12:34

That's what time it is right now. Well, not when I post this, of course, but that's the time it is as I type this. 12:34. It's my favorite time of day or night, and I'll tell you why whether you want to know, or not.

Years ago, before hobbitt was in my bed, I had another dear and close friend by the name of Mike L. We worked together, me and Mike, and had been shit-canned by Computer Associates (gag! wretch!) in their takeover slaughter of Applied Data Research. I was hired back almost instantly by the team that produced ADR/Email, a rather sophisticated mainframe email and text-editor package. In our pre-purge capacity, Mike L. and I had worked together: he on the support side of my group, IPC (Integrated Product Components). Unlike many of the other support folks, he would only have to ask me questions once. Whenever he came to my office to pick my brain, he always took extensive notes. I recommended him to my new boss and she hired him a few weeks later. He returned to work with a smile and a huge bouquet of flowers for me. It was sweet. We became friends, and often did pot-luck dinners with a larger group of folks, tooled around on his motorcycle, and spent long evenings outside his house sipping brews, smoking cigars and waxing philosophical. He was a Good Guy.

Once he mentioned to me that it seemed that every time he looked at a digital clock, it read 12:34. It wasn't exactly an off-hand remark; he was telling me how it always made him smile, that seeming coincidence. To me it seemed like the phenomenon of noticing how many Camrys were on the road right after you'd decided to buy a Camry. (For me, this has long involved Volvos and a rather annoying, I'm told, sing-song "Volvo!" comment while on the road. Try it. No, a little more falsetto than that. There you go!)

So now for almost 17 years, 12:34 has always reminded me of Mike L. Our friendship came to an end not long after hobbitt climbed into my bed, though it had nothing to do with hobbitt. It involved a woman who eventually marrried him and had been my closest friend, and whom I also lost at that time. Go figure. But he's happy, and I'm happy, and though I miss his friendship, I have no bitterness toward him.

I smile when I notice the time. It's a nice connection to the past, a time when friendship eased loneliness and uncertainty. And now maybe you'll think of me when you notice the time, and the clock reads 12:34.

And ha! I can change the timestamp anyway. So there you have it. 12:34.

it's Jason's fault

I swore a blood oath that I'd never do a meme again, but I'm not feeling well today and I don't believe in blood oaths anyway. So sue me.

The Rules:

1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

Here is the fifth sentence of my 23rd post:

"druid labs is all about no-money fun."

I find this particularly interesting because I just got done with the new druid labs pnw budget. We'll still be all about no-money fun but it's no longer a requirement. Our new requirement is some sort of tax shelter. Jumpin' jbgeezus! Bye-bye mortgage interest deduction! Ouch.

I tag Spanky and Buckwheat and Darla and Alfalfa and Stymie.

contact

So I decided to try contact lenses again, after 20 years. I cannot believe how comfortable they are - at the fitting today, I could barely feel them. The right eye correction isn't correct yet either in my new glasses or in the contacts, however, so it'll be a while before I get to wear them.

However, when I choose to wear them, I'll never be able to see my hands again, or focus on someone's face if that person is standing too close. It's not possible for me to hold my cell phone far enough away from my head to be able to read the time on the display.

*sigh*

I've worn bifocals for eight years. It'll be tough losing that flexibility. Then again, it will be amazing for me to be in mist or rain, or in the mountains, and to be able to see, really see, and see far, without distortion at the edges.

She says, hopefully.

same as it ever was

When I've got nothing to say, my lips are sealed.

Not!

hobbitt brought me breakfast in bed this morning: champagne, coffee, and a pork roll and egg sammich. Around 10 a.m.

I'm a slug, what can I say? I got up and we had breakfast in front of the fire, while watching the fog roll around in the trees out back.

Totally didn't suck to get out of bed (finally) this morning, what? And down, ladies. I'm keeping him.

it stings!

So. I put some Bausch & Lomb computer eyedrops into each eye just now.

It stings.

Perhaps that has something to do with the fact that we're about six years past the expiration date, innit?

So, to soothe my now-burning eyes, I put in some Osco artificial tears. Those are only nine years past the expiration date.

Must update grocery shopping list. Now.

I am sure to pee my pants

Why

I

Love

Pete

Townsend

Well, okay, one of the reasons. This weekend is the 23rd Annual Kinetic Sculpture Race here. The above links are to short videos of some of the town's characters, and their machines. Enjoy!

grand larceny

Okay, so it's just a meme I stole from Jason.


1. What were three of the stupidest things you have done in your life?

• Swinging a baseball bat at a tossed basketball the day before I started my freshman year at a new high school. A bit of advice: no matter how athletic you are, it is unlikely you can stop that bat from bouncing off the ball and smacking you in the lip. Then again, I finally had matching scars on each side of my face. Never mind that all my new classmates thought I had herpes.
• Trying to get over the creek on an icy log while wearing heavy winter clothing. My dog (rest her soul) is probably still laughing about the water filling up my hood and holding me under.
• Opting not to go to Paris for three months with Aunt Grace in the mid-70's, right after I graduated college, on her dime, because I thought it was more important to get a job.

2. At the current moment, who has the most influence in your life?

Me. Or maybe hobbitt. Hard to say: we make a pretty good team.

3. If you were given a time machine that functioned, and you were allowed to only pick up to five people to dine with, who would you pick?

• Jonathan Miller
• Madeleine Albright
• Thomas Edison
• Margaret Sanger
• Anthony Burgess

Brains + imagination + commitment, the most powerful forces on the planet.

4. If you had three wishes that were not supernatural, what would they be?

• That Earth was once again pure.
• That humankind understood its place in the greater scheme of things.
• That every being on the planet had enough.
  

5. Someone is visiting your hometown/place where you live at the moment. Name two things you regret your city not having, and two things people should avoid.

I wish Pete had good Indian restaurants and just one place where I could buy clothes.

At all costs avoid Sirens on a weeknight! And if you do dare venture up there, do not sit at either of the two tables by the window in the second room! I'm serious people! You don't want to go there. Ever. Because those are our tables.

6. Name one event that has changed your life.

The two weeks I spent at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, studying shamanic healing with Michael Harner and Sandra Ingerman, where I saw with my own eyes what I had always known, in my heart of hearts, to be true.

kissed

So I was standing at hobbitt's computer, turning on the music from my favorite radio station (since the Audiotron can't seem to find the latest 128k stream and I MUST HAVE MY MUSIC) and I noticed something strange outside.

It seemed that a mist, or smoke, was pouring from the roof of our house. In the sunlight through the trees, I could see this mist falling to the ground. I was a little nervous about that, since I couldn't imagine any reason there would be smoke. Severe icy weather would drag down a plume of exhaust from the chimney in New Joy Sea when the furnace was on, but the temperature this morning was probably in the mid-50's here. Before I stepped outside, I had a short inner debate as to whether this was a toxic mist (a la The Incredible Shrinking Man), but then sanity prevailed and I ran out front.

And immediately my face was kissed by a cloud. I looked to the right and saw the mist descending down the small hill in the clearing, turned around and watched it cascade over our roofline, looked left and it was curling in the street. There's no mistaking that feeling. I remember it from the time I took a hike up Tillamook Head near Seaside, Oregon. After a long hike up through what felt like a rainforest, I arrived at the peak only to be in the clouds. There is a distinct and sharp iciness to such clouds, and I felt that today, once again.

I wonder what the bluffs look like in such a mist, and I'm heading down to the beach right now to find out.

why you should visit me in late September

The chub (salmon) are getting ready to make their spawning run up Chimacum Creek. They're jumping out of the water just off shore all day long.

I think seals might be chasing the chub out of the water. Some of the fish were jumping not as if hunting themselves, but as if to get away from something that was chasing them. We did spot a mammal's head about 100 meters offshore, but it was too far to tell if it was a seal or an otter. And it didn't stay on the surface for long.

A pod of Dall's porpoise went tooling on by the point today when I was walking the dog. Along with some neighbors (Karen and Dave), I watched them for a half hour or more.

The kingfishers are busy, well, fishing in the bay.

The herons fish the beachfront in the evenings.

Yes, I believe it's time to start taking our evening cocktail down at the waterfront, what? I sure wish that hobbitt had been here with me tonight to see this.

shift

Inside the house, it's 65 degrees, and the windows are mostly closed. I say mostly because the window up in the loft room is cracked open a bit, since the fireplace raised the temperature up there more than was comfortable for me last night. And mostly because the window at the head of the bed, on my side, is shut by, but not locked. What a pleasure to have that cool, sometimes chilly, draft across my face as I sleep! Yes it's late September but I'm not ready at all to shut up the house. It's always this way for me, in autumn. At least I didn't have to go through the same angst in summer, closing windows and turning on A/C. We don't have it and don't need it.

All this season stuff is new to me again, in this new place I have come to live. To say that I haven't figured out the climate is an understatement. June was wet and quite chilly. July and August were positively grand - cloudless weeks stretched across the middle of summer with comfortable days and cool, refreshing nights. And already the sun is low in the sky; already the leaves are turning. All that exuberance is in decline.

At the beach, I got to see spring's blues and summer's yellows. And now I notice the dominant color is brown. The grasses are dried, the rugosa roses have lost their leaves and where once fragrant flowers adorned the dunes, bright rose hips now festoon the thorny branches. What surprises me is the distinct lack of volume in the meadow - just a few short weeks ago, the ground was completely obscured by the mass of living plants, and now the driftwood, the shells, and even the vole trails are clear in the thinning, sere landscape. It's beautiful.

Here the beach changes every day. The tides and currents move rocks, sand, and sometimes even the big tree trunks that lie between the water and the meadow. Some days the sand is undercut by the waves, particularly if the breeze has come from the south. Other days, the sand between the trunks and the water line is utterly smooth, as if some cosmic mason used a bull float. At our record low tide in late July, living sand dollars littered the delta formed by the tide's egress from the lagoon - there were thousands of slick purple disks, stranded. Now even at the lowest of tides, that area is nothing more than rocks and barnacles.

The eagles are gone, as are the arctic terns. The herons are still fishing, and salmon leap from the water all day long feeding on heaven-knows-what. Heavy mists pour over the Olympic peaks, though Mt. Baker and Mt. Rainier, on the other side of the water, are still vivid.

Soon we'll get into the mountains again, hiking. Maybe we'll find those hot springs. If we're lucky, and get to actually be here for any length of time, we'll come to some familiarity with the landscape. That will be a good thing.

boredom

Suffice it to say that I become exceptionally bored when hobbitt isn't around. Jeez, he's my best friend, and the last two times he's been gone, so have the pandammys, so I don't have anyone to hang with, except Inti and Mollie, and they're not so good at UpWords or Dominoes.

And when I'm bored, I eat. Not continually, though. But stupidly and irrationally and it's all by way of entertaining myself. Now, I had all good intentions about trying to keep some semblance of the diet thing going, but now I'm just resigned to damage control until hobbitt returns, and probably for a while after.

Today I think I'll get to those two cool bookstores in downtown Pete and see what needs to come home with me. I positively eat books sometimes - meaning I won't sleep or do much of anything else, and I even once stood and read Into the Forest from cover to cover without putting it down. My back was a bit sore after that. Anyway, the point is that when I'm engaged in reading, nothing else matters.

So tonight, with any luck, I'll be engaged in some book or other and not simply mindlessly stuffing my face. Heck, it's worth a shot. And I haven't spent nearly enough money on books yet this year, right?

I never learn

I've been worrying about my cousin Joe. Well, not so much about Joe, actually, but about his vacation plans.

Joe is quite a bit older than me, somewhat disabled, and currently undergoing treatment for advanced prostate cancer.

Do any of you sense a central element of my life here?

So far, it seems that the treatment is successful. His PSA numbers are dropping, and the scans indicate that the cancer in his bones isn't growing. That's a very good thing. Anyway, Joe wanted to come visit here in October. For ten days.

I've known for a while that October wouldn't be a good time, since I just don't know what's going to happen in Michigan, or when. And the ten days part was a little jarring for me, too, since Joe will need to be entertained, and let's face it: there's not a whole lot happening up here in Pete Townsend that might interest him, tourist-wise, so we'd be schlepping into Seattle. But heck, this might be his only visit, so I figured I could tough it out. Just not now.

So I've been dreading the call, to disappoint him about his upcoming trip. But the call had to be made. I didn't want that hanging over my heart any longer.

Well, it turns out that Joe is now anemic from the chemotherapy, and isn't able to walk far at all without the need for a seat while he catches his breath and waits for his pounding heart to quieten. It was his idea to postpone the trip until spring, when he'll likely be stronger and more able to enjoy the touristy parts of the visit. I allowed as how it wasn't such a good time for me, either, given the situation in Michigan. So I can breathe a sigh of relief, and it's all good.

note to self, part deux:

Do not leave gardening clothes on the bathroom floor if planning to wear them the following day, unless having earwigs on face is the desired outcome.

note to self:

Tie shoes before descending stairs from media room.

And ALWAYS hold on to the rail.

Most especially when home alone.

mighty servant

Semi-submersible, heavy-lifting ship MV Mighty Servant has been in Port Townsend Bay for several days. I know that she delivered the Navy floating dry dock Resolute to Seattle recently, but what she was doing up here, I have no idea.

There's a munitions depot on Indian Island just across the bay from our beachfront here in Kala Point. We see all kinds of interesting rust buckets over there, unloading what will likely guarantee that we won't suffer radiation poisoning should the fecal matter accelerate into the oscillating device - we all figure we'll just be vaporized by whatever substances are stored over there. But a ship like that out in the water, well, that's quite something to see. (I'm talking about the orange thingie, not the guided missile frigate USS Samual B. Roberts that's taking a ride. The frigate was damaged by a mine in the Persian Gulf in 1988. The photo is of the MV Mighty Servant II, and she brought the frigate from the Persian Gulf to Newport, RI for repairs. The frigate is approximately 375 feet long. And it's piggy-backing on the Mighty Servant. It boggles the mind.)

A lot of the time my curiosity escapes me when my attention wanders, but I had to find out something about this immense, flat, orange ship. It took a while, from the beach last night, to discern the name on the bow of the ship, with our birding glasses. And then it took a few moments of power googling to find out what I wanted to know. And I thought you might want to know about it, too. Cool, eh?

old friends

So Mary and Christina were here. It is like a fresh breeze has blown through the the house and refreshed everything. Plus, we rode the ferry with them as they continued their trip north, and we got to see lots of seals - and maybe some of them were otters - on the voyage back from Whidbey Island.

We have come to realize that they are pretty much our doppelgangers on the east coast in their relationship and demeanors. We'll be their embassadors to the west.

From time to time over the course of more than 30 years, I have relied on Mary to be a light in the darkness. I'd call her from home when I was a teenager, and we'd both set out on the boardwalk to meet somewhere in-between (she lived several miles south of me). Sometimes I'd talk to her about whatever my problem was, and sometimes we'd just sit together in silence.

From time to time years have gone by between visits, or even contact. And it doesn't matter in the least.

Mary is someone who just loves me for who I am and never expects me to be someone I'm not. She's asked nothing of me and given me everything I ever needed from her. We've been through the thick and thin of our lives together, steadfast.

And now I have hobbitt, and she has Christina, and it just doesn't get any better than that.

I am blessed.

horse and carriage

My sister-in-law gave me a molcajete without a tejolote. She got it last time she was in Mexico for business and knowing that I'm an adventurous cook, she wanted me to have it.

Now this is very cool. And yet, difficult to track down the tejolote for the molcajete when I didn't even know how to spell the word.

Don't ask me how I found this yesterday, but it happened during an on-line shopping spree that included the purchase of new pasta bowls and a welcome mat. The tejolote cost slightly less than the shipping charge, around $5. Lucky for me Lisa has a facility for remembering things, or I'd still be wondering about it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get me some guacamole fixings.

I used to be somebody, really!

Lest some of you think I am nothing less than a pampered, idle housewife, I shall regale you with a brief history of my illustrious career, such as it was.

For the record, I am a pampered, idle housewife of sorts. I'll own that. Mostly it's an enjoyable state, and when I can go somewhere and be helpful to someone else, which I wouldn't be able to do if I was otherwise gainfully employed, it's A Good Thing. Being able to get to New Joy Sea and help my mother through the last years of her life, well, that was priceless. I don't know how people do such things while struggling with a job and a family. I was very lucky in that regard. But sometimes, not having a schedule or a purpose is frustrating and irritating and crippling. But enough about that.

I limped my way out of college (without loans because I worked my ass off in high school and college saving for it, and got an academic scholarship, too) with a degree in English Lit. It got me precisely nowhere, the English Lit part. I had three part-time jobs: mornings, I coded data-entry sheets for the Division of Criminal Justice, a great job with very flexible hours; afternoons I taught remedial composition at a women's college in north Jersey; and evenings I waited tables at a sports bar in Princeton. I had no debts, a cheap shared apartment, lots of ready cash, and a burgeoning cocaine habit. Something had to give.

At the morning job, we all used to scour the civil service bulletin for job postings that we qualified for. It was time to start thinking about health insurance and paid vacation time, after all. Several of us became investigators in the drug enforcement division of the State Police (oh, the irony!). Carrying guns and everything. I spotted a job offering once for Data Processing Programmer Trainee for the Division of Taxation. I met the requirement: a bachelors degree. I took the test. I passed and was offered a job. I began training on May 7, 1979.

After six weeks of training, I was set loose on the "floor" coding COBOL programs for the Corporate Tax division. My immediate boss was a young stoner whose avocation was sailing. He was a sweet and gentle soul and it was a pleasure working for him. And I had an aptitude for the work, and loved the challenge of it. My bus dropped me at the door about a half-hour before official starting time, so the other managers saw me there plugging away. Though not a ruse, it definitely worked in my favor.

Imagine that the average age of the programmers was probably about 25. Folks took their training, worked long enough to make a nice resume entry, and then hit the corporate world for some real money. There was a lot of turnover, and lots of opportunity for advancement. After a very short time, I was promoted (after passing the requisite civil service tests; I usually scored in the top three non-vet) a few times, and eventually found myself supervising a staff of four or five even younger programmers. Good ones. Really good ones. And ones that made me look good, too.

The next step for me there was project management. It meant that I wouldn't have been programming anymore, and instead just managing people and their time. My project manager wasn't a happy camper. They'd taken away his userid. (You old mainframe geeks might know what a blow that was. No access to the freaking machine! Not that there was Tetris or solitaire on it - we're talking about an IBM 3033 MVS mainframe computer - hey! 64 megs of main storage! - and dumb terminals.) I didn't want to be a project manager. I wanted to learn more about the systems.

So one day I walked upstairs where the SYSPROGS sat - a scary place. Those men and women were wild, really bright, a little crazy, and a whole lot of fun, too. I met with the manager and asked him what I needed to learn in order to be on the top of the list of candidates when he had an opening on his team. Tony (his real name) was a bit flabbergasted, but he told me to learn assembler language and he definitely remembered me. Within a few months I was up there with them and off to MVS Internals and CICS internals school. My head was spinning. It took me years to absorb what I was taught in those classes.

And here's a spooky thing: the man I shared a cubicle with, Bruce (his real name) was at the time married to the woman that hobbitt eventually dated, the woman who introduced me to him, years later. I'd like to say something nice about this man, but that's just not possible.

Anyway, I was a Sysprog just like the other big boys and girls. It was even more fun, even more challenging. I loved assembler language. I loved base-16 math. I was sorry I hadn't done an electronics engineering curriculum. I was having the time of my life. And eventually, there was no place to go with the State of NJ, so I took my knowledge on the road and worked for several fortune 100 companies, where I was responsible running their on-line ordering systems, installing and tuning the CICS subsystem. I got to go to cool conferences all over the US and meet some really interesting heavy-hitters in the mainframe geek world. I probably brushed shoulders with hobbitt at SHARE or GUIDE (IBM-sponsored conferences) in San Francisco or New York or Anaheim.

And yet I wanted to learn more about internals. I was hungry for the geekiest of the mainframe geek stuff, and went after a job at a software company, where I would be coding in assembler. I had no business getting a job like that, but I told the manager John (his real name) that although I didn't have all the qualifications he was looking for - I had the CICS internals but not the coding experience - that in six months he'd wonder why he ever thought that. He told me that my statement was refreshing and he definitely remembered me. I got the job. That would be about 1986.

It was at this company, at the time known as ADR (Applied Data Research in Princeton), where I really found my niche. I had more internals background than many of my peers, which came in real handy with the support staff. I was working on the platform-specific component of a multi-platform database product. It was cool. And I learned that what I really, really liked was debugging - finding the problems and writing the solutions to system software bugs. Every day work was like a giant puzzle to me - read the machine code, find the bug. All the answers were there - I didn't have to make them up, I just had to find them. It was heaven. Heaven!

Scroll ahead a few years, and zappo - fired, with prejudice. A story for another time. hobbitt and I ended up in Chicagoland, and I found employment with Kraft General Foods in their geek squad. Stressful work, especially during my rotation on "support": the phone would start ringing at home around 9 p.m. when the Illinois data center shut down, and then again at about 5 a.m. when the White Plains data center opened. The phone rang constantly, and one stretch of "rotation" was six weeks, 24/7, without backup. I started to lose my mind. I started to cry whenever the phone rang. Something had to give. And it was me, after a conversation with hobbitt wherein he was throwing his arms up and down and telling me that my unhappiness wasn't necessary. So I quit. Quit. Without another job to go to. And planned a cross-country trip.

hobbitt let me leave home for three months with my passport and American Express card. Priceless!

But before I left on my World Tour, I got a call from a headhunter. I wasn't interested in looking for work - the southwest and Yosemite were looming in my future. But I went on the interview anyway, thinking that it would be good to have a contact when I returned home. And it turned out to be the perfect job for me - perfectly melding my skills and experience with their need. My disinterest led to the potential employer upping the salary, upping the vacation time, and waiting a few months for me. The account manager just wanted to look me in the eye and have me assure him I wouldn't be looking for work in San Francisco while on my trip.

I loved that job. And in the middle of it, I was diagnosed with cancer. Couldn't imagine a better place to go through treatment - not much stress on that job. It was challenging enough and quite pleasant. And then the contract was over. I got an offer from the client company, but I'd rather have pierced my corneas with knitting needles than work for that asshat. While my co-workers whined and worried, I got another job with an IBM company, Advantis, a joint venture with Sears. And it was IBM that ran me out of computing altogether and forever. That would be about 1996 or 1997.

I've done volunteer work since then and even a three-year stint at a cancer support center as the most computer savvy administrative assistant they'll ever have. I loved working with the clients - "participants" - more than anything I'd ever done. But eventually my responsibilities became overwhelming. The not-for-profit world has to squeeze blood from stones, and I just didn't have any more blood for that. I experienced the same kind of unhappiness I had years earlier at Kraft. And I really, really, really didn't want to get sick again.

So here I am. That's my story. Not all that interesting, and probably a lame attempt at justifying my equally lame existence. But I paid my dues and was in the top 2% of women wage earners in the US of A. (Don't get excited. It's a large range.) I had success. I had a little fame in a little pond. I satisfied myself with my learning, and even though I wasn't nearly as curious as some techs I know (hobbitt immediately comes to mind) I did have initiative and drive and a helluva lot of fun. And that's not for nothing.

rematch

So I beat the pants off hobbitt at dominoes the other night. It wasn't pretty. I caught him with 50 points on the table, and that was what started the long humiliation he had to suffer.

He usually wins. He didn't believe it, but we have all the score sheets to prove it.

Yesterday, when the "winds" finally died down, we went to have our eyes examined. The last time that happened was right before we moved to New Joy Sea, in the spring of 2002. hobbitt has been noticing some deterioration in his vision. Doc Hare's office is right before the descent to the waterfront when approaching Pete Townsend proper. We were there the entire afternoon.

Seems I have small cataracts forming in each eye, behind the iris, on the distal side (is that term used in optometry?). Anyway, I think that is my official entree into geezerhood. I'm expecting the membership card any day now. Is that right, Bo? Doc said these types of cataracts rarely cause problems, as opposed to the ones that begin in the center of the cornea.

And I'm tired of wearing this appliance on my face. I'm going to try the newest generation of day-wear contact lenses. I'm not a good candidate for laser surgery because of the rather alarming astigmatism in my right eye.

Then came the time to choose my next eyeglass frames.

I liken this to having to find a bathing suit in wintertime. It was awful.

Now it's important to mention that the frames I'm wearing now, which are much like the frames for my prescription sunglasses, have been on my face for maybe 10 years or so. I love them. They're large, and that works well with the bifocal (8 years of that, now, my junior geezer status), as well as with the mirror-finish sunglasses. (Strother Martin? Anyone?) In other words, the style of these frames is from the last millennium, and it shows.

Fashionable eyeglass frames these days are narrow and enlongated. I look like a bug in them, or worse. I hated all of them, except the ones from the John Lennon collection, and those I really hated when they were on my face. In any case, I'm not the one who has to look at them all the time, so it's hobbitt's job to choose, though I do get veto power. It. Took. Forever.

I was so frustrated that I mentioned to hobbitt it was necessary to go out for drinks and dinner again. I'd give him a shot at a rematch on the dominoes thing. He agreed. So after a very long walk on the beach under heavy clouds, after watching the salmon jump out of the water in the bay, after doing the happy dance about what a beautiful place we have come to live, we drove into Pete and trudged back up those 35 steps to Sirens. And another party was at our favorite table.

I should mention that Sirens is a pretty funky old place, and quite dark. There are three rooms: the bar, which has some high tables and chairs; a middle room which has regular tables and chairs, but only a few of the tables along the wall or windows have lamps on them; and a billiards room, which also has some tables and is often used as a practice space for local fiddlers and bluegrass combos. We like to sit in the middle room, by the window. We can watch the fading light reflect off the Cascades and watch the ferries come and go. And when the light finally fails, we have a lamp to count our dominoes by.

So we took our first cocktails out on the balcony. It was a wee bit nippy, but it never sucks to be out there watching the boats. After 40 minutes or so our table became available, and we began our match.

And I kicked his handsome ass all over again, and by a rather large margin.

the price of gas

Word to my friends: if you're visiting me, and we go to Sirens for drinks and food, do not, repeat DO NOT allow me to order any of the pizzas with the roasted garlic on them, unless you are sure to be leaving early the following day. That's all I'm saying.

r-o-l-a-i-d-s

I felt some relief today. I can't explain it. Things are going pretty good right now in my life, although I missed a visit with one of my most beloved friends while I was in Michigan. And that is probably my biggest complaint.

The relief came when I went to the bank to deal with our mortgage. We had a meaty, juicy savings account there for a while after finally unloading the idyllic druid labs east. We took some of the fatty drippings and had some fun with it, but the idea was to eventually re-amortize our already cheap-o mortgage and have the equivalent of a car payment if we so desire. When I handed the paperwork over to the banker, I experienced a delightful feeling in my belly. Light. Soft. Aaaaah.

We'll have this house paid off in 5 or 10 years, depending on how easy we want to take it. It's occurring to me that hobbitt shouldn't have bought that first class ticket for me, though. A girl could get used to a thing like that.

Anyway, already I'm lining up the projects: gutter screens, deck, hot tub, professional landscaping. In the distance I'm hearing cash registers ringing. And I'm afraid.

Tonight, that celebration we've been planning for a long time. I was in southern California when we finally sold druid labs east, and that was followed by 25 days of ships passing on the occasional night together here. We have two bottles of Veuve Clicquot in the fridge. But in the interests of routine and normalcy, we're going to Sirens for some cutthroat dominoes and their excellent poppers (jalapeno peppers stuffed with cream cheese and wrapped with peppery bacon, skewered and cooked over a fire).

Confused? Think we already had this celebration? You're probably right. And we'll probably do it again. And again. And when you come visit us, definitely again.

somebody 'splain this to me

I woke this morning from a dream wherein I was comforting Tommy Lee Jones for some reason or other and probably falling in love with him, and also wondering what the derivation of the word ferrule is.

It's good to be home. Yesterday it smelled like autumn and hobbitt and I found ourselves enjoying a little yard and deck work. We didn't want to go inside, and decided that the weather was good enough to stain our little deck, which is made from ipe. It has a close and beautiful grain and an amazingly smooth and splinter-free finish. We accomplished this in less than 90 minutes from start to finish. We love our little deck. We danced around and giggled for a few minutes about how easy it was to tackle this job. Two summers ago we stained the decks and balcony at druid labs east and it took us most of the summer. We will expand this deck, and after our experience back east, we'll be sure to do without the rails and such.

It's good to be home. Today I'll begin the process of re-amortizing our mortgage and continue spreading a little bliss here and there. After the comfort-food binges of the past couple of weeks, I'll be back on Weight Watchers and continue my descent back to myself. I'll walk back up the hill again, as we did yesterday, on the bluff trail.

It's good to be home. I'll sit by the water and pray, and soak up the peace and healing that I always get from my mother element. I'll get and give frequent hugs. I'll start prepping the guest room and bath for my friend Mary, who has had a special place in my heart for almost 35 years, and her partner Christina. They're taking a vacation to BC and will stop here on their way to Vancouver, and maybe stop again on their way back from Vancouver Island.

Have I mentioned that it's good to be home?

is this irony?

We got an email from a relative last month (a clueless relative, if you catch my drift) informing us of a change in email address. Seems the spammers have caught up with this particular relative, so it became necessary to try to scamper under the radar again. And not just with one new email address, but three: one for hippie-dippie fun, one for deathly serious spiritual repartee, and one for personal correspondence.

And it was bulk mailed (not blind-CC) to everyone, EVERYONE in that relative's email address book.

Here's the moral behind today's blog entry, kids. If you want to forward something to me that has more than zero forward levels in the text, don't do it unless you think it's going to be so darned funny that I'll be hospitalized for a week with a busted gut. And, if you forward that deathly funny thing, please, for the love of god, use blind carbon. I swear I'll thank you, though it'll probably be by sign language because of the respirator.

Otherwise (and please don't misunderstand, I do love the occasional funny from my friends) don't be surprised if I don't get it at all. My spam filters are pretty robust, and your bulk-mailed hysteria will go straight to the junk folder. Can't help that.

home, or something like it

I didn't know it was possible for me to be this tired.

The younger hippie chick and I made tracks at 6:30 this morning for Detroit Metro. I dropped her off and then returned the rental car, and got through security myself without any problems. I mentioned to her that since her one-way ticket had been purchased recently, she should not pack anything embarrassing in her carry on bag. When she checked in she was told she was "pre-selected" for additional screening, so they opened up her knapsack to find her toothbrush, two water bottles, and the NY Times crossword puzzle book that I gave her. She was glad she'd been warned.

I was happy not to be in "bilge class", as hobbitt calls my usual cabin. I was quite comfortable. I had a great view of the patchwork of middle Earth and its twisty, snaky rivers, one of which looked much like a stylized dragon from my perch. Mississippi? I don't know. By the time we were approaching my beloved Cascades, all was lost in clouds. It is blessedly cool here. There has been rain. This is no small thing: I hadn't seen rain since late June. I was quite excited to see clouds, dark and heavy and low. By the time we crossed the Hood Canal Bridge, the sky had opened to a clear pale blue, and when we walked the beach tonight, Mt. Rainier was in crisp, clear glory.

Yet I am hardly present here. Perhaps it is fatigue, which saturates my body and soul. Perhaps it is the stark unfamiliarity of home, and its sounds and smells, or the return of constant good music, or the mere fact that here I can lie in the middle of the floor if I wish, for as long as I want, and no one will need me to do the challenging things I've had to do the past few weeks.

I'm composing this on my new Dell Inspiron IMAX or whatever the hell this thing is I ordered and configured myself. (9300 or something like that. Fast, wide screen, etc.) I should be more excited about it, but I think that will require about three days of uninterrupted sleep and a couple of cups of bran.

Here's a cheery note. I was fed lunch on the flight today, on real plates (plastic flatware - damn you Homeland Security!). Dessert was a rather tasty chocolate layer cake. My own personal flight attendant asked if I wanted coffee with that, but a wicked idea came over me: milk. Whole milk. I can't digest the stuff, of course, but chocolate cake and milk seemed just the ticket. The idea made me break out in a stupid grin from ear to ear. I was positively giggling while enjoying the long familiar and exceedingly comforting duo. I was careful not to drink the whole glass. I had the window seat, after all.

outta here!

Yes, fans. I'm going home tomorrow. No, really.

My loving hobbitt was more than kind to book me a sweet round-trip ticket to Seattle, unrestricted, so that I can come back to MI whenever I need to. I'll use the return on my original flight to get home then. He also booked a sweet flight for the younger hippie chick, who will go to Metro with me tomorrow, and whose size-6 skinny ass has probably never graced a wide, leather reclining seat such as it will tomorrow, all the way to Reno.

I'm sad to leave, but I need to go home. And with this arrangement, I'm relieved about how easily I'll be able to come back.

Today, t.y.h.c. and I are making a party for Lisa. Cheese and veggie plate, wine, decorations, probably floral arrangements from Lisa's own garden. (t.h.y.c., a jeweler and artist, is amazing at arranging flowers.) A few dear friends and we'll have to be pretty quiet. This is a hospice after all, and yes, an elderly lady is dying in the next room. Rules say only the patient may consume alcohol on the premises. I think we'll get away with it, though. In any case, I'm designating myself as driver, so I'll be very, very good.

Right now Lisa is stronger than she's been since I got here. It's confusing, but wonderful to see her enjoy herself as much as she can, and even make jokes about the inept "help" she had when she was back here at the house. Yes it's at our expense, but we did try our best; and I would argue that we were not inept, but unskilled and in a less-than-friendly environment. No arms on the toilet, for instance, cannot be chalked up to my ineptitude, dammit!

I pray that she has lots more good time ahead. I'll talk with her daily, and with the hospice staff whenever I feel I need more information. Unlike last week, I know it's okay for me to leave.

the last line is meant as a joke. really.

Today was a hard day.

Lisa is fine. Doing really well. No pain, decent energy, still hoping.

Her husband, however, had a large, malodorous meltdown, on the older of the hippie chicks, who was banished today. Immediately and with prejudice. I believe a steady dose of inappropriate behavior and lack of sensitivity, coupled with inattention and flagrant disrespect and near-misappropriation of the possessions of a still-living woman had a lot to do with it. It was ugly and hurtful. And yet, the hippie does not get it. Does. Not. Get. It.

Whatever. I knew that rage would eventually spill out into the general atmosphere, and I knew that by virtue of being a willing, close and large target, it would likely come flying at me. I just wasn't prepared for how it did, today. There's no preparing for such a thing, I suppose. It hurt. A lot.

Mostly it hurt because under any other circumstances, I would not allow anyone to speak to me that way. And because of the circumstances, and because I cannot imagine Fletch's stess and pain, I chose not to defend myself. Frustrating. I'm not used to being threatened. I'm not used to that tone of voice. And finally, I'm not used to that incredible amount of venom, from anyone.

An attempt at apology was made earlier today, when I was still fighting tears. Still lots of venom, and the younger hippie mentioned that it was probably as close to an apology as I would get. Letting go isn't all that hard, though. The "s" word (sorry) came later, though I was still quite tender.

So, that happened.

It was an awful day for everyone. It's hard to see sisters separated by such anger, when I know that much of it is misunderstanding. And I can see how hard it is to forgive the clueless, when the clueless are arrogant about their high stature on the "consciousness" and "spirituality" ladder.

Why can't everyone just be absolutely freaking perfect like me?

another sunrise

I'm musing at present, about where I am, when I'll get home, and what will be next. And musing isn't getting me anywhere, I might add.

Fletch will be sleeping in with Lisa from now on. The room is large and quiet, and there's a sleeper-sofa, a comfortable one, for him. So he goes there in the evening. Yesterday the younger hippie and I took Lisa outdoors for a roll around the grounds, and a brief rest on a veranda. She enjoyed being outside so much, and it wasn't hard for her, either, as we used a rolling lounge chair rather than a wheel chair. The sunshine was pretty intense, but it was lovely to see the small gardens up close, and to watch the birds at the feeders which are placed outside each room's window.

Lisa is talking to me about her wishes and her fears. We cry together sometimes, and talk about our views of the afterlife, whenever she initiates it. I'm remembering more of my hospice training than I care to admit.

speyeria aphrodite

Aphrodite.

In the middle of Lisa's yard there is a tall buddleia, or butterfly bush. It is positively lousy with these lovely orange butterflies, large and placid. It's nearing the end of their brood. Any caterpillars that hatch this season will burrow into the ground without feeding, and emerge in the spring to eat the young leaves of tender wild violets.

I like the idea of eating violets. I like the idea of living in the dark sweet earth until spring. I love the name Aphrodite.

plan b, part II

Lisa has decided she wants to go here. An ambulance is coming shortly. We'll get her settled and then come back and do some major cleaning up.

I wish we could get her out into her garden to say goodbye. I wish we could round up her kitties. We're all struggling to stay in the moment.

She'll be comfortable and well-cared for. It's not that far from here. I know that sometimes people graduate from hospice. Anything is possible.

plan b

No, I'm not going home right now. Things have taken a rather sudden downturn and one of the hippie chicks (the sister) is going to Chicago for the weekend.

Lisa is very weak, unable to get up on her own, and things are going to get harder now.

Tonight Lisa asked me, when we were alone, what the doctor said. Until now, she hasn't wanted to know. After a short pause, I could only say, "It's very bad." I didn't think she needed dates.

Afterwards, she asked that her husband bring her a cigarette. She'd quit some time ago. At least this is out in the open now, and she and her husband can discuss What Happens Next and How We Will Go About It.

crickets

I had forgotten how lovely! The sounds of crickets on a breezy summer night. The distant murmurings, rising and falling, punctuated by the nearer sharp and raspy calls.

I miss the crickets. I miss their slow and constant thrumming on a dry summer day, with the occasional counterpoint by cicada. Even the memory makes me sleepy...a dusty field in high summer...taking shade under an old oak...a newly worn path in the low brown grass...

So that is Michigan's gift to me on this trip. Crickets. Aaah. Beautiful.

emily

I got to hold Lisa and Fletch's grandbaby yesterday. Emily is just over 8 lbs. She felt light as a feather to me. Her mother disagreed about the feather part, having been left to push for two hours before the epiosiotomy which required 14 stitches.

Let's just not go there.

Emily was content and sleepy as I held her. I could see her mother's face in her teeny features. She made those sweet, resonant happy baby sounds, the closed-mouth sighs, a little cooing. She wanted to come home with me, I could tell. She clutched my finger, tightly. As I held her I prayed that she never know want or need or sickness or loneliness.

I'm going home tomorrow. There's a brandy-new Dell super-duper speedy powerful wide-screen notebook waiting for me. It arrived the day I left, in fact. hobbitt's been playing with it. I think I'll have to wrassle him to get it back. And that should be fun.