanked the employee, and was starting out the door.

"Wait, wait!" I heard. "I'll just be a minute, it won't take a minute. Please wait!" I turned and looked back at the woman who was hurriedly thrusting her letter at the postal employee I had just left. "I just need one stamp," she said. And then turning to look at me, she called pleadingly, "Wait for me!"

I didn't really know what to do. So I waited. She was clearly, it seemed to me, not completely compos mentis -- or, if she was, she was at least unusual in her behavior. I was uncomfortable, but not freaked out or anything. So I waited. In a moment she hurried up to me.

"I'm done!" she announced. "Just needed one stamp. Just mailing my electric. We can go now. Let's go! Out into the snow!"

"Why did you want me to wait for you?" I asked gently. She looked at me, squinting her eyes.
"You were leaving without me," she said. "You're driving me today. And you were ahead of me, and you weren't waiting, so I asked you to wait and you waited. You're my driver. You're driving me."

"No, I'm not your driver," I said. "I've never seen you before. "

"You're not? Are you SURE?" she wailed, quietly, looking very distressed.

"Yep, I'm sure," I said. I pointed at the Buick. "See, that's my car. I drove in it all alone today. You weren't with me."

"Oh, there's my car!" she exclaimed, pointing at a large, clean, bright red SUV of some recent type. She hurried over to it, saying something about, "that's a relief!" unlocked the door and got in the driver's seat. In a moment, she was driving away.

Snow! Fat, wet snow!

2011-02-16T11:04:00.000-08:00

Near miss this morning on my way in to work -- not out on the snowy freeway, either, where I might have expected it, but right at the driveway to the parking lot here at work. And it wasn't my fault, either -- or at least not entirely my fault. I was approaching my turn, and slowing and signalling, but I guess the car behind me was only slowing enough to allow me to make the turn -- he wasn't slowing seriously. And I was sort of thoughtlessly approaching the turn, when I saw that a pale champagne-colored car without its headlights on was approaching me from the opposite direction. Had I made the turn, it would have T-boned me. And I have no real excuse as to why I didn't see it. Nor why it was not lit! So I braked, instead of turning, to wait for it to pass, and my follower, who, as I said, was only slowing lightly, had to brake sharply to keep from plowing up and over me. This, apparently, angered him, even though it was his own silly fault for not braking when my brake lights and signal came on. Guess he didn't see the small pale car either. Anyway, he swerved out to the right, and LAID on the horn while I made my turn. Still holding that horn down as I swung into a parking place. Merely expressing his bad nature, I guess!

Goldfish

2011-02-13T11:57:00.000-08:00

What would happen if I were to go to a pet store and buy a big bag of goldfish, and dump them all into the pond below my balcony? I'm sure most of them would be eaten by wildlife (do nutria eat fish?) and that I would see those herons a few more times! But would some of them survive? And grow? And keep growing until they were too big to be eaten by a heron and flashed their orange scales at me a few times every year?

This is all brought on by my looking out the window this morning while making my second cup of coffee and seeing some brightly-colored something that was floating in the water just below the surface -- sort of a reddish orange color. Made me think of it. Also made me mad to see someone's garbage in my pond! Don't they know that I do my daydreaming while looking at it every day? Do they think I want to daydream about their trash?!

I'm also wondering what the timetable is for Loud Duck Conversations -- since it has been a long quiet Sunday morning, without even a quack. They are all out there silently gliding, or standing on their heads eating off the bottom, but no one is uttering a peep. But when someone starts, they will all, immediately and universally, join in, and keep it going as long as their quackers work. I'm thinking it's like dogs at night. But what sets one of them off?

I'm enjoying my hot cup and my fluffy bathrobe for a few minutes more, before dressing and setting off into the world. Heading for the library, for the Salvation Army, and possibly for Fred Meyer's. Not certain about that last, because I don't need anything right this minute. And can certainly wait to shop. I was thinking, when I got up this morning, how lovely it would be to get dressed promptly and walk over to Sully's to read the paper with that gorgeous dark furry coffee -- but instead of talking myself out of it, I merely allowed time to pass while drinking my own pretty darn good coffee. And now it is really too late for breakfast. So you see, procrastination has its useful place.

Sip -- mmmm. Looking around and thinking of where the book bag is, and where the books are -- most of them neatly in their Finished Books stack in the bedroom, but I know there is at least one on the ottoman in the living room, and one in here on top of the printer. So I will gather those up, and then get out a big garbage bag and dump a few trash cans into it -- and what else? Well, dress, and comb my hair, duh.

Any news? Not really -- life goes on. Joe is being a Young Adult Male, so my phone calls from him range from Two Weeks Without One, to Three in One Hour, all begging for a ride downtown, later on tonight. "What for?" I asked. "Uhh -- you don't want to know," he replied (honestly, at least). So I blithely turned him down (three times!) making him angry with me, I have no doubt, and know that he won't call me again until he forgets this, which will happen a lot sooner than you might think.

Otherwise -- I am doing fine, still gaining weight like a prize sow, but otherwise healthy! (sigh...) I am doing an hour of yoga three-four times a week, and have been since the year began, so I am very happy about that, and hope that I will soon be less crippled up and stiff and cumbersome, and have less pain. Am also in the midst of a big Clearing Things Away bout at work, which I'm hoping will be completed this week, and then everything will be caught up, tidy, identified and put away. Yes!

Still Largely Asleep

2011-02-05T08:20:00.000-08:00

I think that the reason -- or at least one of the reasons -- that I feel so relaxed and sleepy for so long on a weekend morning, as opposed to a weekday morning, is because I don't rapidly change the temperature of my face, first hot water and then cold, within minutes of standing upright. Ordinarily I stand up, with my eyes still closed, strip off any pajamas I have on, shuffle into the bathroom, still eyes closed, and climb into the shower. A brief and very hot shower -- maybe four minutes, and then that's all there is in the hot water heater -- and out, and then I sluice cold water several times over my face, and once over the back of my neck. This not only "wakes me up" but takes away a sort of layer of distance, or of comfort-padding between me and the rest of the world. Weekends, I shuffle somnolently around, in my pajamas, eyes still mostly shut, looking out the window and making the coffee and all, in a very detached way, with my face still in the baby-pout it no doubt wore all night. I've been up now for nearly half an hour, and it is just starting to wear off.

My coffee is gone, and I'm thinking I'd like a second cup this morning. I just heard a shower start up somewhere -- sounds like next door, but you can't really tell, with HVAC systems, where the sound you are hearing is really originating. I'm in the middle of a sorting project here in the office, and am nearing the end of the painting project in the bathroom -- just some touch-up to do to the wall cabinet. But otherwise it is an Officers -- Free, For the Use Of sort of day.

Driving into the Sun

2011-02-01T09:51:00.001-08:00

Driving in to work this morning was very difficult for about half the drive; then when I merged onto the freeway, changing direction by 90 degrees, it was suddenly so easy! The weather and the time had conspired against me -- it is a very clear, east-windy day, and I left the house at a different time than usual -- and the sun was a fiery flaming ball of intensely brilliant pinky-orange light, just above a hands width from the horizon, so directly in front of me. Impossible to look at, impossible to see anything else. And I was driving straight down a highway which runs right into it. Why build a highway that runs directly east into the rising sun? Why not vary it a bit so that the sun is on the left or right side of the windshield, and not directly in the middle? I'm sure that would have been possible, and perhaps even easy for the Corps of Engineers or whoever designed our road system.

But that is not the question which fills my mind this morning. No. I want to know if I am somehow unlike everyone else, physically, that is, since I was surrounded, during this difficult and blinding journey, wearing sunglasses and with the visor down, and with tears running down my cheeks, surrounded, (I say) by cars going about ten-fifteen miles faster per hour, than I. How is that possible?

Really, how is that possible? Do they buy their sunglasses at some fancy-schmancy store that sells blackout shades? Are their eyeballs seared at birth? Do modern cars have windshields that filter out light? What?

Sunday Morning (and I'll be fine...)

2011-01-30T11:01:00.001-08:00

Sunday morning, not yet nine, and the quiet is still reigning over all this part of the world. The loudest thing anywhere is the sound of the clock ticking on the wall above me. Wait, let me listen -- yup, that's it. No traffic, no distant voices, no babies or dogs, not even any ducks or geese, although they did have a loud party earlier.

I am feeling very happy this morning -- I have the day off, of course, and some small plans for using it -- some small shopping things that I need to do, and some errands to perform, like the library and so on -- but for the most part, it is a Free Day (as witness my pajamas) and no time limits or scheduled events. Ahhh...

Today is the 3oth of January, and the camellias are blooming! Blooming away as though the sun were shining! Hooray for the never-ending cycle of nature; at least that doesn't change!

And the house is mostly clean, so no niggling back-of-the-mind anxiety about getting it so -- I do need to clean up the kitchen, but the dining room table is empty of anything except a bowl of tangelos (gorgeous color of orange they are, too!) and the office where I currently sit is completely clean, as well, no piles here and there around the edges.

And, last night before bed, I put the last painted ceramic drawer-knob on the front of my bathroom cabinet. I had painted the doors and drawer fronts with some blue paint that I was able to mix from some leftovers of my dad's, to be the perfect shade of robin's-egg blue. Matches the sink and bathtub perfectly. And the ceramic knobs, each painted with a pink rose, are so much better looking, now, than they would have been on the plain off-white rental-unit paint which was on these doors and drawer fronts before. AND better-looking than the round silver knobs that were on them! And to think that I found them in a plastic baggie, for sale at the Salvation Army for 99 cents, and thus started the whole process of thought and deed!

Yesterday I also bought at the Sally Army, a very battered and wrinkled and out-of-shape box with a plastic pot and some compressed dirt and an amaryllis bulb in it. I had put it back on the shelf, thinking it would certainly not grow at all, after who-knew-how-long in this cardboard box. But then I thought, what the hell! It's only 99 cents! And bought it. I soaked the disc of compressed dirt in water, as you are supposed to do, and planted the bulb, and set it on top of the low bookcase in the dining room. And today, there is a pale tip of a leaf showing. Less than 24 hours later. I am delighted! It is supposed to be one of the vivid scarlet (or crimson -- I can never remember which of these color names represents the shade of red this flower is supposed to be) amaryllis flowers, and I look forward extremely to seeing its bloom in my dining room!

Now, as for Joe, he is supposed to be coming to pick up his food box today, some time this evening. We shall see, since the past two weeks have passed without any sign of him. If this food box does not get picked up or received, then I think I am going to have to decide that he can feed himself without help from me. His new room-mate is apparently doing his share of the support. Joe is still in college, still attending classes, but I don't have any actual facts to share, so I'm just not going to attempt it! He is alive and full of big plans for himself and his future, so I am just determined to "be happy" about that.

Otherwise, my life continues to continue, and I am looking forward with longing to the spring. I'm sniffing the air for the smell of daphne! And looking around for the tips of crocus bulbs. Even though I look out my window every day with pleasure at the view, I know I am going to be so much happier when there are leaves and birds and the smell of blossoms on the breeze! And when I can sit out on the deck and read my books, instead of on the more-comfortable leather furniture inside the house! Silly, no? But so human!

I want my sickbed clean!

2011-01-25T16:35:00.000-08:00

Day Three of this migraine, and the first day that I have spent out of bed -- it wiped out the Sunday and Monday, and seriously screwed up my life-timing. Now I don't know whether to go straight to bed as soon as I get off work, or whether to go and take my yoga class and try to bluff my way out Of this. I think I will go straight home and go to bed. My house is still clean and quietly welcoming -- except the kitchen which is rather lived-in -- from Mickey's birthday visit on Saturday morning. I will tidy up the kitchen, and then it will be quietly shining again. I value that when ill, you know -- I value it at all times, but especially when ill -- when I cannot bear a mess and have to keep my eyes closed against it, if I have fallen ill in a messy house. I remember getting Ruthie up when she was migraining, and making her bed with some new pillowcases, and then brushing and braiding her hair, and putting her back to bed, and how she sighed with relief and pleasure. That's what I'm talking about -- that relief and pleasure.

No comfort in clutter

2011-01-10T15:51:00.001-08:00

Today will be a gooooood day, I will not do anything dummmmmmb.

Who can identify that quote?

In any case, it has been a good day, and will probably continue to be, although it is pretty darn chilly, and I am still feeling uncertain in my interior region. By which I mean that I took a pain pill this morning, and I have been acutely nauseated all day, and eating crackers carefully and slowly to keep everything down. Now, this could be because I took too many yesterday, and was still feeling over-medicated this morning -- and that is the answer I would like it to be. Cuz I don't want to have suddenly developed vomiting as a side-effect of oxycodone. That would not be good, cuz then what would I do when I had a toothache? Or something like it?

While making coffee this morning in my spotlessly clean and welcoming little kitchen, I noticed that the patio area below had been swept clean of the thick matt of sodden rotting leaves which had covered it from end to end. Completely clean and quiet and looking very tidy and open. The couple of statues in the garden area are still there, and quite visible now, and the little still-lit Christmas tree shape was glowing valiantly. Quite lovely and unexpected. And since this morning was quite clear and cold, the air was un-blurred with cloud or fog, and that increased the quiet peaceful look of tidy togetherness. The ducks were busy, also, earnestly flapping and splashing and diving underwater. I do like tidiness -- it makes everything seem more welcoming, to me -- I'm never going to be one of those people who prefers a "comfortable mess" or the "welcoming clutter" of the "lived-in look." Even though I may frequently leave a mess somewhere, it always makes me uncomfortable. So you see the degree of my laziness, that I'm willing to be uncomfortable, rather than clean things up! Alas.

Like a Hole in the Head

2011-01-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

"I need that like I need a hole in my head" -- I heard a woman use that extremely hackneyed phrase to another woman at the Salvation Army just a day or so ago. And the implication is that a hole in one's head is to be avoided, since it would be, at best, painful and messy, and at worst, fatal. I understand that.

But the hole which I currently have in MY head, is as welcome, (she said shamelessly) as the flowers that bloom in the Spring. Thank you, Mr. William Schwenk Gilbert. See, yesterday, with the miserably painful tooth that I was griping about in the previous post, I was driven to call the first dentist on the list of dentists which pulled up to the query "free emergency dental." Now, no one is both free and emergency, but this dentist was less expensive, would accept patients with no dental insurance, and could see me immediately! AND had nitrous oxide! And he and his staff were so very friendly and helpful and kindly -- it was a joy to be there, and took under an hour.

So THAT's what I mean, when I say or I sing/ as welcome as flowers that bloom in the Spring!

No dentist for YOU, missy!

2011-01-04T08:52:00.000-08:00

Well, after a very pain-filled night, I came to the office, extremely short on sleep, and called the Dental School to see if they could take me in this morning, instead of waiting for a week from tomorrow, which is when my appointment is set for.

Nope.

I was sure they would but simply charge me through the nose for it, but she said firmly that they were full today and tomorrow, but if I called first thing tomorrow, I might be able to be seen Thursday. So why can't we simply make my emergency appointment for Thursday? I asked. She said that she could not make appointments for urgent care ahead of time.

My last plea was, "I really am in significant pain -- could not sleep last night. Is this really all we can do about it?"

She said, "Yes."

Cold and Golden.

2011-01-03T09:12:00.001-08:00

Noisy this morning -- the ducks were doing their Barking Dog imitation, sounding like nothing so much as several dogs barking at one another in a neighborhood -- first one and then another. And the constant flashes of white through the dark window let me know that they were also splashing down and swimming fast and making a lot of water noise as well. Getting good and warmed up, out there in the frigid, below-zero morning, sitting on the water. Of all cold places to be!

Driving in to work, the particulate level in the air was perfect for me to be able to look almost directly into the rising sun, without being blinded, or overwhelmed, and yet able to clearly distinguish it's round edges. Could see the outline of two-thirds of the sun, looking much like it does in a desert movie, when they are showing the flat landscape shimmering with golden heat, and the occasional giraffe lolloping past like a rocking horse. I expected to hear "The Circle of Life."

Best wishes for a lovely New Year!

2011-01-01T12:30:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning, and I've just finished a large piping hot bowl of oatmeal and raisins. Not the breakfast I was hungering for, but it was one for which I had the ingredients and which I felt able to eat, given my wretched tooth situation. With the sole remaining molar on the right having a crown that pops off without warning, and the enormous hole in the middle of the left-hand row of molars, any sort of chewing is going to be difficult and delicate at best. And since the hole on the left-hand side has begun swelling and throbbing and going off like a bottle-rocket whenever anything even slightly cold gets near it, the choices were even fewer. I did toy with the idea, several times this morning, of going over to Sully's and having a hot eggy-toasty breakfast with several cups of that exquisite coffee, but 1) I cannot afford it at all, and 2)it would be difficult to chew it up properly. And, 3) I doubt he is open on New Year's Day. In fact, if I remember correctly from last year, he will be closed for several days.

This is Day One of the New Year. It will be better for me than last because of the following reasons, which I will now proceed to relate.

1. I no longer have a teen-aged boy living with me. Oh, Hallelujah. And no, I don't get lonely.

2. I have a year-long membership to a yoga studio near work. So, if all goes well, I will be going there every day after work, for at least one class. And possibly more on week-ends.

3. My parents are available on weekends now, so I can make that trip whenever I like, and spend a night with them, where I will be welcomed and cosseted.

The first reason, may seem unkind to Joe. And to a certain extent it is. But he behaved better than many teen-aged boys do, in this world nowadays, and still I was counting the seconds for him to find a new home. You just do not want to spend any time sharing an apartment, or a small house, with a large, loud, smelly, clumsy, lazy (repeat) lazy lazy lazy teen-aged boy. I could never get in the shower without it instantly squirting me with frigid water, since he never put the lever down -- just turned off the water. Nor did he ever take the clothing he had been wearing when he went in, out with him when he left, so there was always a pair of smelly boxer shorts on the floor when I went in the bathroom. Every single day when I got home from work, every light in the house was on, whether Joe was at home or not. He never put his dishes in the dishwasher, nor the food he had been eating away. And these faults were not him trying to get across me -- they were just him behaving normally. So, as I said -- Hallelujah!

The outdoors is still very quiet, in spite of the past-noon face of the clock -- people are still sleeping off their New Year's celebration. Even the ducks were swimming quietly about in neat little diagonal lines when last I looked out. They also seem to know, cuz otherwise they would (likely) be splashing and quacking away like mad. My plans for the day include a hot shower and a book or two and some tea, but also the grocery store and bank and mailing some checks. Must pay the rent, and possibly a bill or two! It is Saturday, so I have another entire day tomorrow to devote to reading and drinking tea with an afghan across my legs (it is so very cold!) and it is a New Year! Got another whole one rolling out in front of me! Cheers!

Un-Engelbreit-ian

2010-12-19T18:43:00.000-08:00

I have just finished drinking a lovely hot cup of tea in a Christmas-themed cup -- I put aside all my regular coffee- and tea-drinking cups at the beginning of the week, since I have six or eight Christmas-decorated cups, and if I don't use them at Christmas, then what? This particular one is the third or fourth that I have taken down, and it is a faux-Engelbreit. Poor man's Engelbreit. Engelbreit manquee. Anyway, it was painted by someone imitating Mary Engelbreit, and not very well. The upper edge was neatly done -- a very familiar design of black-and-white squares, with a narrow, berry-bearing vine above. But then the background was made of two shades of green squares, and there was a chubby little blonde girl with wings made of large leaves, holding up a globe with a red ribbon round it, to two white doves. Hmmm. What do you suppose that was supposed to illustrate? Because M.E. always illustrated something. And I must say, this looks like nothing on earth. But the colors are pleasant, and the painting is done neatly, so from a distance of a few feet, it looks really quite charming. It's only when one picks it up and holds it in ones hand that one sees it's malapropiateness. If that's a word. Which I doubt. Sounds right, but then.

Christmas Malaise

2010-12-14T09:18:00.000-08:00

Wow, I opened up my work e-mail account a few minutes ago, and saw that I had received two messages overnight. Both of them adverts. Good LORD! Now, consider that I also opened my home e-mail account this morning, and had about thirty e-mails that I didn't want, and about ten that I did. And this is not a spam problem, either -- both accounts have spam-bots and do a fine job of removing all those obvious advertising idiocies. I know, I know -- it is December, and very rainy and nasty out, so few people are looking at houses or thinking of buying any, and it's close to Chirstmas, so everyone is occupied with trees and cookies. Still.

...Somethin' 'Bout a Sunday...

2010-12-12T12:06:00.001-08:00

Sunday mornings are definitely to be sought after and treasured. This is the belief that I have come up with after enjoying the hell out of this morning. It is now noon, so the morning is over, but it still continues. The peacefulness of it is hard to describe, but perhaps I can make you see if I tell you that there is no sound! No thumps, squeaks, doors closing, faint far-off music, car engines, children's voices or cats. Sitting in the living room with my second steaming cup of strong coffee and the Oregonian, all I could hear was the semi-synchronous ticking of several clocks from several rooms of the house. At one point, a pair of sirens, from, presumably a police car and an ambulance wound their way through the streets fairly close by, but when they died away, the peace returned. Looking out through my kitchen window as I brewed my second cup of steaming hot strong coffee, I could see no movement. No ducks, no seagulls, no people in the park, no cars in the parking lot through the trees. Nothing. And no sounds of them, either. I got up at seven-thirty, so I had nearly five hours of solitary peace and comfort and quiet. No phones ringing. No screen doors squeaking. No television muttering in the distance.

I was thinking, as I looked out the window, of the Kristofferson song, "Sunday Morning Sidewalk" but it is all so negative in its beauty -- the singer is a hung-over drunken ne'er-do-well feeling sorry for himself as he wanders out of his house into an empty city, where most people are at church (so presumably somewhere in the South) and thinks maudlin thoughts about frying chicken and happy families. Beautiful but self-absorbed and sentimental and not full of peace. Can't think of any song or poem that fits the mood, really.

Hmmmm. Happy. Maybe I should think about showering and dressing and starting the car.

Vive l'individualite!

2010-12-06T11:44:00.001-08:00

Since recently on Facebook we've been posting shots of our favorite cartoon characters as our profile pictures, in order to identify ourselves as humans against child abuse, I've been thinking about the cartoons I saw as a child (not very many) and those I particularly liked. Which caused me, in turn, to ponder this. So many of the things I particularly like, are tangled up, in my memories, with my ex-husband. Since of course there was the whole getting-to-know you time, when you tell the person you are dating all about yourself, including all your favorite things. And then there are the things you found that you liked while with that person. And then there are the things that THEY liked, which you hadn't heard of until dating them. And so on.

Well, one's first impulse is to shy away from EVERYTHING that you ever shared with this person, especially if they demonstrated themselves to be an abuser, a liar, a cheater and a criminal. Or, if it just hasn't been long since you broke up with them. Cuz I know most people's exes aren't all those things. But, if you do that, if you allow yourself to shy away, then you are allowing that liar, thief and cheater to take from you all the things that make you YOU, even down to your likes and dislikes. For example -- I selected Judy Jetson as me, since I really liked the Jetsons, and Judy was blonde. Even though my ex had told me many times how when he was a little boy he had been in love with Judy, and had even hinted several times that he had had sexual experiences with Judy Jetson. And since by that time (within the first year!) I had already figured out that I didn't want to know about any of his weird sexual stuff, (since then I would be expected to join in)I didn't ask to have that explained. But I thought that over, wiped out the squirmy memory of my ex and his strange needs, and selected Judy Jetson anyway. And then later I chose Snagglepuss. In spite of Ex's habit of imitating his voice and sayings. I like Snagglepuss! He quotes Shakespeare, and is very erudite in his Cowardly Lion way.

I am going to go right on liking the things that I like, regardless of whether Ex liked them too, or whether I first heard of them in his company. Vive l'individualite!

Fortunately

2010-12-03T11:46:00.000-08:00

Came to work a little earlier this morning, and was driving directly down the maw of the rising sun. It was just below eye level, and it was huge and golden and blinding and blurry and filled my whole windshield with huge, hot, unbearable yellow light. Sunglasses made it worse, blinded me completely, and the fold-down screen on my windshield only kept it from incinerating me there and then. I could see, with my head twisted and my eyes squinted, and one palm up to block part of the source, I could see about two feet at a time of the white line beside me, and the occasional red flash of the brake lights on the (invisible) car in front of me. For about four minutes, until my windshield completely cleared itself of the fog of the night before, I was a loose cannon -- literally. A weapon, let loose upon the world by me. Fortunately, no small animal ran out in front of me, no child toddled into the street, no car without brake lights came to a sudden stop, nothing like that. Fortunately.

Jammed

2010-12-01T11:11:00.001-08:00

This morning the low-lying fog was obscuring -- no, not obscuring -- a word that means slightly less than obscuring -- hmmm. Dimming? No -- making it hazy? Well, anyway, in spite of my non-functioning vocabulary, there was fog and stuff. And I couldn't see through it very far. So it made the view all mysterious and stuff. Really beautiful, and full of ducks and all. And dim, and hazy. And mysterious. And evocative. Sigh.... can't... think...

In any case, today is my day in traffic court, to go and apologize to the judge and ask him to pretty please lower my speeding ticket. Please. On account of because I'm poor. And my vocabulary is jammed.

Three feet tall and rising

2010-11-27T11:32:00.001-08:00

Surface of the water is in constant motion this morning! We'll say it's because of the ducks, and not the enormous underwater KRAKEN! --arrghhh..... glub, glub (that's me drowning).

It also looks fat -- the water does, I mean. It is very pale brownish-grey this morning, none of that steely look it so often has. But it doesn't look like the surface of water, or at least, not like a pond of water. It looks like the top of a custard pie, rising above its pastry in the oven! Sort of fattish along the edges, with a definite rounded edge. Hasn't been wet for a few days, either, so unless it just took this long for all the rainwater to sluice itself down here and fill this pond, I don't know why it's rising. How high's the water, Mama?

As are we all!

2010-11-26T13:35:00.001-08:00

Well, quite a few things have happened that I really ought to have been mentioning, if this blog is really a "log" -- because a log is where you keep track of what is going on from DAY to DAY. So if a week has gone by without an entry, this is Not Good Log Keeping. So, by definition, bad blogging. Therefore I apologize to all of you (mostly imaginary) Readers Out There In Blog World, as well as to the Great Blog Monitor In The Sky.

The reason, (since there must of course be a REASON, there is a reason for EVERYTHING, right?) that I have been unable/unwilling/not there in the blogging world, is that I haven't felt like even talking about this stuff, (cuz it's all bad), and even less like writing about it, cuz that has to be in complete sentences and spelled correctly, and all. So effort. And I didn't feel like expending effort. So in conclusion, "I didn't FEEEEEEL like it." Note the whine?

Well. Regarding the tooth situation. It has not been pulled, it is still firmly rooted in my head. Not causing me any pain or even discomfort at the moment (though more on that later) but still there after two visits to the dentist for the sole purpose of removing it. This is because the dentist was unable to anesthetize me. I would not get numb. After the first visit, he gave me two weeks worth of antibiotics with instructions to take three a day until gone, and to return next week to have the infection-free molar removed. The second time was worse. WORSE!!

The dentist had given me one shot of anesthesia, which was supposedly working, when he said, "You know I can see the nerve, right down there -- let me put the needle INSIDE the hole in your tooth, and that will REALLY get it thoroughly numb." I agreed, doubtfully, thinking he wouldn't want to do this if it was going to be too painful, right? YEEEEOOWWWWWCH! My legs were kicking and my body was jumping and I was trembling in great leaps and unable to speak, so acute and horrific and filling-the-whole-world was the pain. And although it died away when the shot was over, the jumping and twitching of all my limbs, and the tears from my eyes, and my inabaility to speak went on for about ten minutes. And still, several shots later, I was completely not numb. No numbness whatsoever. So the dentist wrote me another prescription for pain pills and sent me off to find an oral surgeon. And although I was having this done at the county office, because of my lack of money, it still cost nearly $100 per visit. Which I cannot spare, when the thing I was visiting them for is not accomplished. So I went through several people, and finally got someone who quite cheerfully agreed with me, and is willing to refund most of the fee for one visit.

So that little part of it is good, but the whole oral surgeon thing is BAD. Mostly because I cannot afford it. I don't think that any oral surgeons are working for the Poor Folks Clinic. But also because I am kind of worried, if I no longer respond to anesthesia, how will I ever get anything sewn up? Guess they'll just have to knock me out or give me laughing gas, if they ever want to do that!

And as far as pain and discomfort go, the tooth is mostly fine and I don't even know that it is there, but I was eating a piece of leftver Thanksgiving pie this morning -- raspberry banana -- and got a seed lodged between the tooth and the temporary filling. Painful! Until I was able to extract it with my handy little curved metal extractor thingy. But still.

So, besides this expenditure, I also have a speeding ticket to pay (I know, I know) and my regular bills, which more than take all my income as a regular occurrence. So monetarily, I am in a bad way. As are we all, I know.

Caring About Pain

2010-11-16T15:28:00.000-08:00

The only time I have experienced the complete disappearance of pain was in the hospital while waiting to have my emergency appendectomy. The kind male nurse gave me a shot of liquid morphine, and it not only completely eliminated all traces of pain -- and that was some serious pain -- but made me feel warm and floaty and loving and as though I could answer any question. I can still picture the room, and the feeling of knowing everything, and having the answer to anything right on the tip of my tongue.

My usual experience with pain pills that work for me, is a feeling as though the pain does not matter -- it's still there, still recognizable as pain -- but the feeling that it is bad -- or important or meaningful at all -- is gone. So what brain access does it block?

I'm thinking about this because I have just taken my midday pain medication. I can still feel the tooth and its surrounding lake of pain, but the bridge to it has been cut. It does not affect me any longer. I don't care. So what is that -- the caring about pain -- that has been wiped out? What do you call that?

Fancy Dress for Ducks

2010-11-15T15:10:00.000-08:00

Well, now at last I am feeling good. Feeling very peaceful, a little swimmy, and with no pain or feeling of distress at all. A very good feeling. Waiting for the water to boil for my cup of tea, and enjoying the lovely serenity of the afternoon. The pond is very full, and there are orange leaves scattered all over the grey surface of the water, which give the ducks a more festive air -- sort of dressed up, if you see what I mean.

This morning, you see, was my dental appointment at Clackamas County Dental Clinic. I was to be there at eight-thirty, which would have been no problem at all, except for Neighbor, who wanted to use the computer again, and had sworn up and down he would be here before eight, so that I could leave in plenty of time. And yet, for the third -- or fourth? -- time, he did not get up in time. I did make it in time however, although a fat lot of good that did me, since it was eleven thirty before they called me in! However.

I explained the trouble to the dentist, and he took a quick X-ray of the tooth, and tsk-tsked at me --"You see, this crack? All the way into the bone!" he said solemnly. And gave me a couple of fairly painful shots, and off we went. But. I would not get numb. I had told them how very poorly I respond to anesthetic, and so he gave me shot after shot (total of six, altogether!) and kept asking. Finally they sent me back out to the waiting room and made me wait for half an hour, while whizzing through several other patients (this is the County, you know -- they are moving as rapidly as they can!) When I came back in, my face, including my nose and my eyelid were numb and floppy, but when he began trying to pull the tooth, it hurt like billy-oh. Truly. I was shuddering all over -- even my legs were giving great leaps -- and tears were pouring out of my eyes. And my tooth! Huge crunching waves of pain. The dentist decided that in spite of my lack of fever and swelling, I must have gotten an infection in the root of the tooth itself, (which was blocking any anesthetic getting to the nerve under the tooth) and must take antibiotics for a week, and come back next Monday. I staggered out of the office, with my whole head going kaBOOM! kaBOOM! and managed to drive home, get my prescriptions filled, call the office and tell them I wasn't coming back (one-thirty by this point) and take two pain pills.

And that was about two hours ago, and I am feeling very calm and happy now. In fact, I think I may smile out the window once more and then take a nap.

Sunday morning peace

2010-11-14T10:00:00.000-08:00

Well, my lovely peaceful morning has changed colors somewhat -- but not with any startling surge. Joe was planning to come and do laundry here today, and had a ride all lined up, but he just called and said that it had fallen through (which I knew, I KNEW it would) because they all drank too much last night and uh....and Jamie's car died. I really, really wish he would not lie to me. However, I told him that I would be there to pick him up at about noon, which he accepted with relief, and I hope he went back to bed.

In the meantime, I am enjoying a peaceful Sunday morning, drinking my second cup of hot coffee and listening to the quiet voice of Karen Carpenter. No sounds from outside, except for the ducks, who have also quieted down since they got their morning bath taken. Cold enough out there, that it required a great deal of energy and vim to make them do it. Lots of squawking and splashing and racing to and fro. But not any more. And all my neighbors are still asleep, as well as the drivers of the world -- no traffic sounds. Peace.

Loud Sing Cuckoo! Or -- Penguin?

2010-11-02T14:00:00.000-07:00

This morning as a I made my coffee, the view from the kitchen window was only identifiable because I knew what it was. It was nearly all charcoal with a few folds of pewter and one silver triangle where the sky reflected off the water. And a few ducks were already out on it, making a ripple that caught the tiny bit of light. Winter is coming! Time shift is this Sunday.

Best Poetry EVER!

2010-10-28T17:55:00.000-07:00

Today I received a book in the mail. It was one I had requested from the BookMooch program to which I belong, and one to which I was eagerly looking forward. It was called, "The Best Poems Ever; A Collection of Poetry's Greatest Voices," and it was edited by one Edric S. Mesmer. Which name sort of gave me pause for a moment. Sounds like the made-up name of a teen-age poet, doesn't it?

Anyway, it arrived today. And it was paperback, and it was 71 pages long, including table of contents, and notes in the back. It contained forty-five poems. FORTY-FIVE!!!

Ah, well. It was free. And it is the right size to be carried in a purse, on the bus. But I can see why they felt free to label it "the best" poetry, since there are so few of them!

Neighbor or Nuisance?

2010-10-27T10:32:00.000-07:00

Well, I am annoyed. And so I am going to talk about my annoyance. Because this is what blogs are for, right? Sharing one's annoyance with the world. So listen up, world!

My neighbor is is fairly bad shape financially right now, (as who isn't!) and has been relying increasingly heavily on me to assist them in their life. For example, I take them shopping once a week, and allow them to use my computer when they wish, and run them on errands, etc. Mostly it is my car and my computer that they seek. However, this fairly reasonable requirement has increased over time, to being nearly every other day, and taken pretty much for granted. And if it is something that my neighbor feels uncomfortable asking me to do, they won't tell me what it is until they are already in my car and we are on the road. Thus I cannot, really, refuse to do the series of errands they want my chauffering for, without looking really obnoxious and witholding.

So there have been a few times when I have expressed myself -- such as "No, I'm not taking you to buy liquor twice a week -- besides the trip to the liquor store you always make when we grocery shop -- because even if you are willing to spend that kind of money on liquor, I am not willing to contribute to this problem." The result has been an offended and angry neighbor, who feels quite free to express this anger and offence to me. And I agree, I should not be involving myself in this drinking problem, as I am not their mother or their boss, but then, they should get themselves to and from the liquor store without asking me to chauffer them.

And then there are the annoying opposite times, when I am ready to help Neighbor in some way -- like this past Friday morning, when I had the house ready for them to come and use the computer -- and they did not arrive when they said they would. Or at all, in fact. And I, waiting nearly an hour past my usual Leave-for-work time, had called and left messages, and finally said, "Okay! I'm leaving!" and left. And the only reason, which they left on my answering machine later that morning, was that they didn't get up in time.

Okay. So this morning. My neighbor had called and told me that they were coming to use my computer today, and so I needed to pick them and their son up in the morning, and take the son to school and then take them back to my apartment, where they would be until the son got out of school, and then they would find their own way home, unless I let them wait in my apartment until I got home from work, and then took them home. Oh, and the son-to-school-in-the-morning thing would be every morning this week and a few next week, too. When, for several seconds, I was unable to respond, such was my shock and surprise at this series of demands, they added, "Please."

So, I began preparing my house for this, since, although tidy, it is not company-ready at all times, (plus I just had a migraine) and it was going to have a non-family, non-friend in it all day long! I left some of the tidy work to be done in the morning, and went to bed. However, last night was a white night. I was completely unable to sleep. Listened to three CDs of my book on tape, and finally got a bit of sleep between six and seven in the morning. Didn't make it out of bed until seven-thirty, though, and was due to pick up Neighbor and Son at 7:50. So I raced around, putting dishes in the dishwasher, closing my bedroom door on my unmade bed, etc. Remembered the vacuum cleaner in the back seat of the car when I hurried out to the car and found it! Had to run back upstairs with it, and finally made it to Neighbor's house, five minutes late.

Neighbor said, "Oh, no -- I'm not coming over this morning. I've got errands to do, and all. Just take Son to school, and I'll see you later. Maybe do some shopping tonight?"

ARRRGGG!

They did give me some gas money, though. I am really frustrated with this. To what degree am I supposed to be giving and helpful, and to what degree is this person just imposing themselves on me?

Migraine Day Two

2010-10-26T15:25:00.000-07:00

Well, I am somewhat better today.

Migraine, migraine....

2010-10-25T10:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, well, I am NOT feeling well. No, not at all. I have all the symptoms of an old-fashioned migraine, but the pain is in the wrong place! Which worries me a good deal (no doubt because I HAVE A MIGRAINE) since if the Old Firm is no longer enough for migraines, what, they need my WHOLE HEAD? So I won't be able to recognize a migraine straightaway, won't be able to tell the difference between just a regular headache which may well respond to a handful of ibuprofen or a tall glass of water or some food or something -- because there is now no longer any special Migraine Place? Ohhh, this is not good, not good at all...

I'm at the office, it is now nearly eleven in the morning, and I have not seen a single person yet today. One phone call. No people. If Doug would just come in, I would immediately shut down my computer and go home, such is my feeling.

It's a pretty day out there, but I can't even raise my eyes to look at it, because there is far too much light, too bright, much too bright, another familiar migraine symptom. The pain in my head ratchets up from bearable-if-held-still, to momentarily COMPLETELY UNBEARABLE, and dies away slowly as I close my eyes and rapidly re-lower my head. Not too fast, though, 'cause vertigo is a very powerful inducer of vomit. And I am hanging on hard to the whole Not-Vomiting idea.

Oooh. Driving. I do have sunglasses, but still. Driving is a horrifying idea. Oh, I want there to be farcasters, I really do. I could totter a few steps with my eyes closed, and step through a farcaster that ended up in my bedroom....but driving a car? In the brilliant sun? Can't think about that right now, swallow, swallow, swallow...

Eleven-oh-four, and now two Nameless Agents are here, talking much too loudly and moving much too fast and wearing FAR TOO MUCH cologne. Slow down, shut up, hold still and wash!

Leaf-blower right outside the door. Blowing a few wet leaves here and there. So very obnoxiously loud. Sun has gone behind a cloud, however, so that feels less desperate.

Ohhhhh, I want to go home, I want my own bed, and to close my eyes with a pillow over my head and hear and see nothing....

RIP Shirley Wallan

2010-10-17T21:16:00.000-07:00

Goodness me, I have just talked with Keith on the phone for more than an hour and a half. My ear is very flat and red. Ow. But I was glad to do it, both because it is fun to talk with Keith, and because his mother died yesterday. And he found her. Shudder!

He called me yesterday and told me about it, and cried, which may be the first time I have heard him cry. Doesn't seem possible, does it, since we dated for seven years? My memory could be merely gone kaplooie. But if so, I don't remember it.

Dreadful to think about, my mother dying. And oddly enough, Dad and I had just been talking about that when I was down there last week. We were walking on the beach road, and he said, "If I should suddenly croak, please don't leave Mom up there alone," and I responded, 'Dad, if you were so bad-mannered as to suddenly croak, I would promptly move in with Mom. And the same thing, if she were to suddenly die, I would move in with you. That's already understood." He was quite relieved to hear this, but of course he pooh-poohed the need for me to move in with him, cuz he, of course, is one hundred per cent capable of looking after himself. Which he is certainly not. Mom brings him his coffee in the morning, in bed, for him to take his pills with, and then at intervals throughout the day. And although he occasionally makes himself coffee, it is an occasion when he does! She also feeds him almost every bite he eats, and does his laundry and pays his bills -- of course he could do these things, but he hasn't done them for forty-six years.

And Keith's Dad, who has outlived his wife, was always supposed to be the one who went first, because he is very, very frail. Keith's worried.

The sun over the yardarm

2010-10-16T12:35:00.000-07:00

Hmmm, question. It is a blue-and-golden Saturday in October, and the first Autumnal day we have had so far this year -- electricity shimmering and crackling in the air! -- and I have had a double bourbon-and-Coke already this morning. Before noon. Before noon, on a Saturday, I have had a drink, and a double at that.

So am I in danger of becoming an alcoholic? No, that isn't what worries me -- I drink far too seldomly (if that is a word) for that to be a problem. What does worry me? Is it wrong? I know there are no laws about when one may drink alcohol, so I'm not worried about breaking any laws. But is it a bad thing to do? Bad for my health, or my stability of mind, or my reputation?

What do you think?

I need a helicopter

2010-10-14T12:24:00.000-07:00

Home again, home again (jiggety jig). I wonder what it is about home that makes it so relieving to get there. Probably some of it is just the relief -- the relief of no longer travelling, of driving if you're drving, or getting on and off planes, of trying to keep track of your belongings and your money, but just being somewhere where all of your clothes and toothbrushes and books and all ARE. But part of it is a warmer, more welcoming and happier feeling than that. It's as though you can let your breath out in a big sigh, but not merely of relief -- also of happiness to be back where you belong. And I know this to be true, becasue I have just returned home from two days at the coast with my parents, and that is what I feel, even though my parents home at the coast was my home for three years, and still feels like home to me. And a far more beautiful and homey home than mine is, too, with no job to be required to go to, and a sweetly beautiful and charming little town, and the ocean (for crying out loud). So it should, really, trump the ace of my apartment in Milwaukie. And yet it did not. Which makes me want to sit down and figure that out.

In the meantime, however, let me just say that the beach, and the waves and the foam and the tides are all as absolutely beautiful as ever, just as moving and heart-lifting and poetic, and yet as ordinary and quotidian as life at the ocean is every single day. Simply fabulous. I look forward to being able to live wherever I want to, and living within sight of the beach. A northern beach, though -- best would probably be an island, off the western coast of Washington or Canada or maybe Ireland. Probably an island would not be best, come to think -- although I have always wanted to live on an island -- but in case of emergency, they are hard to get to and from, unless you have a helicopter. But hey, a helicopter! No, no, stop getting distracted, your thoughts are running crazy! I can own a vacation house on an island, and just live on the mainland. And then perhaps switch them around when I am sure of my helicopter.

Pay me the money! But I can't pay the money!

2010-10-11T11:41:00.000-07:00

Well. I am really at a loss here. I do not know what to make of this behavior, or how I should interpret it. I mean, there are a great many ways to interpret it, but most of them are very negative, and ...but I should back up and tell you what I'm talking about.

You know Joe is going to college, right? And living in his first apartment. What I may not have made clear, is that Joe's great-uncle left Joe money to go to college, and put his younger half brother, Uncle, in charge of this fund. Uncle is the legal executor of Joe's college fund, and as such, is required to pay his bills, his travel costs, his room and board, his books and supplies, and his tuition. All from this fund.

So, when I let him know that Joe was ready for college, he asked a list of questions to make certain that Joe was really attending school (or something -- I'm not really sure what these questions were for, since it's not as though Joe has to satisfy Uncle of anything) but he did pony up with a nice fat check (at the last possible moment -- and we were a week late paying for tuition, but it all worked out) for school clothes, tuition, and getting an apartment. We even exchanged this Q&A :

Uncle: "How much will I be paying per month?"

Me: "The monthly charge will be $800, for rent and utilities."

So I KNOW he knew and understood that the rent check had to come once a month.

And yet -- October first came and went. Rent was due by the fifth, but I kept calming Joe down and saying, "Don't worry, the check will come," until the fourth, when I finally gave in to my private freak-out, and sent an e-mail saying:

"A brief note to remind you that rent is due by the fifth of the month. I'm afraid it will be late this month, but I'm hoping his landlord will be kind this first time!

If you want to send the $800 to me, you can, of course, but Joe has his own checking account now and you can send it directly to him if you like. His address is (**).

Thanks very much!"

And then I reassured Joe again that the check would come. However, on the fifth, when it did not arrive, I called and left a message on their phone. I called again on the sixth. Then on the seventh --the SEVENTH! -- I sent this e-mail:

Just checking!

I feel silly writing this, since I'm sure the check is about to arrive, but we are feeling pretty anxious here -- Joe in particular. His rent was due on the fifth, and is getting later every day. Please forgive me nagging!

In the meantime, I was getting a daily call from Joe's building manager, making increasingly threatening noises, until the eighth, when she left Joe an official 72-hour notice of eviction.
Joe was calling me repeatedly to rave about the physical damage he was going to do to his uncle if he ever saw him again, and I was getting really very angry.

So, on the evening of Thursday, the seventh, Joe called and got his Great-Aunt. She was surprised to hear from him, and claimed complete ignorance of the fact that they were supposed to be sending us a monthly check. She also said she would immediately send him a check. Joe began to tell her how much it would need to be for, but she interrupted him, saying, "Yeah, your Mom left a message, she said it was $800."

What? What?! WHAT!!!!???

So they had listened to my messages and read my e-mails and were just ignoring me?

In any case, the check arrived Saturday, and we managed to get it deposited to my account (Aunt had written it to "Joe" Sumpter, which is, of course, not his legal name. So he couldn't deposit it to his own account) and I wrote him a check, and he took it over to his manager this morning. Today is the last day he had to pay it, or be evicted first thing tomorrow morning.

And since then, I have not heard a peep from Uncle or Aunt. No phone call saying, "Gee, I'm sorry -- we will make sure you have the checks by such-and-such a date from now on." No e-mail, saying a bit more than that. NOTHING WHATSOEVER.

And I am very much up in the air and confused and concerned about how to respond to this sort of thing. Various people to whom I have spoken about it, say that I should promptly and at once, talk to an attorney about getting Uncle removed form this account, and getting it transferred to me, or some court-appointed person. And I would like to do that. But that is so very hostile and reactionary of me.

I guess I will talk it over with my dad when I get down there tomorrow morning.

Weather Liars

2010-10-07T11:24:00.000-07:00

You know, I am just going to comment on the weather, and relish how once again it is not following the Weathermen's predictions. This morning's prediction was that today was going to be the last of the clear bright sunny days, and tomorrow afternoon, we would get some tropical rainstorms. Well, it is eleven a.m, and the thickly-cloud-covered sky is seconds from pouring down the rain of which it is visibly full. Ahead of the game by at least 25 hours. So often that is the case. The weatherman/woman (beg pardon, the Meteorologist!) doesn't even call his/her predictions predictions anymore! S/He just stands up and says, as though this is as true as the news, as though there is some way of being able to see into the future, that today's weather will be this, tomorrow's weather will be that, and next week we are going to have such-and-such.

To which I always want to respond, (like Carol Channing in "Princess Bride,") "LIAR!"

Does this mean...?

2010-10-04T12:11:00.000-07:00

Giggle-giggle! Snicker-snee!

Oh, tee-hee. The copy machine repairman is here, and has evicerated our printer/copy machine and is currently vacuuming out its innards. Lots of noise, lots of pieces lying out on newspapers, very obviously a taken-apart machine. And then Nameless Agent came in and looked at the man, up to his elbows in the printer and bleated, "Does this mean that the printer is shut down?"

What I am Doing Today

2010-10-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

Well, it is a cool, grey Sunday afternoon, and I am sitting around my lovely little apartment -- not quite so shining clean as it has been for the past month, (since Joe left) but still only needing a quick clearing of counter tops in the kitchen to give it that peaceful glow. I am absolutely loving it at the moment. I am both enjoying the comfy, squishy feel of my soft and silky pajamas and my softer and warm robe, as it nearly two in the afternoon, and I have neither showered nor dressed (!) -- and also sort of enjoying the opposing sensation of guilt as my new-neighbor and her stream of friends and family move in downstairs. Shouldn't I offer to help? Shouldn't I hurry down there and carry a few boxes? And yet here I sit, reveling in my second cup of steaming hot sweet tea.

Apropos of nothing, except, I guess that my eyes just fell across them, is the interesting fact that in my dining room, on the three decorative plates that sit on top of the newest bookcase that runs underneath the west-facing window, as well as filling the large oval basket in the middle of the round dining room table (how descriptive is that!) are apples, oranges, tomatoes (big red beefsteaks!) pears, lemons and limes. The tomatoes are going to need to be cut up and disposed of quite soon, and I think I will make at least one tomato sandwich today -- but the pears are slowly ripening, and glowing gently yellower by the hour. I look forward with much anticipation to slicing them into long thin curves and eating them with a great deal of both physical enjoyment and happy reminiscence. The oranges are those thick-skinned kind that are easy to peel, but usually neither as sweet nor as juicy as their thinner-skinned counterparts. Makes them less enjoyable, but good to take to work with you. I took a large bag of them to Joe's house yesterday, along with the pre-packaged, pre-made food that frequently constitutes our weekly food-box. Now I am, at last, glad and grateful for these examples of ridiculous packaging and "ease" and microwavability. They are very handy for Joe, my trained and taught to cook, but young and unwilling to, son. Makes it easy to divide the box up, too! The cook-with stuff I keep, and send the brightly colored plastic things to Joe, along with the Franz wonder bread (It's the loaf with LIFE!)and the various cheeses. No, I still love cheese, but can't eat it as much as I used to, because of this dang nab gall-bladder absence. But don't worry, Joe also got the green grapes (even though I love them, ever since they saved my life during a terrible, nightmare episode of migraine plus carsickness during an apple-picking trip that evolved into a mushroom-picking journey. And no, I know they didn't really save my life, but it certainly felt to me as though they did), the watermelon and the summer squash. So he is set for fruits and veggies this week, if he eats these things.

Let's see -- well, Friday night, Billy (my Scottish cousin-in-law) and his band were playing at the Roadhouse, and once again I went to listen, along with Mickey and friends Bob and Katie. They are as good as ever, Billy in particular being an amazing guitarist -- but somehow I was too full and sleepy to want to stay long, and we left after the first set. Fortunately, Mickey was just as full and sleepy as I, and she was my ride, so it worked out quite well. See, she had come over at about six-thirty, and we had gone down the street for Thai food, which was very, very slow in coming, so that by the time it got there we were absolutely starving and ate hugely of it. So then we had to remind one another that Bob and Katie would be there, and how disappointed they would be not to have us to scream at underneath the huge music, cuz otherwise we would have walked back and flopped on the couch and snoozed.

And, I have been re-reading Hyperion -- the real reason I am still en dishabille this morning -- and being amazed all over again at how powerfully he sucks me in, in spite of how much I know about him -- I mean, I used to own these books and yet I never looked at them because I knew how his books only shone the first time you read them and after that you could see the holes and strangenesses -- like Leon Uris -- and now here I am getting them out from the library and reading all morning in a state of breathlessness that kept me from eating anything that was going to require two hands. Hmm. That was not an appropriate descriptor, since my breath has nothing to do with my hands. I had started thinking about these books cuz I was describing the Cruciform part to my boss, and then got drawn into the Treeships and the Shrike and the Amazing Shrinking Child and the small crystalline perfection of various ideas that he had -- and how much they filled one's mind.

Anyway. So that is what I am doing today.

My son the college student

2010-09-29T21:23:00.000-07:00

So this is Wednesday of the first week Joe has been going to college. He has called me each day so far, and today when he called me, he was just about ready to explode with joy. He said that he LOVES college, that it is THE BEST, that his teacher thinks he is SO SMART and the other students do too, and he is so glad and grateful to me, that he could hardly think how to make me understand it.

He said, "Mom, I LOVE college! It's the best thing EVER!"

Can you see my shoulders descending from clear over there?

Happy Birthday to Me!

2010-09-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

So Sunday was my birthday, and I am now 45 years old. At first my lack of accomplishment or experience was making me feel both sad and guilty -- wasteful idiot! What a stupid way to treat the only life you will ever have! But I stopped that, and I have decided that I am going to live to be 90 years old (not such a difficult thing to strive for; my grandfather died at 95) and so I have just reached the halfway point of my life. I'm only halfway through it! So there. Plenty left.

Anyway, as a birthday celebration, my cousin took me to the Portland Art Museum to see the R. Crumb exhibit of the Book of Genesis. I understand his position on the Bible -- he says that it is the single most important work of literature in the world, since it is the foundation for the cultures of so many of the world's people, and has made them who they are today, whether they are still Christian or not. I get that. What I don't really get is the "and therefore" part -- and therefore he needed to draw a cartoon delineation of the entire book. Every verse (that means sentence). Really?

He was not intending to make it into a humorous story, or even into a story. He was just following the verses, in the order they were laid out. So that means that he also covered the "begats". You know, there's nearly a chapter of those -- "and Eber lived four and thirty years and begat Peleg. And Eber lived four hundred and thirty years after he begat Peleg and begat sons and daughters. And Peleg lived thirty years and begat Reu. And Peleg lived after he begat Reu some crazy number of years and had lots more kids. And so on -- " Pardon my irreverence, all you religious types who take this very seriously as the word of god.

Anyway, although it was a hard job, and he did it all very consistently and well, I didn't really care for it -- I think because of his style of drawing them. He made sure that they were not beautiful people, but were, in fact, Semitic-looking early-tribesmen types, with the whole R. Crumb version of sexuality in the background -- women who were considered attractive by the storytellers had large round rumps and enormous erectile nipples. So there was that degree of not taking it seriously, but not enough to say he was mocking the Bible -- I don't know. Perhaps that is just what I should have expected to see, knowing the sort of guy he is. And I don't want to be giving the stories any added importance, but just their historical cachet -- so it's hard to say why that degree of mockery spoiled the enjoyment for me. Perhaps I am still reacting as someone who was raised by Christians. And it didn't spoil the experience at all. I loved being back in the PAM -- haven't been there for about twelve years, and I wandered around and looked at all the art. It brought the National Portrait Gallery in London back to mind, even though it is nothing like that -- just the walking around a temperature-controlled building and looking at paintings and statuary is all they had in common -- but that memory, in combination with some really great pictures brought a smile to my face that I wore for several hours.

And then Katie and I had about forty-five minutes to sit and talk with one another as Mickey made her way page by page through the whole darn book, which was very enjoyable as well. And then we walked a few blocks down Park to South Park, and had a delicious lunch accompanied by Kamikazes and followed with some not-as-good-as-it-should-have-been panna cotta. Still pretty enjoyable, though. And the appetizers were absolutely delicious -- light and crispy polenta fries and kalamari, with spicy mayo or black truffle cream to dip them in. YUM.

So happy birthday to me!

Spread out!

2010-09-15T21:36:00.000-07:00

So, my workday was not entirely bad, nor was it unrelentingly good. I talked to Jill -- over lunch, which she brought to me at the office, (what a sweetheart!) about Joe's recent demands, and then to Ruthie on the phone. Both of them gave me good advice and listened to my woes and made me feel both better and supported and stronger, and also wimpier, since I knew how I was likely going to behave, in spite of their encouragement. Still, it was very good to see and talk with both of them. The more so in that my Office Depot order somehow did not get forwarded from the Westside Office, so we still had no creamer for Nameless Agent's coffee, nor any grey-green folders for me to put my sales paperwork in. Glad I called and asked! So, there were plenty of listings to do, no worries there. But still, it added to my feeling of uneasiness. They will be here tomorrow, I am assured.

Anyway, although today is the day my support group meets -- and I had nearly decided to go and see how it felt this time, and let this be my decision-making time -- should I stay or should I go now? -- I decided to skip it and drive out to Oregon City, in a ridiculous display of Worried Mother Saving the Day. Because Joe, although he knows that tomorrow is the day he must pay the rest of his move-in fee, and knows that I work from nine to five, and knows that he didn't ever answer the phone when I was calling him yesterday, to see if I could come out and write him a check and get the cash to cover it, had STILL decided to drive down to Silverton and spend the night there with his friend Conor. And although I am very glad that I asked him about this and got all this information out of him, I almost wish that I had just left it, and he could have come home from a day of playing with Conor, to losing his apartment.

Anyway, I drove out to Oregon City, woke up Joe's girlfriend (who made a tiny effort to be polite to me) left the check, took the cash, gave her a bag of bread and cheese, and drove back to Milwaukie. On the way, I decided to stop at the movie theater and watch a movie by myself. I do really enjoy watching movies alone. You can get as into them as you want, laugh, cry, without feeling embarrassed or on display. I remembered that I had seen when Eat, Pray, Love was showing, and thought I might get there right on time. But the trip took longer than I thought, and as I was approaching the turnoff, I saw that the movie had started five minutes ago. And even though I LOVE trailers, and always want to watch them all, I suddenly decided to go for it, and swung the car into the parking lot. Walked straight in to the empty lobby and approached the young boy behind the desk.

"Hi, I'd like one for Eat, Pray, Love," I said.

"Okay," he replied. "That's going to be in theater four, and just let me tell them that they're going to have to show it after all, cuz you are the only person who came to see it."

I paused. "I'm the only person in the whole theater?" I asked, laughing just a little.

"Yup!" he answered. "Spread out!"

Oh boy, no boy!

2010-09-12T19:40:00.000-07:00

Joe has moved out.

The house is empty of Joe.

No Joe, no queen-sized bed, no chest of drawers, no rifles, no VHS tapes and loose DVDS.

This is the first time I have lived alone --THE FIRST TIME -- since 1998. Since before I was married. For twelve years!

OH, BOY!!!

I'm being very calm about it. No hooting or squealing. No dancing in place. I've hardly even allowed the thought to cross my mind aloud.

But OH, BOY!!!

Home for Joe

2010-09-09T16:02:00.000-07:00

Well good news first -- Joe has been approved to rent this apartment that we looked at the other day! Hurrah!

Now, it is not a nice place, not pretty or cozy or charming in any way, that I could see. And the apartment itself was in fairly shabby shape, and run-down, with stained carpet and small kitchen and bathroom. But the ceilings were high, and the storage ample, and the two bedrooms were fairly decently sized -- and it's a town house, so no one above or below you, which is good -- and anyway, Joe is getting very antsy about finding a place. And I guess he can certainly move out if he wants to, if the place does not meet his needs. So there's that.

BUT. I've just hung up the phone from a conversation with him, in which he gave me several orders (cuz he's a man now, doesn't have to say please and thank you -- right?) and also asked for help as though I were bound as his mother to give it to him. And I just don't know about this. I still WANT to help him -- I'm still his mother, for goodness sake, and I still wish he had a better life and more belongings (hold that thought while I run rapidly backward through the last few years, and all the belongings which Joe has casually discarded along the way -- a-a-and done) but I need to sit down with him and talk this over.

You know, he has been behaving so much better lately -- really, so very much better! Calm and reasonable and nicely mannered, and understanding the things I would say -- and giving me hugs when I dropped him off, and all that -- that I am unpleasantly surprised by how instantly he got rude when I told him the apartment was his.

Oh, well, sigh.... I should just hold on to the good news, right? He has a place of his own! Well, he and Nick do. And I'm sure his girlfriend will be moving in soon, as well... but she is not on the lease, so her tenancy can be terminated with a quick push out the door.

A lovely first-floor apartment

2010-09-04T16:55:00.000-07:00

It's a beautiful, warm but not hot, sunny but not oppressive Saturday, and I've spent some of it out doing errands, and then coming home to start four or five chores at once and work on each of them a bit at a time in fairly ragged rotation. Little by little!

Still, what I have spent a lot of time today doing, is watching my downstairs neighbor move out, and wondering (worrying) about that.

See, Kathy has lived here for six years. She works from her home, and does fairly well for herself, as far as I can tell by looking around. She has the big garden area full of plants, and a multiplicity of potted plants in her fenced yard (which I saw being carried out by her young helpers this afternoon. She has nice and fairly new furniture, all of it very well kept and polished and dusted (I say with a guilty glance over my shoulder.) She knows her neighbors and talks with them over the railings or across the walkway. And she told me, when I was first moving in, that she loved it here.

And she is the fifth (or possibly even the sixth: I've lost count)of the apartments that have emptied since I moved in last October. Of the fourteen in total, that is over thirty per cent! In less than a year!

Now I don't know, perhaps that is a standard turnover in apartment house rentals. Certainly feels wrong to me, though. And why are they all moving out? I'm starting to fear that when my year's lease is up, my rent is going to double! And that will be next month! But I can't move! For one thing, I LOVE this apartment, and for another, I don't make enough money to move! No one is going to rent to me; you need to make at least three times what your rent is, in order to get any kind of clean, well-lighted place, and plus, you have to pay first, last and security deposit! No can do.

She is the sixth, I've thought it out carefully. And one is still empty. As Kathy's will be by tomorrow.

Sigh...well, I guess I can't do anything about this. So try not to stress, Elisabeth. Okay.

Anybody want to move in to a lovely first floor apartment?

Wind and water, foam and wave

2010-09-01T06:58:00.001-07:00

I would just like to take this opportunity to mention how very happy I am about the weather. It feels to me as though a corner has been turned -- a bridge has been crossed. And this might not be true, alas -- Auntie Cousin did give me a self-important warning about how much hot weather we are still sure to have in store -- but it certainly FEELS that way!

Monday morning, I woke up to a thick soft grey cloud cover and tiny delicate rain drops that barely registered on the windshield. Tuesday, there were actually puddles on the street, and the cars made that driving-on-wet-pavement sound -- shussh, shussh. This morning, though, there is all the evidence of a wild and windy night -- a western wind! The bird feeder was blown down, and the tall circle of iris stalks was blown down flat and there are quite a few leaves on the ground.

You know, I wrote several poems about the wind, back in the day when I wrote poetry, particularly one that I remember well, about the wind from the sea, but the ones that keep going through my head over and over again are neither of them mine. Nor do I remember who wrote them. Who, for example, wrote this? **

"Wind from the sea!
O wind from the sea!
Blow lustily,
Gustily,
Over the sea!
With thy blast of thunder,
O tear me asunder,
Annihilate me!
And scatter my dust,
My mud and my rust,
Fustily
Dustily
Blind and a-blunder..."

and it ended -

"O wind! O water! No death! No grave!"

Pretty intoxicating for a ten-year-old.

Reminds me that when I was doing all this poetry writing, I was confused about the direction that wind goes -- I mean, do you call a wind the west wind if it is blowing out of the west, or towards the west? (Yes, I do know now!) But at the time it seemed very difficult to know (couldn't just go and ask someone!) and so I avoided my question by referring to the sea a lot, just as this poem does.

In any case, it gives me an overall, underlying sensation of settled, world-without-end happiness, a subterranean joy that flickers away, even as I drive the car, file the paperwork, answer the phone, wash the dishes. This is me! This is who I am! I am, apparently, as my mother was always telling me worriedly that I wasn't, but clearly I am, the merest weather-dominated animal. Wind + Rain = Elisabeth's Happiness.

** Wow, I looked for a long time (online, of course) for any bit of that quoted chunk of poetry, and could not find it. And then when I finally remembered this at home, and took down the book of poetry I thought it was in (turned out not to be, but it was in the second book! A Louis Untermayer collection from Calvert School) I found it. Her name is Irene Rutherford McLeod, and she was A.A. Milne's sister-in-law, and Christopher Robin's mother-in-law! These English people, always marrying their cousins!

Interesting, too, to realize that just because this is her poem that mattered most to ME, does not mean that it mattered most to anyone else! Hence its lack of appearance online. In fact, even with her name added, that poem does not arise. I guess it's just you and me, Louis!

Needing a trim

2010-08-23T11:12:00.001-07:00

Once again, I have cut my hair off. Shorter this time than ever before. It is really quite difficult to do one's own head, especially if one has only one mirror. One cannot get the back of the head with any sort of surety, and has to pretty much cut away blindly and hope for the best. Looks pretty good, though, at least as far as tidiness goes. I'm not really sure how becoming it is.

To lunch or not to lunch!

2010-08-18T12:35:00.000-07:00

Me, oh, my! What a morning! Today is Wednesday, and I do have a luncheon date with my dear friend Jill. My boss knows about this, cuz I told him, and because I called him an hour or so ago to remind him. Left a message on his cell phone.

However, the morning rolled swiftly by, and it got closer and closer to noon, and no sign of him. That's why I called to remind him. And then, right at noon -- well, five minutes to -- the maintenance men showed up and began taking the front door off its hinges. I asked them if they could wait and do this later, since I would be leaving the office, and if Bossman did not show up, I was thinking I needed to lock the front door. But no, they explained to me why they had to do right now this very minute, which, when disentangled and translated, amounted to, "Because we are here," so then I had to think. Called Jill's cell phone -- left her a message. Then I got in my car and drove over to McMenamin's, planning to spring upon Jill when she arrived and take our lunch back to the office. I walked in, glanced quickly around. No Jill. I sat down tentatively in a booth. And a waittress came over to me.

"Are you waiting for Jill?" she asked.

"Yes, I am!"

"Well, she's going to be late!"

ARG!!!

Well, in any case, I ordered a lunch to go, and left a message for them to give Jill, and returned to my office. And now here I sit and make prints!

Being generally picky

2010-08-17T11:54:00.000-07:00

I would like to ponder something, and I'd like to do it aloud (sort of) and so you must listen (read).

My son Joe just got his GED, as we all know. I am very, very happy about this, and very proud of him, in spite of the simplicity of it and the requirement of it. I know it was difficult for him to understand the necessity, and when he finally did scew his courage to the sticking point, I was very pleased with him. And I've been bragging on him like anything, to everybody. I acknowledge all of this!

HOWEVER. Nameless Agent just overheard a conversation I was having with a friend of mine, and mentioned it to me in a congratulatory way, (nice of him) and then asked, "Did he get a reward?"

I asked, stupidly, "Who?"

"Your son," he said. "Didn't you give him a reward for getting his GED?"

Well, now, wait a minute. This strikes me as being similar to the whole only-kids-who-lie-require-congratulations-for-not-lying thing. I have been giving Joe a great deal of encouragement and praise and applause, and I did, in fact, buy him a small present. But "reward" -- with, on the one hand, its implications of heroism, and on the other, its implications of a doggy treat for a dog being trained or a child being weaned away from bad behavior -- I don't know. Do I think a child should get a reward for doing the required thing? I would, of course, buy a present for a student who graduated -- but that isn't a reward for graduating, it's a celebration of their graduation. And that's different. Isn't it? Or is it?

Perhaps I am merely being semantical and didactic and generally picky.

Till Death

2010-07-31T20:21:00.000-07:00

Oh, my goodness. I have just got to share this. I was talking with someone -- we'll call them Anonymous, because that's new and original. I was inviting Anonymous to laugh along with me at the silly behavior of a couple at their wedding. Anonymous did laugh, and then said, in a high, girly voice, "With this ring, I be wed!"

My first thought was that this was a person of very rapid humor indeed, and I shouted with laughter. Anonymous laughed, as well, and then made a remark about how the Olde English of the wedding vows contained strange phraseology like that, since no one would think of saying "I be wed" nowadays. My laughter sort of died away. Wait -- what?

I asked, hesitantly, if that was a joke, or...? Did they not know that the wedding vows say, "With this ring, I thee wed?"

Anonymous stared at me. "No, no -- that doesn't even make any sense!" Anonymous said. "It's a vow, see, they call them marriage vows, and that's what you're doing, you're taking a vow, and that's the vow: I be wed."