Friday, August 10, 2007
I have two very close friends who are worried about losing their parents. We're at that age, so they're at that age. Roman lost both his parents within four days of each other last January.
People assume that I would understand their feelings, because both of my parents are gone. I've been through it.
Actually, maybe I don't understand fully. I didn't have the relationship with my parents that most people have.
When my father died, thirty years ago, the "on top" reaction was merely relief. I wouldn't have to be afraid of him any more, and I wouldn't have to worry about my younger siblings any more. (Which actually was wrong, because the damage done lingered for decades.) I thought we were all finally released.
That was on top, the rational part. Deep down was different.
I never saw him dead, so deep in the dark places I didn't believe he was dead. Daughter was very sick and in the hospital when he died, so I wasn't able to go to the funeral (which was moot anyway, since no one told me he had died until a week later. I don't know why).
Deep in the dark places in my mind, I was convinced that people were just telling me he was dead that so I wouldn't try to kill him. That he was hiding, and would come after me or Little Brother as soon as I got comfortable. I had nightmares for over a year in which I was hiding Little Brother from him, and he kept finding him and beating him. I'd wake up screaming and shaking. During the day, any unexpected movement glimpsed from the corner of my eye would have me shaking. It took a few years before the dark places relaxed.
My mother died seventeen years ago. I was holding her hand when she died. At first, for maybe two days, I felt like an orphan. Like my safety and support were gone, and I was alone. And then that dissipated, and I felt nothing. It took another five years for me to realize that I felt nothing not because of depression, but because there was simply nothing to feel.
She was never our safety and support. She made no effort to protect us (other than shouting "Not the head! Not the head!" when we were being beaten). She never gave us any advice or guidance. No praise or encouragement. She pretty much ignored us. We kids grew up competing for our mother's attention, and learning to deflect our father's anger away from ourselves and onto each other, which doesn't lead to good sibling relations. Our mother was really nothing more to us than the quartermaster, the person we went to for necessities.
We wanted to love our parents, we tried very hard, we wanted them to love us, we tried very hard, we convinced ourselves there was some connection, but it in actual fact, it just wasn't there. If my parents had been rich, we kids would probably have been in year-round boarding school from the age of five. That might have been better.
So, no, I probably don't fully understand how my friends feel when they lose their parents, certainly not the depth and breadth.
I wish I did.
.
Friday, August 10, 2007
1424 Reading Writing 2
Friday, August 10, 2007
It's Friday, and time for the reveal. The Queen must be psychic, because there's no other way she could have got it. Yup, it's "Woods".
.
It's Friday, and time for the reveal. The Queen must be psychic, because there's no other way she could have got it. Yup, it's "Woods".
.
1423 Repeats
Repeating some old entries:
A map showing the spread of the world's major religions, by major portion of the population over the past 5,000 years, is at http://www.mapsofwar.com/. Fascinating! I didn't realize that Hinduism is that old, but I guess if I'd thought about it, I'd have figured it out.
Scroll down a bit and you'll find the link to "Imperial History", which illustrates the spread of political control. I'd never even heard of the Sassanid Empire, but it was apparently significant.
For more fascinating explorations, click on "Maps" on the left. Good stuff.
-----------------------------------
The 2000 Daily notebook has reminded me of how strange Jay was in 2000. I had forgotten.
In May 2000, he decided to cut back the raspberries spreading into the yard from the woods. I happened to glance outside and found that he was cutting everything, including good shrubs, young trees, flowers, everything. Like his mind said "Cut", and the governor was off.
Along about July he started changing lightbulbs. If you didn't keep him occupied with other stuff, if he got to loose ends, he'd start changing light bulbs. When we went to the store, he'd insist on buying more light bulbs. The bulbs weren't burned out - I'd retrieve them from the garbage - it's just like he'd forget to flip the light switch, decide the bulb was out, and replace it. That explains why I now have a few hundred light bulbs in the pantry. Funny how I'd forgotten that.
We used to go to garage sales on weekends. I'd drive and he'd navigate. Along about August he lost the ability to read maps. He could find streets on the map and trace the route to get there, but he couldn't apply it to the roads we were on. We'd come up to a "Y", and I'd ask "Which way?", and he couldn't figure it out. About this same time he could no longer read a calendar, or do the binary search required to find a word in the dictionary. And no matter where we went, even just up the road to the deli, he thought we had crossed the river.
In September, he lost doors and drawers. If they were closed, they became solid walls to him. He didn't know how to get to the other side of them, or in some cases, that there even was anything on the other side. If you opened them for him, he'd leave them open, even the shower stall door. He couldn't figure out how to keep the water in the shower stall.
In late September, he sometimes got lost in the house. If he was tired, he couldn't find the bedroom from the dining room. We didn't dare close bathroom doors.
It was in October that he woke me in the middle of the night to tell me that there was someone else in bed with us. I asked who, where, and he pointed to his left arm and whispered "There. That's his arm." He didn't recognize his left arm. He could move it, use the hand to pick things up, but didn't recognize it, which was very confusing to him. He kept hitting it, like he wanted it to go away.
By November he could no longer dress himself. He would dress his right side, but neglect the left, and of course his clothing wouldn't stay on, and he couldn't figure out why not. He looked so cute coming out to the kitchen for breakfast with his robe on his right side, the belt tied neatly around his waist, but the left side completely naked, and the left half of the robe dragging on the floor behind him. By December, however, he couldn't remember how to tie a knot, so the robe wouldn't stay on at all.
And yet, some parts of his mind were as sharp as ever. It was during this time that he completed work on the invention application (the one that was finally granted last fall), and his old workmates still depended on him for telephone consultation on highly technical matters.
Some things were lost, well, more like hidden, since his logical powers didn't work in the hidden areas, but what hadn't been lost was as good as ever.
.
A map showing the spread of the world's major religions, by major portion of the population over the past 5,000 years, is at http://www.mapsofwar.com/. Fascinating! I didn't realize that Hinduism is that old, but I guess if I'd thought about it, I'd have figured it out.
Scroll down a bit and you'll find the link to "Imperial History", which illustrates the spread of political control. I'd never even heard of the Sassanid Empire, but it was apparently significant.
For more fascinating explorations, click on "Maps" on the left. Good stuff.
-----------------------------------
The 2000 Daily notebook has reminded me of how strange Jay was in 2000. I had forgotten.
In May 2000, he decided to cut back the raspberries spreading into the yard from the woods. I happened to glance outside and found that he was cutting everything, including good shrubs, young trees, flowers, everything. Like his mind said "Cut", and the governor was off.
Along about July he started changing lightbulbs. If you didn't keep him occupied with other stuff, if he got to loose ends, he'd start changing light bulbs. When we went to the store, he'd insist on buying more light bulbs. The bulbs weren't burned out - I'd retrieve them from the garbage - it's just like he'd forget to flip the light switch, decide the bulb was out, and replace it. That explains why I now have a few hundred light bulbs in the pantry. Funny how I'd forgotten that.
We used to go to garage sales on weekends. I'd drive and he'd navigate. Along about August he lost the ability to read maps. He could find streets on the map and trace the route to get there, but he couldn't apply it to the roads we were on. We'd come up to a "Y", and I'd ask "Which way?", and he couldn't figure it out. About this same time he could no longer read a calendar, or do the binary search required to find a word in the dictionary. And no matter where we went, even just up the road to the deli, he thought we had crossed the river.
In September, he lost doors and drawers. If they were closed, they became solid walls to him. He didn't know how to get to the other side of them, or in some cases, that there even was anything on the other side. If you opened them for him, he'd leave them open, even the shower stall door. He couldn't figure out how to keep the water in the shower stall.
In late September, he sometimes got lost in the house. If he was tired, he couldn't find the bedroom from the dining room. We didn't dare close bathroom doors.
It was in October that he woke me in the middle of the night to tell me that there was someone else in bed with us. I asked who, where, and he pointed to his left arm and whispered "There. That's his arm." He didn't recognize his left arm. He could move it, use the hand to pick things up, but didn't recognize it, which was very confusing to him. He kept hitting it, like he wanted it to go away.
By November he could no longer dress himself. He would dress his right side, but neglect the left, and of course his clothing wouldn't stay on, and he couldn't figure out why not. He looked so cute coming out to the kitchen for breakfast with his robe on his right side, the belt tied neatly around his waist, but the left side completely naked, and the left half of the robe dragging on the floor behind him. By December, however, he couldn't remember how to tie a knot, so the robe wouldn't stay on at all.
And yet, some parts of his mind were as sharp as ever. It was during this time that he completed work on the invention application (the one that was finally granted last fall), and his old workmates still depended on him for telephone consultation on highly technical matters.
Some things were lost, well, more like hidden, since his logical powers didn't work in the hidden areas, but what hadn't been lost was as good as ever.
.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
1422 Drive Me Crazy?
Thursday, August 9, 2007
I was just talking on the phone with Daughter. Re The Man, she said "You must be walking on air", and I said sort of. I admire him. I enjoy him. I even adore him. I have loved every minute I've spent with him. I'm very happy that he appreciates me, too. But in a lot of ways, he comes across as a married man who's cheating. That's one of the few things I'm sure of, that he's not married, but I still feel like he's hiding something. Mainly me. After Roman, this bothers me. With time, maybe I'll find out what's going on, but in the meantime, I don't feel that he fully trusts me, and so I can't fully trust him, and since my natural tendency is to trust, I have to keep reminding myself to hold back. I'm hoping this will just take time.
On Piper, I was saying that I like him, he's always so happy and so much fun, and so perceptive, I love talking with him, but there's no way anything further could ever be, because he'd quickly drive me crazy. But I had difficulty describing why he would drive me crazy, and Daughter said "He sounds like a perpetual puppy." That's IT! Perfect description.
.
I was just talking on the phone with Daughter. Re The Man, she said "You must be walking on air", and I said sort of. I admire him. I enjoy him. I even adore him. I have loved every minute I've spent with him. I'm very happy that he appreciates me, too. But in a lot of ways, he comes across as a married man who's cheating. That's one of the few things I'm sure of, that he's not married, but I still feel like he's hiding something. Mainly me. After Roman, this bothers me. With time, maybe I'll find out what's going on, but in the meantime, I don't feel that he fully trusts me, and so I can't fully trust him, and since my natural tendency is to trust, I have to keep reminding myself to hold back. I'm hoping this will just take time.
On Piper, I was saying that I like him, he's always so happy and so much fun, and so perceptive, I love talking with him, but there's no way anything further could ever be, because he'd quickly drive me crazy. But I had difficulty describing why he would drive me crazy, and Daughter said "He sounds like a perpetual puppy." That's IT! Perfect description.
.
1421 Sitting With Men
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Yesterday I had dinner with The Man, and we went to a karaoke bar.
I went to meet him with some trepidation, to tell the truth. He was supposed to leave on a trip yesterday, but he delayed leaving and asked me on Tuesday to meet him halfway (which would be about Newburgh) on Wednesday evening. We'd have a few hours together, then he'd be going home so he could head out this morning. He said he wanted to see me before leaving on what could be a stressful trip.
I guess I'm not very confident. He won't end our relationship (whatever it is, I'm not sure yet) by phone, email, or ignoring. He'd end it in person. So, since he wasn't planning to stay over, and he'd be driving three hours to spend less than 4 hours with me, I figured well, this must be it.
I guess I was wrong. He was open, affectionate, and attentive. I guess he just wanted a few smiles and strokes before going out to battle. I wished I had a long silk scarf to tie on his helmet.
Today I set out for the museum. I stopped at The Hairless Hunk's to pay for the past several mowings and got into an extended conversation with him, then went to the post office, and the grocery store (more cat food), and the bank, and then noticed that Piper's car was outside his office. He had been to Florida to visit his mother, so I decided to stop in and find out how she is.
His office door was locked, but the lights were on. That means he's at the cafe up the street or in the bar/bistro across the street.
I found him in the bar. Soused. He'd been doing shots. As usual, there were several guys there, his "buddies" (he knows everyone). He was very happy. And soused enough to be a bit overly affectionate toward me. I know he toys with the occasional thought of "us", but he knows I'm not encouraging him. He's already got a lady (which I remind him), and he'd quickly drive me crazy (which I don't tell him).
I decided to stay a while. He has to drive to Rockland for dinner, a retirement party for an old friend, and he needed sobering up, and his buddies weren't going to help with that. When I said "You're drunk!" he said he wasn't going to have any more, but while I was there, the buddies bought him three more shots. I got pretty thoroughly hugged and cheek-kissed, and over the next two hours he sang just about every Sinatra song to me. While holding my hand. His trip to Florida didn't go very well, and I tried to lure him back to his office with me and tell me about it, but he didn't want to leave.
Sigh.
When it was time for him to go to Rockland, he left. I offered to go with him, designated driver, etc., but he kept saying he was fine. Nothing else I could do about it short of calling the cops. Maybe I should have.
He's a terrible driver even sober, the concept of lanes is theoretical to him, he's easily distracted by thoughts and bright objects, but on the other hand he's never had an accident, so it's hard to argue with him.
I never made it to the museum.
.
Yesterday I had dinner with The Man, and we went to a karaoke bar.
I went to meet him with some trepidation, to tell the truth. He was supposed to leave on a trip yesterday, but he delayed leaving and asked me on Tuesday to meet him halfway (which would be about Newburgh) on Wednesday evening. We'd have a few hours together, then he'd be going home so he could head out this morning. He said he wanted to see me before leaving on what could be a stressful trip.
I guess I'm not very confident. He won't end our relationship (whatever it is, I'm not sure yet) by phone, email, or ignoring. He'd end it in person. So, since he wasn't planning to stay over, and he'd be driving three hours to spend less than 4 hours with me, I figured well, this must be it.
I guess I was wrong. He was open, affectionate, and attentive. I guess he just wanted a few smiles and strokes before going out to battle. I wished I had a long silk scarf to tie on his helmet.
Today I set out for the museum. I stopped at The Hairless Hunk's to pay for the past several mowings and got into an extended conversation with him, then went to the post office, and the grocery store (more cat food), and the bank, and then noticed that Piper's car was outside his office. He had been to Florida to visit his mother, so I decided to stop in and find out how she is.
His office door was locked, but the lights were on. That means he's at the cafe up the street or in the bar/bistro across the street.
I found him in the bar. Soused. He'd been doing shots. As usual, there were several guys there, his "buddies" (he knows everyone). He was very happy. And soused enough to be a bit overly affectionate toward me. I know he toys with the occasional thought of "us", but he knows I'm not encouraging him. He's already got a lady (which I remind him), and he'd quickly drive me crazy (which I don't tell him).
I decided to stay a while. He has to drive to Rockland for dinner, a retirement party for an old friend, and he needed sobering up, and his buddies weren't going to help with that. When I said "You're drunk!" he said he wasn't going to have any more, but while I was there, the buddies bought him three more shots. I got pretty thoroughly hugged and cheek-kissed, and over the next two hours he sang just about every Sinatra song to me. While holding my hand. His trip to Florida didn't go very well, and I tried to lure him back to his office with me and tell me about it, but he didn't want to leave.
Sigh.
When it was time for him to go to Rockland, he left. I offered to go with him, designated driver, etc., but he kept saying he was fine. Nothing else I could do about it short of calling the cops. Maybe I should have.
He's a terrible driver even sober, the concept of lanes is theoretical to him, he's easily distracted by thoughts and bright objects, but on the other hand he's never had an accident, so it's hard to argue with him.
I never made it to the museum.
.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
1420 Toilet Seat Ad
Whoa! You've GOT to see this ad for a toilet seat.
http://www.cleanishappy.com/
Incidentally, it's interesting the difference between obviously male and obviously female rears. But "fashion" would seem to dictate that females should be so thin that their behinds look male. Fashion also dictates that males should look and smell female (all this shaving of body hair, yuck! Why would a man shave his chest? I don't understand.)
Maybe my mother was right forty years ago, when painful pointy shoes came out, and she said that the goal of the fashionistas was to undermine sexual signals.
The behinds in this ad look normal, real, they way they should (except I do like my male bottoms a bit furrier).
.
http://www.cleanishappy.com/
Incidentally, it's interesting the difference between obviously male and obviously female rears. But "fashion" would seem to dictate that females should be so thin that their behinds look male. Fashion also dictates that males should look and smell female (all this shaving of body hair, yuck! Why would a man shave his chest? I don't understand.)
Maybe my mother was right forty years ago, when painful pointy shoes came out, and she said that the goal of the fashionistas was to undermine sexual signals.
The behinds in this ad look normal, real, they way they should (except I do like my male bottoms a bit furrier).
.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
1418 Reading Writing
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
I went to the museum today, to finish processing the July membership renewals and new members. The renewals go fairly quickly, because the members are replying using a form we sent them, with their names and addresses pre-printed on them, and a data base record already exists for them. New members are harder, because I have to create a record from their handwritten form.
I tear my hair out over some of those forms. Don't these people know that someone has to READ these things? For example, what's this person's last name? Take a guess in the comments. I'll tell you on Friday.
I went to the museum today, to finish processing the July membership renewals and new members. The renewals go fairly quickly, because the members are replying using a form we sent them, with their names and addresses pre-printed on them, and a data base record already exists for them. New members are harder, because I have to create a record from their handwritten form.
I tear my hair out over some of those forms. Don't these people know that someone has to READ these things? For example, what's this person's last name? Take a guess in the comments. I'll tell you on Friday.
Monday, August 06, 2007
1416 Museum / Kitty Update
Monday, August 6, 2007
I went to the museum this afternoon, processed some membership checks. Russ says they have a new guy, a 70-year-old retiree, on staff, and wondered if I'd like to offload some of the membership responsibilities on him. I jumped at it! I told Russ that because it requires responsibility and deadlines, this job really should be done by a paid staff member, not a volunteer. A volunteer like me is likely to do what they can when they can, without too much regard for the calendar. Staff will follow a schedule.
(Well, I suppose there are some volunteers who will sacrifice their lives for the museum's needs, but, hey, I'm not one of them.)
I did some grocery shopping on the way home - those vegetables, you know. When I opened the laundry room door to take some frozen stuff to the freezer, I was immediately hit by the smell!
After a week of wondering if Jasper was constipated, or going somewhere and hiding it, and worrying if he was about to burst, today I got to clean his litter box. I danced around and told him what a good boy he was.
Last night, after sniffing the Thunder piddle and Thunder poopy samples I had put in the litter box, he finally made the connection, dug a hole in the litter, squatted over it, and piddled for what seemed like forever. Afterward, he was a bit skittish, like he thought maybe I'd scold him for it. I had hoped I'd see something more substantial this morning, but there was only another wet spot.
He pooped this afternoon sometime, while I was out. He'd made a valiant attempt to bury it - almost every bit of litter was piled in that one corner. It wasn't a full week's worth, but at least I'm sure he's not bound up.
Lack of exercise is probably a contributing factor. He's used to running a lot. But we both feel a lot better now, I'm sure.
.
I went to the museum this afternoon, processed some membership checks. Russ says they have a new guy, a 70-year-old retiree, on staff, and wondered if I'd like to offload some of the membership responsibilities on him. I jumped at it! I told Russ that because it requires responsibility and deadlines, this job really should be done by a paid staff member, not a volunteer. A volunteer like me is likely to do what they can when they can, without too much regard for the calendar. Staff will follow a schedule.
(Well, I suppose there are some volunteers who will sacrifice their lives for the museum's needs, but, hey, I'm not one of them.)
I did some grocery shopping on the way home - those vegetables, you know. When I opened the laundry room door to take some frozen stuff to the freezer, I was immediately hit by the smell!
We have poopy!
After a week of wondering if Jasper was constipated, or going somewhere and hiding it, and worrying if he was about to burst, today I got to clean his litter box. I danced around and told him what a good boy he was.
Last night, after sniffing the Thunder piddle and Thunder poopy samples I had put in the litter box, he finally made the connection, dug a hole in the litter, squatted over it, and piddled for what seemed like forever. Afterward, he was a bit skittish, like he thought maybe I'd scold him for it. I had hoped I'd see something more substantial this morning, but there was only another wet spot.
He pooped this afternoon sometime, while I was out. He'd made a valiant attempt to bury it - almost every bit of litter was piled in that one corner. It wasn't a full week's worth, but at least I'm sure he's not bound up.
Lack of exercise is probably a contributing factor. He's used to running a lot. But we both feel a lot better now, I'm sure.
.
1415 One Third
Monday, August 6, 2007
I figure I've got twenty years or so left, probably fifteen of which will be fairly active. Looking back, that seems like a long time. 1987 seems like a long time ago. There's been a lot packed into that time. But looking forward, it doesn't seem like that long at all. The past seven years have slipped past with hardly any notice. They feel lost.
That's a third of what's left.
I still look halfway decent, if I get enough sleep, and sit and stand straight, and wear makeup, and keep my hair clean, and hold my belly in, and don't put any weight back on. But I don't anymore accidentally see me in a store window and think "she looks good" before I realize it's me. That used to happen all the time. Now I look in a mirror and think "pretty ok", and I look at a photograph and cringe.
I'm still in relatively good health, as long as I don't go to a doctor and get a diagnosis that'll make me think I'm about to die. I can still walk for miles and miles. I can do 30 pushups, the military style. I should eat more vegetables, and stop smoking, and avoid sugar, I suppose. And I need to get back to walking.
Clerks still hesitate to ask me if I qualify for the senior discount. Teens are amazed when they hear my age. They say I look, oh, maybe early 50s, and "that's only because of the hair". Of course, to them, early 50s is ancient. It's their grandmother's age. And I have a pretty good idea of what their grandmother looks and acts like.
I woke up this morning thinking about housework, and I realized that I don't want to spend one third of the time I have left cleaning house. And one third sleeping. And one third waiting.
I want to whirl through the space and time left. I want to go places, and see things. I want to love and be loved.
I want and need someone to care for. I'm very good at loving and caring. I can make someone feel strong and capable and worthy and alive. I can make a man feel whole, and appreciated.
I want to be loved back, every day.
I'm at an age now where if I don't use every part of my body, it will dry up and blow away. All the parts still work, and some of the most fun parts require male attention to stay in shape. I want everything to continue working.
I don't want to spend a third of my life waiting for something to happen.
.
I figure I've got twenty years or so left, probably fifteen of which will be fairly active. Looking back, that seems like a long time. 1987 seems like a long time ago. There's been a lot packed into that time. But looking forward, it doesn't seem like that long at all. The past seven years have slipped past with hardly any notice. They feel lost.
That's a third of what's left.
I still look halfway decent, if I get enough sleep, and sit and stand straight, and wear makeup, and keep my hair clean, and hold my belly in, and don't put any weight back on. But I don't anymore accidentally see me in a store window and think "she looks good" before I realize it's me. That used to happen all the time. Now I look in a mirror and think "pretty ok", and I look at a photograph and cringe.
I'm still in relatively good health, as long as I don't go to a doctor and get a diagnosis that'll make me think I'm about to die. I can still walk for miles and miles. I can do 30 pushups, the military style. I should eat more vegetables, and stop smoking, and avoid sugar, I suppose. And I need to get back to walking.
Clerks still hesitate to ask me if I qualify for the senior discount. Teens are amazed when they hear my age. They say I look, oh, maybe early 50s, and "that's only because of the hair". Of course, to them, early 50s is ancient. It's their grandmother's age. And I have a pretty good idea of what their grandmother looks and acts like.
I woke up this morning thinking about housework, and I realized that I don't want to spend one third of the time I have left cleaning house. And one third sleeping. And one third waiting.
I want to whirl through the space and time left. I want to go places, and see things. I want to love and be loved.
I want and need someone to care for. I'm very good at loving and caring. I can make someone feel strong and capable and worthy and alive. I can make a man feel whole, and appreciated.
I want to be loved back, every day.
I'm at an age now where if I don't use every part of my body, it will dry up and blow away. All the parts still work, and some of the most fun parts require male attention to stay in shape. I want everything to continue working.
I don't want to spend a third of my life waiting for something to happen.
.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
1414 Kitty Update
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Jasper and I are getting along well. While he was out from behind the washing machine last night, I slid a storm window panel between the utility sink and the washing machine, so he can't get back there any more.
He has chosen a replacement spot on a bottom shelf. There's a cooler and a stack of towels on the floor in front of that spot, so he feels safe.
When I walk in the room now, he comes right out. Loves getting head and neck scratches, rolls around on the floor waving his paws in the air. He's very gentle when we play fight. I've noticed that he "kneads" a lot, even when he's just sitting and waiting.
I've been getting him used to being picked up. Just little lifts, moving him from one spot to a more desirable spot, like closer to the food, for example.
He's still eating like every kibble is his last, but he's still ignoring the litter box. I haven't the faintest idea where he's "going". There's no odor. It's possible he's constipated, but his belly's not hard, and --- he's still eating.
I started out with that white stuff in the litter pan, but I thought maybe the bits were too sharp for his paws, so I switched to Miss Thunderfoot's usual pine sawdust pellets. Then I added some "samples" from Miss Thunderfoot's litter box. He was very interested in sniffing them, but didn't seem to take the hint.
I'm afraid I may have to go outside and cut a piece of sod for him! I wonder if he prefers grass, dirt, or mulch.
.
Jasper and I are getting along well. While he was out from behind the washing machine last night, I slid a storm window panel between the utility sink and the washing machine, so he can't get back there any more.
He has chosen a replacement spot on a bottom shelf. There's a cooler and a stack of towels on the floor in front of that spot, so he feels safe.
When I walk in the room now, he comes right out. Loves getting head and neck scratches, rolls around on the floor waving his paws in the air. He's very gentle when we play fight. I've noticed that he "kneads" a lot, even when he's just sitting and waiting.
I've been getting him used to being picked up. Just little lifts, moving him from one spot to a more desirable spot, like closer to the food, for example.
He's still eating like every kibble is his last, but he's still ignoring the litter box. I haven't the faintest idea where he's "going". There's no odor. It's possible he's constipated, but his belly's not hard, and --- he's still eating.
I started out with that white stuff in the litter pan, but I thought maybe the bits were too sharp for his paws, so I switched to Miss Thunderfoot's usual pine sawdust pellets. Then I added some "samples" from Miss Thunderfoot's litter box. He was very interested in sniffing them, but didn't seem to take the hint.
I'm afraid I may have to go outside and cut a piece of sod for him! I wonder if he prefers grass, dirt, or mulch.
.
1413 Good News, I Hope
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Got an email from Sister this afternoon.
Our youngest brother has been "lost" for years. We didn't know where he was, even whether he was alive or dead. When last seen, he wasn't healthy, living was precarious.
Sister (in Florida) says she was in a bar with a group of people and a man came over and asked if a stool was taken. It was. She thought he looked familiar, so later she went over to him and introduced herself. It was Youngest Brother. He hadn't recognized her, which is interesting because she has changed very little.
I gather it was an emotional reunion. He said he's got control of his life now, a car, a job. Sister says he's supposed to visit her home this evening.
I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm happy that he seems to be back on track. On the other hand, deep down in the protective part, I'm thinking I don't want to find him and lose him all over again. I don't know how to react to him. Sometimes letting go is easier than holding on.
He was born when I was 15. Mom had a lot of difficulty with the birth, and he came home from the hospital several months before she did. Even after she came home, she was unable to care for him, so through his infancy and much of his toddlerhood, he was essentially my baby.
It was the effort to protect him that had me twice planning to kill my father.
It was realizing that I would go to those lengths to protect him, but our mother made no effort to protect us, that lead to my breakthrough.
And then he grew up, and things happened, choices were made, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn't protect or help him any more.
Sometimes letting go is easier than holding on.
.
Got an email from Sister this afternoon.
Our youngest brother has been "lost" for years. We didn't know where he was, even whether he was alive or dead. When last seen, he wasn't healthy, living was precarious.
Sister (in Florida) says she was in a bar with a group of people and a man came over and asked if a stool was taken. It was. She thought he looked familiar, so later she went over to him and introduced herself. It was Youngest Brother. He hadn't recognized her, which is interesting because she has changed very little.
I gather it was an emotional reunion. He said he's got control of his life now, a car, a job. Sister says he's supposed to visit her home this evening.
I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm happy that he seems to be back on track. On the other hand, deep down in the protective part, I'm thinking I don't want to find him and lose him all over again. I don't know how to react to him. Sometimes letting go is easier than holding on.
He was born when I was 15. Mom had a lot of difficulty with the birth, and he came home from the hospital several months before she did. Even after she came home, she was unable to care for him, so through his infancy and much of his toddlerhood, he was essentially my baby.
It was the effort to protect him that had me twice planning to kill my father.
It was realizing that I would go to those lengths to protect him, but our mother made no effort to protect us, that lead to my breakthrough.
And then he grew up, and things happened, choices were made, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn't protect or help him any more.
Sometimes letting go is easier than holding on.
.
1412 New House
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Nice of you to have found your way here. Welcome to my new home.
I moved without leaving a forwarding address, but I am fully aware I haven't hidden completely. A determined searcher will still find me, but not for a while, and I would hope that the effort wouldn't be worth it.
Don't forget to change your Bloglines subscription, if you have one.
.
Nice of you to have found your way here. Welcome to my new home.
I moved without leaving a forwarding address, but I am fully aware I haven't hidden completely. A determined searcher will still find me, but not for a while, and I would hope that the effort wouldn't be worth it.
Don't forget to change your Bloglines subscription, if you have one.
.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
1411 Recycle Rant
Saturday, August 4, 2007
My internet connection is now cellular (wireless) broadband. When I connect, it casts around to find a "path". I can see where I'm connected through, on SiteMeter.com. I am amused that sometimes I'm "in" Colorado, or Indiana, or Pennsylvania. Today I was surprised to find that I'm connected through the District of Columbia, specifically the Washington Navy Yard. Wow. That surprises me.
-------------------------------
I took a load of stuff to the recycle center today. There are usually two paid workers there, and maybe one or two volunteers. It was very hot today, so they were all hiding out in the shed, in front of a fan.
Man, if I volunteered there, within hours I'd be thoroughly disgusted with people in general. It would be very bad for me.
I can't believe people dump cans and bottles in the bin without so much as rinsing them out. How can they do that? The smell? The way dirty cans attract wasps? Have they no pride? Is it really so hard to rinse?
That's bad, but worse are the people who dump stuff they should KNOW is not accepted. The center is constantly handing out lists of what is and is not accepted, and which bins get what, and I swear nobody (except a few like me) reads or pays attention to them.
One quick glance at the top layer of any of the three sorting bins finds what looks like a 30% mix of not-acceptable or not-this-bin items. Manila envelopes with bubble-wrap lining are not accepted at all, and yet the newspaper-only bin was speckled with them today, and the distribution, all through the bin, suggests that it wasn't only one person who screwed up.
They accept ONLY #1 and #2 clearly-marked plastic, so could someone explain to me why the plastic/glass/metal bin is full of plastic bags?
I get so angry at idiots.
Garbage collection around here is very expensive, and I think a lot of people see the recycle center as free garbage disposal. What they don't seem to understand is that the more trash they throw in there, the more they put in the wrong bin, the more expensive it is to sort, and eventually it will tip to too costly, and will be no more. THEN what will they do with it? Fully 2/3 of my waste every month is recyclable. I don't want to pay to have it hauled away and dumped in a landfill. But these idiots will make that happen.
-----------------------------------
Grrr. I was already in that bad mood when I read a comment in the local Mensa Yahoo group, regarding the lack of a local directory, that REALLY jerked my chain. I snapped back. A certain person seems to think he has all the answers and conveniently ignores what he doesn't like, and everyone else ignores his "I'm the source of all wisdom" attitude (except in conversation when he's not around) because he's also one of the most active and social people, which IS appreciated, and they don't want to lose him. What they don't realize is that since no one wants to go head-to-head with him and lets him have his way, NOBODY ELSE WANTS TO DO ANYTHING! They don't want to have to deal with him. He's the chief cause of the apathy in the group, and that's not just my opinion.
I didn't want to touch off the powder keg but I may have. He went a little too far this time, and this time he stepped on MY toes. He's ON the Board, but he often seems to think he IS the Board.
Oh, well. It needed saying. I'll crawl back into my apathetic but very comfortable shell now.
Grrrr.
.
My internet connection is now cellular (wireless) broadband. When I connect, it casts around to find a "path". I can see where I'm connected through, on SiteMeter.com. I am amused that sometimes I'm "in" Colorado, or Indiana, or Pennsylvania. Today I was surprised to find that I'm connected through the District of Columbia, specifically the Washington Navy Yard. Wow. That surprises me.
-------------------------------
I took a load of stuff to the recycle center today. There are usually two paid workers there, and maybe one or two volunteers. It was very hot today, so they were all hiding out in the shed, in front of a fan.
Man, if I volunteered there, within hours I'd be thoroughly disgusted with people in general. It would be very bad for me.
I can't believe people dump cans and bottles in the bin without so much as rinsing them out. How can they do that? The smell? The way dirty cans attract wasps? Have they no pride? Is it really so hard to rinse?
That's bad, but worse are the people who dump stuff they should KNOW is not accepted. The center is constantly handing out lists of what is and is not accepted, and which bins get what, and I swear nobody (except a few like me) reads or pays attention to them.
One quick glance at the top layer of any of the three sorting bins finds what looks like a 30% mix of not-acceptable or not-this-bin items. Manila envelopes with bubble-wrap lining are not accepted at all, and yet the newspaper-only bin was speckled with them today, and the distribution, all through the bin, suggests that it wasn't only one person who screwed up.
They accept ONLY #1 and #2 clearly-marked plastic, so could someone explain to me why the plastic/glass/metal bin is full of plastic bags?
I get so angry at idiots.
Garbage collection around here is very expensive, and I think a lot of people see the recycle center as free garbage disposal. What they don't seem to understand is that the more trash they throw in there, the more they put in the wrong bin, the more expensive it is to sort, and eventually it will tip to too costly, and will be no more. THEN what will they do with it? Fully 2/3 of my waste every month is recyclable. I don't want to pay to have it hauled away and dumped in a landfill. But these idiots will make that happen.
-----------------------------------
Grrr. I was already in that bad mood when I read a comment in the local Mensa Yahoo group, regarding the lack of a local directory, that REALLY jerked my chain. I snapped back. A certain person seems to think he has all the answers and conveniently ignores what he doesn't like, and everyone else ignores his "I'm the source of all wisdom" attitude (except in conversation when he's not around) because he's also one of the most active and social people, which IS appreciated, and they don't want to lose him. What they don't realize is that since no one wants to go head-to-head with him and lets him have his way, NOBODY ELSE WANTS TO DO ANYTHING! They don't want to have to deal with him. He's the chief cause of the apathy in the group, and that's not just my opinion.
I didn't want to touch off the powder keg but I may have. He went a little too far this time, and this time he stepped on MY toes. He's ON the Board, but he often seems to think he IS the Board.
Oh, well. It needed saying. I'll crawl back into my apathetic but very comfortable shell now.
Grrrr.
.
Friday, August 03, 2007
1410 Check Engine
Friday, August 3, 2007
So, I started the van this afternoon, and the check engine light did not go on. I headed across the river to get it inspected, and an oil change, and transmission fluid flushed/changed.
Right up until the end of the safety inspection, the CE light was not on, but then the guy called me in, and pow, there it was. On.
In NY (don't know what it's like elsewhere), they hook the vehicle up to a machine that gathers who knows what information, which is sent directly from the machine to the DMV (for all I know it could be your destinations and speeds, photos of passengers and taped conversations, for the past year! Heck, this is NY. It could happen!), and if the check engine light is on for any reason, it's an automatic fail. He wanted to fail it right then. I did the gas cap bit, told him it might take a minute or two and to continue with the safety inspection and fluid changes, then look again.
Forty-five minutes later, my name was called, and the van had passed!
When I went out to drive it home, the CE light was off.
Then when I was almost home, I pressed the cruise control button and tried to set the speed, and it didn't take, and I thought "Uh oh", and the cruise control turned itself off, and the CE light went on.
Oh, well. It passed inspection. I've got some time to figure this one out. As for tomorrow's furniture moving, if it were just locally I'd do it, but the furniture is on Long Island, and I'm not sure I want to go that far while I don't know what will happen. Last year the screwed-up computer caused stalls in intersections.
.
So, I started the van this afternoon, and the check engine light did not go on. I headed across the river to get it inspected, and an oil change, and transmission fluid flushed/changed.
Right up until the end of the safety inspection, the CE light was not on, but then the guy called me in, and pow, there it was. On.
In NY (don't know what it's like elsewhere), they hook the vehicle up to a machine that gathers who knows what information, which is sent directly from the machine to the DMV (for all I know it could be your destinations and speeds, photos of passengers and taped conversations, for the past year! Heck, this is NY. It could happen!), and if the check engine light is on for any reason, it's an automatic fail. He wanted to fail it right then. I did the gas cap bit, told him it might take a minute or two and to continue with the safety inspection and fluid changes, then look again.
Forty-five minutes later, my name was called, and the van had passed!
When I went out to drive it home, the CE light was off.
Then when I was almost home, I pressed the cruise control button and tried to set the speed, and it didn't take, and I thought "Uh oh", and the cruise control turned itself off, and the CE light went on.
Oh, well. It passed inspection. I've got some time to figure this one out. As for tomorrow's furniture moving, if it were just locally I'd do it, but the furniture is on Long Island, and I'm not sure I want to go that far while I don't know what will happen. Last year the screwed-up computer caused stalls in intersections.
.
1409 Kitty Breakthrough!
Friday, August 3, 2007
Jasper has been behind the washing machine since Monday. I put soft food in a bowl at the end of the washer, and when I'm not around he'd eat the food, drink some water, piddle on the floor on the other side of the laundry room (ignoring the litter box - I'm still not sure where the poopy is - no odors evident). There was some dry food on a plate in the middle of the room, too, but he'd been ignoring it. All I've actually seen of him since Sunday night has been big eyes in the dust and dark behind the washer.
This morning, it was evident he had found the dry food. And he had piddled on the newspaper I'd put down in what appeared to be his chosen urinal area.
Since he approved of the dry food, this morning I reached (a long stretch for me) between the utility sink and the washer to put some dry food in the bowl, and was surprised when a little head pushed itself under my hand. He wanted a head and neck scratching while he ate.
He wouldn't come completely out from the safe space, but ... this may yet work out. I didn't see fear in his eyes this morning. I saw recognition. So maybe it will take a few days of my lying on the floor stretching to reach between the sink and washer to scratch a furry neck.
I can do that.
.
Jasper has been behind the washing machine since Monday. I put soft food in a bowl at the end of the washer, and when I'm not around he'd eat the food, drink some water, piddle on the floor on the other side of the laundry room (ignoring the litter box - I'm still not sure where the poopy is - no odors evident). There was some dry food on a plate in the middle of the room, too, but he'd been ignoring it. All I've actually seen of him since Sunday night has been big eyes in the dust and dark behind the washer.
This morning, it was evident he had found the dry food. And he had piddled on the newspaper I'd put down in what appeared to be his chosen urinal area.
Since he approved of the dry food, this morning I reached (a long stretch for me) between the utility sink and the washer to put some dry food in the bowl, and was surprised when a little head pushed itself under my hand. He wanted a head and neck scratching while he ate.
He wouldn't come completely out from the safe space, but ... this may yet work out. I didn't see fear in his eyes this morning. I saw recognition. So maybe it will take a few days of my lying on the floor stretching to reach between the sink and washer to scratch a furry neck.
I can do that.
.
1408 Dear Diary - Four Days
Thursday August 2 into Friday August 3, 2007
I have something of a much higher priority to do tonight before I go to bed, therefore I'm doing this first. The Man laughs at me because there are things that make perfect sense to me, but would make no sense to anyone else. I guess this is one of them. If I do a lower priority thing first, then I can be sure BOTH will get done before I conk out.
I haven't kept track of the past four days, and if I don't soon, it'll be all mixed up in my head.
Ok. Monday I caught up on everything I'd let slide since Wednesday.
Tuesday I wrote a very long and difficult email to FW on a topic we had discussed the day before, and then I went to EEE (Mensa dinner) at the Indian restaurant in the village. There was Angie, Jeff, John, Roman, and me. Jeff had ridden his bike in from Bard, and it got dark, and his bike had no lights, and it didn't fit in a car trunk, so I followed him all the way back to Bard at between 7 and 17 mph with my flashers on. I guess it was ok, because a police car passed us without a blink.
Wednesday I REALLY overslept. Crazy. I had wanted to go to the museum, I need to process the checks that came in during July, but I didn't wake up until 2 pm. After that, I haven't the faintest idea what I did. I do recall getting several phone calls, several hours on the phone with several people. Social stuff. You'd never guess I hate talking on the phone.
Thursday I got up at a decent hour and did some financial research, some cleaning up in the laundry room, flirting with the new kitty, bits of things. Left the house a little after 3 pm to meet Roman for dinner. We went to see Richard III at Boscobel. Last minute tickets don't get you the best seats, but they were still pretty good. This time the costumes were vaguely Egyptian, and we had great difficulty understanding the family relationships. The guy who played Richard was very good, although his very strong resemblance to my Hairless Hunk was rather distracting.
Sundaes after, in a restaurant/ice cream parlor that played wonderful 50s, 60s, and 70s music, and I didn't want to leave. I kept pumping quarters into the "nickelodeon". (Remember when you got one song for a nickel, six for a quarter? Now it's three for a dollar!) Got home a little after 1 am.
Roman and I talked about our relationship a bit. We are very good friends right now, and I don't want to screw that up by getting too involved. He's having a little trouble with that. I told him I'd like to find him a good woman, but on the other hand, I don't want to share him. We'll figure it out, I guess. I hope.
Tomorrow I have to figure out what to do with the minivan. On Tuesday I had committed to help a friend move some furniture on Saturday. I screwed up. I forgot that last week when I tried started it, the "check engine" light went on. It won't pass inspection if the CE light is on, and it was due for inspection by the end of July. Man, I blew it. From a couple of directions.
So I'll have to check it tomorrow morning. I hope tightening the gas cap will have been enough. If so, I'll get it inspected tomorrow. If not, I don't know what I'll do.
Now on to more the more important task, so I can eventually get some sleep.
I have something of a much higher priority to do tonight before I go to bed, therefore I'm doing this first. The Man laughs at me because there are things that make perfect sense to me, but would make no sense to anyone else. I guess this is one of them. If I do a lower priority thing first, then I can be sure BOTH will get done before I conk out.
I haven't kept track of the past four days, and if I don't soon, it'll be all mixed up in my head.
Ok. Monday I caught up on everything I'd let slide since Wednesday.
Tuesday I wrote a very long and difficult email to FW on a topic we had discussed the day before, and then I went to EEE (Mensa dinner) at the Indian restaurant in the village. There was Angie, Jeff, John, Roman, and me. Jeff had ridden his bike in from Bard, and it got dark, and his bike had no lights, and it didn't fit in a car trunk, so I followed him all the way back to Bard at between 7 and 17 mph with my flashers on. I guess it was ok, because a police car passed us without a blink.
Wednesday I REALLY overslept. Crazy. I had wanted to go to the museum, I need to process the checks that came in during July, but I didn't wake up until 2 pm. After that, I haven't the faintest idea what I did. I do recall getting several phone calls, several hours on the phone with several people. Social stuff. You'd never guess I hate talking on the phone.
Thursday I got up at a decent hour and did some financial research, some cleaning up in the laundry room, flirting with the new kitty, bits of things. Left the house a little after 3 pm to meet Roman for dinner. We went to see Richard III at Boscobel. Last minute tickets don't get you the best seats, but they were still pretty good. This time the costumes were vaguely Egyptian, and we had great difficulty understanding the family relationships. The guy who played Richard was very good, although his very strong resemblance to my Hairless Hunk was rather distracting.
Sundaes after, in a restaurant/ice cream parlor that played wonderful 50s, 60s, and 70s music, and I didn't want to leave. I kept pumping quarters into the "nickelodeon". (Remember when you got one song for a nickel, six for a quarter? Now it's three for a dollar!) Got home a little after 1 am.
Roman and I talked about our relationship a bit. We are very good friends right now, and I don't want to screw that up by getting too involved. He's having a little trouble with that. I told him I'd like to find him a good woman, but on the other hand, I don't want to share him. We'll figure it out, I guess. I hope.
Tomorrow I have to figure out what to do with the minivan. On Tuesday I had committed to help a friend move some furniture on Saturday. I screwed up. I forgot that last week when I tried started it, the "check engine" light went on. It won't pass inspection if the CE light is on, and it was due for inspection by the end of July. Man, I blew it. From a couple of directions.
So I'll have to check it tomorrow morning. I hope tightening the gas cap will have been enough. If so, I'll get it inspected tomorrow. If not, I don't know what I'll do.
Now on to more the more important task, so I can eventually get some sleep.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
1407 Catching Honey
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Something funny that happened last weekend: Son-in-law Hercules's mother, K-Mom (I'm S-Mom), was talking about an abandoned cat named Honey that she'd been trying to catch, and Hercules said, "Did you try flies? I hear you can catch a lot of honey with flies."
I don't think he realized what he'd said until he thought about it.
So Thursday night I was telling The Man about it, and I said, "And then Hercules said, did you try...", and The Man interrupted with "Flies! They say you can catch a lot of honey with flies."
I cracked up. I swear those two have the same brain! The two of them are always finishing each other's thoughts, even the weird ones. They think the same way.
I'm not sure which is better, or worse - that a 32-yo has the brain of a 47-yo, or vice versa.
.
Something funny that happened last weekend: Son-in-law Hercules's mother, K-Mom (I'm S-Mom), was talking about an abandoned cat named Honey that she'd been trying to catch, and Hercules said, "Did you try flies? I hear you can catch a lot of honey with flies."
I don't think he realized what he'd said until he thought about it.
So Thursday night I was telling The Man about it, and I said, "And then Hercules said, did you try...", and The Man interrupted with "Flies! They say you can catch a lot of honey with flies."
I cracked up. I swear those two have the same brain! The two of them are always finishing each other's thoughts, even the weird ones. They think the same way.
I'm not sure which is better, or worse - that a 32-yo has the brain of a 47-yo, or vice versa.
.
1406 Dear Diary - Weekend in NJ, Part 2
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
I haven't updated in DAYS! Busy. The previous post left off Saturday afternoon. After writing that post, I went for a walk on the roads around the hotel. I returned across a lawn behind the hotel, and met Jasper. Jasper changed all my plans for the next few days.
Jasper is an American shorthair gray tabby, white trim, round face with huge eyes and enormous curved and tufted lynx ears, spots on his back and stripes on his legs, probably about five months old. The housekeepers and reception desk women say he turned up at the hotel as a kitten just before the flooding (was that last April?), and they were amazed he made it through. He's a very small cat with tiny feet, but he's solid muscle. He begs food from the hotel guests and staff by being cute.
I sat on a bench to watch him. Any time anyone walked out the door or through the parking lot, especially men, Jasper'd run over with a tiny high-pitched "Meee, meeee", and walk next to them calling, roll on the ground in front of them, waving his paws in the air, duck down behind the curb with only his ears showing and one paw up patting the sidewalk, and so on. I noticed that about one in six men (but, oddly, not the women) would return in a few minutes with a piece of meat or cheese.
He skittered away from hands, allowed no one to touch him.
This doorway seemed to be the "break" gathering place, and as staff came out to sit for a while, they all expressed a wish that someone would adopt him, but no one had been able to catch him. A shelter wouldn't take him unless someone could catch him. Traps had been tried, but he was too suspicious.
I decided to catch him.
I went to a Target and bought a litter pan and some litter, some food in foil packets, a food dish and a water dispenser, and a carrier (animals were allowed in the hotel, so this was in case I caught him and would have him overnight. The receptionist on duty said she wouldn't charge me the surcharge if I could do it). By 8 pm he was eating next to my leg. By 9 pm I was petting him while he ate. By 10 pm I was able to run both hands all over his body, even without the food there. Around 11 pm I tried to pick him up and he freaked. At midnight one of the receptionists came out, and he walked over to her and allowed her to pet him. She was amazed. He'd never gotten that close before.
Then I picked him up and tried to put him into the carrier. I had the carrier standing up on end, and was going to lower him in tail first, but he seemed to know what the carrier was, and all four legs shot out to the sides, and I couldn't fit him in. It took another hour to regain his trust.
A little after 2 am he suddenly took off. I was checking out the next morning, so I figured I'd try again then.
The next morning, Sunday, I sat out there for a few hours, but he never showed. The staff women said he was rarely around in the morning. So I checked out and left with an empty carrier, and went to Daughter's.
She and Hercules have a little experience capturing feral cats, and Hercules said that we should get a dark laundry bag. The opening is larger than the carrier, and when the cat is in the bottom of the bag, being in a dark enclosed space seems to calm them. Then you can stuff the bag into the carrier, and the cat will get out of the bag on his own.
Sounded good to me.
So that evening, the three of us went back to the hotel, with leather gloves, a towel, and a black nylon laundry bag. We waited a very long time, and the kitty didn't show up. Daughter and Hercules gave up and decided to go home, and as I was hugging them goodbye, one of the housekeepers drove up, asked if I was looking for the cat, and said he was around the corner on the other side of the building. Sure enough, he was flirting with some guy sitting on the curb talking on a cell phone. I called, and he came. I gave him some food, and while he was eating, I got a good grip on his scruff.
That's an odd thing about cats. Even one who will not allow you to get a confining grip on his body, WILL allow you to get a good handful of scruff. Once past kittenhood, you should never actually pick a cat up by the scruff - it's very painful once their skin hardens and they put on weight - but grasping the scruff seems to actually be calming and comforting.
Once I could hold him in place by the scruff, Hercules picked him up with the gloves, and popped him into the bag held open by Daughter.
It was NOT calming!
Hercules went into mild shock. He was standing there holding a bag full of hurricane-whirled knives! It was pretty unbelievable. Within seconds, there were already rents appearing in the bag, in like twenty different spots. Daughter yelled "Put him on the grass! Put him on the grass1'. We laid the bag down, and I threw the towel over the bag, and crouched over it, holding Jasper still. We slid cat, bag, and towel into the carrier, pulled the towel out, and within seconds the cat was out of the bag. He attacked the door and tried to bite his way out, but then calmed down very quickly.
The housekeeper lady had gotten on the phone and spread the word, so by the time I left, half a dozen of the staff had come down to thank me and wish us luck.
He was very quiet in the car for the 2.5 hour drive home, even slept some.
My laundry room has a washer, dryer, and utility sink along one wall, next to the door to the garage, a half bath on the opposite wall, and shelves on the end wall. I decided that would be the best place to confine him.
When I let him out of the carrier, he wandered around a bit, spotted the shelves, and climbed straight up them as if they were stairs. He spent the night behind some boxes on the top shelf. By Monday morning he had moved to behind the washing machine, and except to eat some food and drink some water, and piddle in the middle of the floor (ignoring the litter box), most likely during the quiet of the night, he hasn't come out of there. I can see him if I lean between the sink and the washer, and he looks up at me with those big eyes, but there's no reaction to all my soft words. It's now Wednesday evening. I'm wondering if he will ever trust me enough to come out. I don't know where he's pooping, or even if he is. There's no odor.
Sigh.
The name "Jasper", by the way, I swear came from him. Naturally, when I was thinking I'd adopt him, I was thinking of names, even though I am a firm believer that a cat names him- or herself, if you wait a bit. But not usually in this fashion or this insistently. Several names ran through my mind. "Jasper" was NOT one of my ideas. "Jasper" jumped loudly into my mind from outside and wouldn't leave. Every time I considered another name, "Jasper" shouted it down. I don't even LIKE the name Jasper. If kitty insists that it's Jasper, that will go on his vet records, but I'll call him "Jazz".
And that was my weekend in NJ.
.
I haven't updated in DAYS! Busy. The previous post left off Saturday afternoon. After writing that post, I went for a walk on the roads around the hotel. I returned across a lawn behind the hotel, and met Jasper. Jasper changed all my plans for the next few days.
Jasper is an American shorthair gray tabby, white trim, round face with huge eyes and enormous curved and tufted lynx ears, spots on his back and stripes on his legs, probably about five months old. The housekeepers and reception desk women say he turned up at the hotel as a kitten just before the flooding (was that last April?), and they were amazed he made it through. He's a very small cat with tiny feet, but he's solid muscle. He begs food from the hotel guests and staff by being cute.
I sat on a bench to watch him. Any time anyone walked out the door or through the parking lot, especially men, Jasper'd run over with a tiny high-pitched "Meee, meeee", and walk next to them calling, roll on the ground in front of them, waving his paws in the air, duck down behind the curb with only his ears showing and one paw up patting the sidewalk, and so on. I noticed that about one in six men (but, oddly, not the women) would return in a few minutes with a piece of meat or cheese.
He skittered away from hands, allowed no one to touch him.
This doorway seemed to be the "break" gathering place, and as staff came out to sit for a while, they all expressed a wish that someone would adopt him, but no one had been able to catch him. A shelter wouldn't take him unless someone could catch him. Traps had been tried, but he was too suspicious.
I decided to catch him.
I went to a Target and bought a litter pan and some litter, some food in foil packets, a food dish and a water dispenser, and a carrier (animals were allowed in the hotel, so this was in case I caught him and would have him overnight. The receptionist on duty said she wouldn't charge me the surcharge if I could do it). By 8 pm he was eating next to my leg. By 9 pm I was petting him while he ate. By 10 pm I was able to run both hands all over his body, even without the food there. Around 11 pm I tried to pick him up and he freaked. At midnight one of the receptionists came out, and he walked over to her and allowed her to pet him. She was amazed. He'd never gotten that close before.
Then I picked him up and tried to put him into the carrier. I had the carrier standing up on end, and was going to lower him in tail first, but he seemed to know what the carrier was, and all four legs shot out to the sides, and I couldn't fit him in. It took another hour to regain his trust.
A little after 2 am he suddenly took off. I was checking out the next morning, so I figured I'd try again then.
The next morning, Sunday, I sat out there for a few hours, but he never showed. The staff women said he was rarely around in the morning. So I checked out and left with an empty carrier, and went to Daughter's.
She and Hercules have a little experience capturing feral cats, and Hercules said that we should get a dark laundry bag. The opening is larger than the carrier, and when the cat is in the bottom of the bag, being in a dark enclosed space seems to calm them. Then you can stuff the bag into the carrier, and the cat will get out of the bag on his own.
Sounded good to me.
So that evening, the three of us went back to the hotel, with leather gloves, a towel, and a black nylon laundry bag. We waited a very long time, and the kitty didn't show up. Daughter and Hercules gave up and decided to go home, and as I was hugging them goodbye, one of the housekeepers drove up, asked if I was looking for the cat, and said he was around the corner on the other side of the building. Sure enough, he was flirting with some guy sitting on the curb talking on a cell phone. I called, and he came. I gave him some food, and while he was eating, I got a good grip on his scruff.
That's an odd thing about cats. Even one who will not allow you to get a confining grip on his body, WILL allow you to get a good handful of scruff. Once past kittenhood, you should never actually pick a cat up by the scruff - it's very painful once their skin hardens and they put on weight - but grasping the scruff seems to actually be calming and comforting.
Once I could hold him in place by the scruff, Hercules picked him up with the gloves, and popped him into the bag held open by Daughter.
It was NOT calming!
Hercules went into mild shock. He was standing there holding a bag full of hurricane-whirled knives! It was pretty unbelievable. Within seconds, there were already rents appearing in the bag, in like twenty different spots. Daughter yelled "Put him on the grass! Put him on the grass1'. We laid the bag down, and I threw the towel over the bag, and crouched over it, holding Jasper still. We slid cat, bag, and towel into the carrier, pulled the towel out, and within seconds the cat was out of the bag. He attacked the door and tried to bite his way out, but then calmed down very quickly.
The housekeeper lady had gotten on the phone and spread the word, so by the time I left, half a dozen of the staff had come down to thank me and wish us luck.
He was very quiet in the car for the 2.5 hour drive home, even slept some.
My laundry room has a washer, dryer, and utility sink along one wall, next to the door to the garage, a half bath on the opposite wall, and shelves on the end wall. I decided that would be the best place to confine him.
When I let him out of the carrier, he wandered around a bit, spotted the shelves, and climbed straight up them as if they were stairs. He spent the night behind some boxes on the top shelf. By Monday morning he had moved to behind the washing machine, and except to eat some food and drink some water, and piddle in the middle of the floor (ignoring the litter box), most likely during the quiet of the night, he hasn't come out of there. I can see him if I lean between the sink and the washer, and he looks up at me with those big eyes, but there's no reaction to all my soft words. It's now Wednesday evening. I'm wondering if he will ever trust me enough to come out. I don't know where he's pooping, or even if he is. There's no odor.
Sigh.
The name "Jasper", by the way, I swear came from him. Naturally, when I was thinking I'd adopt him, I was thinking of names, even though I am a firm believer that a cat names him- or herself, if you wait a bit. But not usually in this fashion or this insistently. Several names ran through my mind. "Jasper" was NOT one of my ideas. "Jasper" jumped loudly into my mind from outside and wouldn't leave. Every time I considered another name, "Jasper" shouted it down. I don't even LIKE the name Jasper. If kitty insists that it's Jasper, that will go on his vet records, but I'll call him "Jazz".
And that was my weekend in NJ.
.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
1405 Dear Diary - Weekend in NJ Part 1
Saturday, July 28, 2007
So, Thursday I drove down, checked into hotel, went over to Daughter's, had dinner there, other Mother-in-law (K-Mom (I'm S-Mom)) arrived, chatter, natter, back to hotel, The Man arrived, talk, etc.
Friday, bye-bye to The Man, he went to work, Daughter was working until 2 pm, back to Daughter's in afternoon, play with kittens (Titus is batty. He's NEVER still!), chatter, natter.
Now, I thought we were going to the Monmouth County Fair Friday evening. A friend of Daughter was clogging that evening, and Daughter very much wanted to see her. I thought Hercules knew Daughter wanted to go to the fair. But sometime in the late afternoon, Hercules and his mother decided they wanted to see the Simpsons movie, and, so, we went to the movie. Daughter was very tired, having got little sleep during the week, and I was tired, having got little sleep the night before, and Daughter and I mostly slept through the movie. The fact that it was freezing in the theater contributed.
Movie review - if you're not a rabid Simpsons fan, forget it.
The theater was near where Daughter and Hercules are buying a house (a different house - the "ugly house" got to be too much of a hassle, this one is progressing much more quickly), so we went to look at the house. Couldn't go inside, the sellers still live there, but we walked around the neighborhood, which is much nicer than by the ugly house. It's about a block from Raritan Bay(?), so we then walked along the seawall along the bay, too. Very nice. (Quite a hike on rock and broken concrete in high heeled sandals, by the way.)
Then dinner. The waiter forgot to bring half our food (forgot Hercules' french fries, K-Mom's coffee, Daughter's salad, and my soup, and I'm not exaggerating!), and we had to wrestle him to the ground to get the check, and never did catch him to pay the tab - I had to go into the bar and threaten mayhem if someone didn't take my money, NOW!
So we never made it to the fair.
Daughter had requested that I come this weekend. So here I am. Surprise - they're registered in a race this morning, and the three of them are going to an upstate conference (on a topic I don't care to go to) this afternoon and evening, staying over in a hotel there tonight. I guess Daughter thought I could amuse myself with The Man today and tonight. Of course, nobody told me ahead of time, so nobody told him, and he's someone you have to schedule way ahead of time, so here I sit. I brought some books and movie DVDs. Friday morning The Man said I really have to see Sicko, and I mentioned it to Hercules, and he, um, had a copy, which he copied for me, so that's my plans for the evening.
Tomorrow I'll check out, visit the kids a bit more, and then head home.
And I'm drinking The Man's beer. Strange. I don't drink beer.
.
So, Thursday I drove down, checked into hotel, went over to Daughter's, had dinner there, other Mother-in-law (K-Mom (I'm S-Mom)) arrived, chatter, natter, back to hotel, The Man arrived, talk, etc.
Friday, bye-bye to The Man, he went to work, Daughter was working until 2 pm, back to Daughter's in afternoon, play with kittens (Titus is batty. He's NEVER still!), chatter, natter.
Now, I thought we were going to the Monmouth County Fair Friday evening. A friend of Daughter was clogging that evening, and Daughter very much wanted to see her. I thought Hercules knew Daughter wanted to go to the fair. But sometime in the late afternoon, Hercules and his mother decided they wanted to see the Simpsons movie, and, so, we went to the movie. Daughter was very tired, having got little sleep during the week, and I was tired, having got little sleep the night before, and Daughter and I mostly slept through the movie. The fact that it was freezing in the theater contributed.
Movie review - if you're not a rabid Simpsons fan, forget it.
The theater was near where Daughter and Hercules are buying a house (a different house - the "ugly house" got to be too much of a hassle, this one is progressing much more quickly), so we went to look at the house. Couldn't go inside, the sellers still live there, but we walked around the neighborhood, which is much nicer than by the ugly house. It's about a block from Raritan Bay(?), so we then walked along the seawall along the bay, too. Very nice. (Quite a hike on rock and broken concrete in high heeled sandals, by the way.)
Then dinner. The waiter forgot to bring half our food (forgot Hercules' french fries, K-Mom's coffee, Daughter's salad, and my soup, and I'm not exaggerating!), and we had to wrestle him to the ground to get the check, and never did catch him to pay the tab - I had to go into the bar and threaten mayhem if someone didn't take my money, NOW!
So we never made it to the fair.
Daughter had requested that I come this weekend. So here I am. Surprise - they're registered in a race this morning, and the three of them are going to an upstate conference (on a topic I don't care to go to) this afternoon and evening, staying over in a hotel there tonight. I guess Daughter thought I could amuse myself with The Man today and tonight. Of course, nobody told me ahead of time, so nobody told him, and he's someone you have to schedule way ahead of time, so here I sit. I brought some books and movie DVDs. Friday morning The Man said I really have to see Sicko, and I mentioned it to Hercules, and he, um, had a copy, which he copied for me, so that's my plans for the evening.
Tomorrow I'll check out, visit the kids a bit more, and then head home.
And I'm drinking The Man's beer. Strange. I don't drink beer.
.
1404 Not Goodbye
Saturday, July 28, 2007
[Later - edited out parts which do not belong to me.]
The Man reserved a suite for us in a Residence Inn near Daughter's home. Livingroom, bedroom, kitchen, bath. We had an opportunity for lots of talk on Thursday and Friday, and I'm feeling a bit better about him. After my experience with Roman I am extremely "gun-shy" about being played, and I had been feeling neglected, which leads to feeling used, and I was fully prepared to tell him I didn't want to see him any more.
It's not like he convinced me otherwise. I haven't been sold a bill of goods. He explained what his priorities have been lately, and why, and I completely understand. He also said that those priorities were unlikely to change in the near future, and I would have to make my own decision as to whether I could accept that or not, but he couldn't do much about it.
Now that I understand a little bit about what's been going on with him, I can accept it. (I think he could at least do a better job of letting me know what's going on, so I'm not left to draw my own conclusions, but he's very reluctant to dump complaints and problems on others.) That doesn't mean everything is wonderful, but it's at least sort of ok. I guess. I'm willing to give it a little more time and patience. He doesn't need me chewing on his backside, too.
What's bugging me now is that I could alleviate at least one of his problems, and he probably knows that. I respect that he hasn't asked. If he did, it would probably scare me off. We're not "there" yet. It bothers me a little that I'm reluctant to volunteer, too. I don't know him well enough to know whether he'd be grateful or offended.
And I don't know which I'd prefer.
.
[Later - edited out parts which do not belong to me.]
The Man reserved a suite for us in a Residence Inn near Daughter's home. Livingroom, bedroom, kitchen, bath. We had an opportunity for lots of talk on Thursday and Friday, and I'm feeling a bit better about him. After my experience with Roman I am extremely "gun-shy" about being played, and I had been feeling neglected, which leads to feeling used, and I was fully prepared to tell him I didn't want to see him any more.
It's not like he convinced me otherwise. I haven't been sold a bill of goods. He explained what his priorities have been lately, and why, and I completely understand. He also said that those priorities were unlikely to change in the near future, and I would have to make my own decision as to whether I could accept that or not, but he couldn't do much about it.
Now that I understand a little bit about what's been going on with him, I can accept it. (I think he could at least do a better job of letting me know what's going on, so I'm not left to draw my own conclusions, but he's very reluctant to dump complaints and problems on others.) That doesn't mean everything is wonderful, but it's at least sort of ok. I guess. I'm willing to give it a little more time and patience. He doesn't need me chewing on his backside, too.
What's bugging me now is that I could alleviate at least one of his problems, and he probably knows that. I respect that he hasn't asked. If he did, it would probably scare me off. We're not "there" yet. It bothers me a little that I'm reluctant to volunteer, too. I don't know him well enough to know whether he'd be grateful or offended.
And I don't know which I'd prefer.
.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
1403 'Nother Duh
There was a story on TV news tonight about a town's testing of their emergency warning sirens.
It reminded me of The Company's tests: "Blaaaaap! This is a test of the emergency announcement system. If you cannot hear this message, call extension xxxx."
Duh?
A bunch of us decided to call every half hour on a day they didn't do the test, and tell them we didn't hear the message. It took them a few rounds to "get it".
.
It reminded me of The Company's tests: "Blaaaaap! This is a test of the emergency announcement system. If you cannot hear this message, call extension xxxx."
Duh?
A bunch of us decided to call every half hour on a day they didn't do the test, and tell them we didn't hear the message. It took them a few rounds to "get it".
.
1402 Caca-phony
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
I'm working through the to do list. Paid bills, set the recorder, cleaned the litter box, wrapped and mailed a birthday present, bought groceries (mostly cat food), packed a suitcase (except for the clothes), watered all the plants, updated the calendar, copied some CDs, printed off some lists. I still have to do laundry, wash dishes, and clean out the car.
------------------------------------
I like my new TVs, but there's a problem.
I often have four on at the same time, in the kitchen (digital), livingroom (analog), bedroom (analog), and den (digital), so that as I move around the house I can listen or glance if anything interesting is on and not miss much.
The problem is that the digital broadcast is four seconds behind the analog.
Cacophony.
Not pleasant.
.
I'm working through the to do list. Paid bills, set the recorder, cleaned the litter box, wrapped and mailed a birthday present, bought groceries (mostly cat food), packed a suitcase (except for the clothes), watered all the plants, updated the calendar, copied some CDs, printed off some lists. I still have to do laundry, wash dishes, and clean out the car.
------------------------------------
I like my new TVs, but there's a problem.
I often have four on at the same time, in the kitchen (digital), livingroom (analog), bedroom (analog), and den (digital), so that as I move around the house I can listen or glance if anything interesting is on and not miss much.
The problem is that the digital broadcast is four seconds behind the analog.
Cacophony.
Not pleasant.
.
1401 Warning
This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:
- murder (5x)
- hell (4x)
- sex (3x)
- xxx (2x)
- steal (1x)
Harumph! I'm insulted!
I was hoping for at least an "X".
[Later: Good Grief! "Girl with a one-track mind" got a PG!!!!! She's cleaner than I am? This is very very wrong!]
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
1400 Priorities, Blah
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
I'm supposed to be doing laundry and paying bills so I can go to the museum tomorrow, and to New Jersey Thursday.
Instead, I've spent much of the evening writing emails. I wanted to peruse Steve-in-England's websites, and then fill him in on my past 20-plus years. Unfortunately, I think more than I write, and I write slowly. (If I wrote everything I thought, recalling the past twenty years, the email would be a novel.) And I couldn't spend all that time on him without also paying attention to more immediate friends.
I've been typing a lot today. I'm surprised my fingernails haven't worn down.
I think I'm going to have to go to the museum on Monday.
.
I'm supposed to be doing laundry and paying bills so I can go to the museum tomorrow, and to New Jersey Thursday.
Instead, I've spent much of the evening writing emails. I wanted to peruse Steve-in-England's websites, and then fill him in on my past 20-plus years. Unfortunately, I think more than I write, and I write slowly. (If I wrote everything I thought, recalling the past twenty years, the email would be a novel.) And I couldn't spend all that time on him without also paying attention to more immediate friends.
I've been typing a lot today. I'm surprised my fingernails haven't worn down.
I think I'm going to have to go to the museum on Monday.
.
1399 Shopping
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
My ears are not pierced, so I don't wear expensive earrings (I worry about them falling off, although in my entire life I have lost only one earring, and I wasn't even wearing it at the time it escaped), and it's getting harder and harder to find decent clip earrings. They don't exist in local stores, except for that one rack in the el-cheapo store.
When I decide I need a particular color or style, I shop on eBay for them, or the online antique and vintage stores.
Well, three weeks ago I bought a beautiful rose satin jacket, and I decided that the perfect thing to wear under it would be a black sequined tube top. I hit virtually every clothing store in two counties-worth of malls, and no one can even remember seeing one in ages.
I gave up.
About the same time I had bought a pink satin Chinese blouse, and decided I needed pink pearl earrings to wear with it. Found two pair (one stud, one dangle) on eBay - nice, real pearls, and inexpensive.
Did YOU make the connection?
I can't believe it took so long for my lightbulb to go on.
I found six black sequined tube tops on eBay, and six more in online vintage and dance supply stores.
Duh.
.
My ears are not pierced, so I don't wear expensive earrings (I worry about them falling off, although in my entire life I have lost only one earring, and I wasn't even wearing it at the time it escaped), and it's getting harder and harder to find decent clip earrings. They don't exist in local stores, except for that one rack in the el-cheapo store.
When I decide I need a particular color or style, I shop on eBay for them, or the online antique and vintage stores.
Well, three weeks ago I bought a beautiful rose satin jacket, and I decided that the perfect thing to wear under it would be a black sequined tube top. I hit virtually every clothing store in two counties-worth of malls, and no one can even remember seeing one in ages.
I gave up.
About the same time I had bought a pink satin Chinese blouse, and decided I needed pink pearl earrings to wear with it. Found two pair (one stud, one dangle) on eBay - nice, real pearls, and inexpensive.
Did YOU make the connection?
I can't believe it took so long for my lightbulb to go on.
I found six black sequined tube tops on eBay, and six more in online vintage and dance supply stores.
Duh.
.
Monday, July 23, 2007
1398 Blam!
Monday, July 23, 2007
This is a video of a bunch of guys shooting, and recoil blows them across the room. [Feeds may not show the video - click on the post title to see it.]
I was reminded of the time the guys on the rifle range at the base gave me a big one. It was so heavy and my arms were so short I couldn't hold it up. I kept tipping forward. So they had me lie on my stomach on the gravel to shoot it.
This was 1961. No sissy ear protection. I was 16 years old, and weighed about 103 lbs.
It threw me three feet back on my belly, skidding, skinned up my elbows, thighs, and hip bones really badly, dislocated my collarbone, and left my ears ringing for a week. I've been a tad hard of hearing in my right ear ever since.
But I hit the target ... and decided not to take up elephant hunting.
.
This is a video of a bunch of guys shooting, and recoil blows them across the room. [Feeds may not show the video - click on the post title to see it.]
I was reminded of the time the guys on the rifle range at the base gave me a big one. It was so heavy and my arms were so short I couldn't hold it up. I kept tipping forward. So they had me lie on my stomach on the gravel to shoot it.
This was 1961. No sissy ear protection. I was 16 years old, and weighed about 103 lbs.
It threw me three feet back on my belly, skidding, skinned up my elbows, thighs, and hip bones really badly, dislocated my collarbone, and left my ears ringing for a week. I've been a tad hard of hearing in my right ear ever since.
But I hit the target ... and decided not to take up elephant hunting.
.
1397 Phone Change
Monday, July 23, 2007
I got some business done this morning. I am so proud of myself! (Yeah, sarcasm.)
I have reservations for my visit to Daughter this coming weekend.
I called and reserved tickets for a show in August.
I called and cancelled the old ISP, now that I've had the highspeed link for about a month and it seems to be working.
I called and cancelled the second house line.
I called and changed the telephone service on the remaining main house line to one which provides unlimited free nationwide long distance, and includes call waiting, caller id, and transfer of calls to my cell phone - all for less than I'd been paying for regular service on the two lines.
Life is good.
------------------------------------
In the previous post I'd mentioned the lawyer I had dated briefly in February of 2006. He had given me his family homepage URL, so after thinking about it a bit ("Wonder what he's doing now?") I looked him up. No, it's NOT stalking! Not the same thing at all. He put himself out there so that people could look! He expects and welcomes it.
Well, I got a bit of a surprise.
I had told him back then that I was going to be very slow and cautious about getting into physical involvement, and I told him why. He didn't react well to that. I figured that he just wanted someone to sleep with RIGHT NOW!, and that's why. That turned me off. It turns out on his side it might have been more subtle, that he saw himself in my story and realized he wasn't ready, that he could be unfair to me. In fact, he said "I guess I'm not really ready", and I agreed. But I was thinking about the divorce hangover and the shingles.
His site is mostly photos, and there's a lot more there now than back when. Almost all of them are of him and a woman, on vacation, at events, having fun, snuggling. Photos from long before we met, and from long after.
It looks like he had and has a long-term relationship, and he must have started up with me during perhaps a small disagreement, "on a break".
Thank you, Mr. Lawyer, for not involving me in a triangle. Your lady is very pretty, you look happy (I notice the additional pounds), and I hope you'll remember next time you have a spat - don't go looking for someone else until you're sure it's over. With luck and communication, maybe it won't be over.
.
I got some business done this morning. I am so proud of myself! (Yeah, sarcasm.)
I have reservations for my visit to Daughter this coming weekend.
I called and reserved tickets for a show in August.
I called and cancelled the old ISP, now that I've had the highspeed link for about a month and it seems to be working.
I called and cancelled the second house line.
I called and changed the telephone service on the remaining main house line to one which provides unlimited free nationwide long distance, and includes call waiting, caller id, and transfer of calls to my cell phone - all for less than I'd been paying for regular service on the two lines.
Life is good.
------------------------------------
In the previous post I'd mentioned the lawyer I had dated briefly in February of 2006. He had given me his family homepage URL, so after thinking about it a bit ("Wonder what he's doing now?") I looked him up. No, it's NOT stalking! Not the same thing at all. He put himself out there so that people could look! He expects and welcomes it.
Well, I got a bit of a surprise.
I had told him back then that I was going to be very slow and cautious about getting into physical involvement, and I told him why. He didn't react well to that. I figured that he just wanted someone to sleep with RIGHT NOW!, and that's why. That turned me off. It turns out on his side it might have been more subtle, that he saw himself in my story and realized he wasn't ready, that he could be unfair to me. In fact, he said "I guess I'm not really ready", and I agreed. But I was thinking about the divorce hangover and the shingles.
His site is mostly photos, and there's a lot more there now than back when. Almost all of them are of him and a woman, on vacation, at events, having fun, snuggling. Photos from long before we met, and from long after.
It looks like he had and has a long-term relationship, and he must have started up with me during perhaps a small disagreement, "on a break".
Thank you, Mr. Lawyer, for not involving me in a triangle. Your lady is very pretty, you look happy (I notice the additional pounds), and I hope you'll remember next time you have a spat - don't go looking for someone else until you're sure it's over. With luck and communication, maybe it won't be over.
.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
1396 Sunday
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Today I touched up my roots - that "Jay Leno" patch right at the top of my forehead.
Then I headed for Phonecia (finally). The store has my name, number, and request stuck right above the cash register. They hadn't called because a new delivery hadn't come in. I got the card with the manager's name and the store number, so I'll have to call to see if they can special-order for me.
Returning home I decided to turn onto route 212 to Woodstock. I've been very surprised at how low the water level is everywhere, it seems like we've had a lot of rain, more rainy days than sunny, and I wanted to look at Cooper Lake. Rte. 212 from Mt. Tremper to Bearsville is a nice drive. It winds back and forth across the (almost empty) creek, and there are beautiful views of the mountains.
At one point near the hamlet of Willow, I saw cars parked all along the road, and I wondered what was going on. That reminded me that Barushka's Tribal Bonfire Hafla was today. I briefly considered going straight home to get the directions and then heading to the hafla, but it's way the heck down by New Paltz, and I was starting to feel guilty about how much I have to do and how little I've been accomplishing, and I just decided to stay home. I suspect I missed a good evening. It was good last year, when it poured, forcing everyone to cram into a large carport.
I took the circuit around the Cooper Lake. It was a bit low, but not as bad as others.
I went on through Woodstock. There was some kind of protest demonstration going on at the village green, and it look like they had a drum circle. I wanted to stop, but there were no parking spaces anywhere.
From there I took county 32 down to Kingston. I have often driven that road at night, in the winter, in snow, after a drink or two, and I was just fine with it. So it always amazes me when I drive it in daylight. Man, that's a scary road! It must have been laid out by a snake. I guess the difference is that at night I drive it a lot slower, so I don't notice the curves as much.
Instead of taking 9W to the bridge, on impulse I took a backroad that dumped me onto state 32, thence to the bridge and home.
------------------------------------
On the show "Survivor", the last three survivors "do the torch tour", visiting the torches of everyone who had been eliminated, and remembering them.
Today was almost like a torch tour for me.
Looking at the Esopus near Phonecia reminded me of a guy I knew in the early 80's, Steve. He was in Kingston on an international assignment with The Company. He returned to England and got married. When Daughter and I were in England in the late 80s we tried to get together (Daughter and I were on a narrowboat on the canals, moving around a lot), but there was a lot of phone tag and it didn't happen. I wondered what happened to him.
Then Cooper Lake reminded me of one of my online dates. He was a retired lawyer. We had a few dates, but I was still smarting from male betrayal, and he was suffering from a nasty divorce and a bad case of shingles, and neither of us was very good company. He had taken me to Cooper's Lake and said that he liked to sit on the bank and read. Today was one of the few nice days we've had lately, and when I passed the spot he liked, I thought of him. I wondered what had happened to him. It's more than a year later. I wouldn't mind meeting him again. I know where he lives, and where he has his coffee and paper on nice mornings, but ... no ....
Driving down county 32, I passed a building lot on the side of a mountain, next to the creek, that Jay loved. He had tried to buy it when he first arrived in NY from Texas, but the seller, although willing to sell, had all kinds of legal problems, and after six months of haggling, Jay gave up and bought this lot. But the other was always his first choice, and every time we passed it, he mourned it. Well, I know what happened to him.
I turned off 9w onto the back road on impulse, mainly because I hadn't been down that road in more than 30 years. The apartment where Raleigh lived is still there. I didn't think it would be. He was the first guy I seriously dated in this area after leaving Ex#1, way back in 1968. He was from North Carolina by way of Chicago. The romance ended when I discovered he had a wife and three kids still in Chicago. I wondered what happened to him.
Perhaps a half mile down the road was the apartment of a friend of Raleigh's, who made like he wanted to comfort me, but then attempted to rape me. I don't much care what happened to him.
I am the survivor. So many others are gone. All those burned-out torches.
------------------------------
I was curious, so when I got home, I Googled Steve. I found him! There're five or six folks with his name, but there was only one whose Google blurb mentioned England, and The Company. His homepage has him still in England, still in love with his lady, still working for The Company, and that's sure enough his picture. I sent off an email, and got an immediate reply! How cool is that? He was happy to hear from me. We've got some catching up to do.
So then, curiosity, I tried for Raleigh. He has a rather unusual but charming name, but even so, I didn't expect to find him. I didn't. I did find a young man with the same name, quite the athlete, the location fits, and the kid looks just like the original. Lighter complexion, but the same face. Interesting. I wonder....
One of the five cold torches has been relit, and it's a good one.
That's pretty durn neat.
.
1395 Van Setback
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Roman had said that he always makes copies of CDs to take in the car, never the originals. Until this laptop arrived, that was difficult for me, but last night I made some copies of favorites and it was easy.
A CD that The Man had made for me works on the PC, the house player, and in ONE of the vehicles, but won't play in the other (I forget which). So after I burned the CDs last night, I took them outside and tried them in the Aerio and the minivan. They worked.
However - I haven't driven the minivan in a little over a week, and it was fine then. Last night when I started it, the "check engine" light went on.
Not again. Please not again! Not after thousands of dollars, rental cars, and the forced purchase of the Aerio last year.
I opened and tightened the gas cap, and we'll see if that fixes it.
.
Roman had said that he always makes copies of CDs to take in the car, never the originals. Until this laptop arrived, that was difficult for me, but last night I made some copies of favorites and it was easy.
A CD that The Man had made for me works on the PC, the house player, and in ONE of the vehicles, but won't play in the other (I forget which). So after I burned the CDs last night, I took them outside and tried them in the Aerio and the minivan. They worked.
However - I haven't driven the minivan in a little over a week, and it was fine then. Last night when I started it, the "check engine" light went on.
Not again. Please not again! Not after thousands of dollars, rental cars, and the forced purchase of the Aerio last year.
I opened and tightened the gas cap, and we'll see if that fixes it.
.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
1394 Wednesday's Play
I found some production photos from the performance of As You Like It at Boscobel. Go to http://www.hvshakespeare.org/pg2007/hv-ayli07.asp. You can see what I mean about using the lawn outside the tent. Note the river view beyond.
The center photo shows the "sheep".
The last photo shows the arch of the tent through which you can see the outside.
.
The center photo shows the "sheep".
The last photo shows the arch of the tent through which you can see the outside.
.
1393 Harry
Saturday, July 21, 2007
I saw something rather interesting on the news last night. A reporter was in the storage room of a bookstore. He pointed at sealed boxes containing the new Harry Potter book, with date warnings all over them. The sellers are not allowed to open the boxes until midnight.
Then the reporter reached to a shelf, and picked up an un-boxed copy of the audio version. No fancy protection there. Then he picked up (horrors!) a BOOK! A regular copy of the book. He flipped the pages and everything. Even peeked at the ending! How did this book escape the sealed box?
It was a library edition. They have stronger spines. No explanation as to why it wasn't protected like the others.
Don't those sealed cartons seem even sillier, now?
A friend asked why so many people are so anxious to get the first copies as soon as they're released. She wonders why it's so important to be first.
I can answer that. Anyone who has walked around at work the day after an important sporting event with their fingers in their ears, because they'd recorded it and hadn't watched it yet, will understand. Knowing the ending ahead of time will spoil the story. They want it fresh.
So, I understand the Potter campers, although it's not something I would do.
What I DON'T understand is the people who camped out for the iPhone. Now THAT's just plain stupid.
.
I saw something rather interesting on the news last night. A reporter was in the storage room of a bookstore. He pointed at sealed boxes containing the new Harry Potter book, with date warnings all over them. The sellers are not allowed to open the boxes until midnight.
Then the reporter reached to a shelf, and picked up an un-boxed copy of the audio version. No fancy protection there. Then he picked up (horrors!) a BOOK! A regular copy of the book. He flipped the pages and everything. Even peeked at the ending! How did this book escape the sealed box?
It was a library edition. They have stronger spines. No explanation as to why it wasn't protected like the others.
Don't those sealed cartons seem even sillier, now?
A friend asked why so many people are so anxious to get the first copies as soon as they're released. She wonders why it's so important to be first.
I can answer that. Anyone who has walked around at work the day after an important sporting event with their fingers in their ears, because they'd recorded it and hadn't watched it yet, will understand. Knowing the ending ahead of time will spoil the story. They want it fresh.
So, I understand the Potter campers, although it's not something I would do.
What I DON'T understand is the people who camped out for the iPhone. Now THAT's just plain stupid.
.
1392 Dear Diary - Friday
Saturday, July 21, 2007
For more, go to YouTube, and search on "Dahlia Wasfi". I hear, understand, and agree with much of what she says - but - how do we fix it? Having created this mess, can we just drop it and walk away?
Want protection from terrorists? I like Scott Adams's solution, http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/2007/06/my_newest_impra.html. It makes perfect sense, the RIGHT thing to do, the way I want us to be. If you believe in God, as our administration claims to, doesn't this sound it what He would want?
Pass it on.
.
Of course I had plans for Friday. I needed to see Piper, and to go to the bank, then to Phonecia (quite a long drive) because a store there was going to try to find or special-order a certain gift for me, and they were to call me last week about it. They didn't, and of course I don't know the name of the store to call them. So I have to go. And I had a slip from the post office that I had to come in a pick up a package. Then I wanted to put together the stuff to go to the recycle center this morning, and water houseplants before they all die.
I didn't get any of it done. Instead, I got six phone calls, a few of them very long (including one very satisfying hour+ late afternoon call from Daughter in which we really talked about relationships and stuff without any rancor at all). The first call was from Piper, about our getting together, and the third was from Piper saying that there was a family crisis and he was leaving his office for the day, so it was easy to write off going to the bank, too. And I can always go to Phonecia today or tomorrow. Sigh. After the phone calls, I had some online research to do and some emails to write, and then I fell into the internet trap and forgot all about the recycle stuff and the plants.
So I was left with great and ambitious plans for today.
I wanted to get up early and get the recycle together (lots of cardboard to be cut up, stacked, and tied), because the center is open only until 1 pm. At 11 am, the phone rang and woke me. So much for getting up early. I guess it helps if one remembers to set the alarm. It was Piper, saying he was in the office today. I was there within 20 minutes, dressed and toothbrushed, but sans shower or makeup. By the time we finished business, it was a few minutes to noon, so there was no point in trying for the bank. We had a small lunch, then I did make it to the post office, where I picked up an eBay win (an estate sale, mine was the only bid - 100 inches of individually knotted 8mm naturally pink cultured pearls, for less than $22 including shipping. Heavy! I may have to have it broken up into three necklaces.)
By the time I would get home and properly cleaned up and presentable, it would be too late to go to Phoenicia - the store closes at 5, but the person I need to speak to leaves earlier. And I wonder why I never get anything done. I remember when I was a single mother with a more-than-full-time job. Or when Jay was sick, and I accomplished so much in so little free time (except, of course, all the plants died) . I don't understand. I guess it's kinda like programming - "code expands to fill all available storage". Don't ask me to explain how that applies. Somehow, in my mind, it does.
--------------------------------------
Daughter and Hercules have captured another kitten, a sister of kitten Titus. Titus was difficult and time-consuming to tame, but Daughter says this one, a female, and of course older now, was purring and stretching her neck out for tentative petting right away. I wondered if the presence of her brother may have reassured her, but Daughter says he spits and growls at her, so she doesn't think so.
---------------------------------------
Have you ever wondered what it looks like inside the Large Hadron Collider at CERN? Go to http://petermccready.com/portfolio/05091901.html. Don't forget to look left and right, up and down. There are eight photos, click on the right arrow. I knew someone who had worked there, and he said that the workers get around on bicycles, so I was amused to see some bikes.
----------------------------------------
If you've considered costuming your dog for Halloween, or just to get attention on the street, here's an idea: http://www.scaryideas.com/print/2889/. With some adaptation, it could work for a person, too, but where do you get a rubber crocodile?
----------------------------------------
I went to Amazon.com last night and tried to buy Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" CD. The average price, new or used, was $54.77. Ack! It's a simple single CD. Why the high price? Gee, at that price there must be enormous demand, so you'd think they'd reissue it. I ended up getting "St Elsewhere" instead.
-----------------------------------------
I read somewhere that left-handed people on average are faster touch-typists than right-handed people. In my experience they're generally better lovers ... oops, off topic. Um, oh yeah. At first I could see some sense there, because the spatial centers are on the right side of the brain, and the right hand is controlled by the left side, so a right-hander has a delay coordinating the hand and spatial sense that the left-hander doesn't.
But! On second thought, that doesn't hold up as an advantage in typing because BOTH hands are employed. Unless the left hand does more work?
------------------------------------------
Everyone needs to hear this. Its the other side of the story.
For more, go to YouTube, and search on "Dahlia Wasfi". I hear, understand, and agree with much of what she says - but - how do we fix it? Having created this mess, can we just drop it and walk away?
Want protection from terrorists? I like Scott Adams's solution, http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/2007/06/my_newest_impra.html. It makes perfect sense, the RIGHT thing to do, the way I want us to be. If you believe in God, as our administration claims to, doesn't this sound it what He would want?
Pass it on.
.
Friday, July 20, 2007
1391 Migraine
Friday, July 20, 2007
I won't be able to log Friday today. I just started a silent migraine, and in a few minutes, and for the next perhaps hour, I won't be able to see any detail - and I'm not a touch typist, so that's awkward.
No sympathy - there's no pain with an silent migraine, just a dull ache behind the right eye.
.
I won't be able to log Friday today. I just started a silent migraine, and in a few minutes, and for the next perhaps hour, I won't be able to see any detail - and I'm not a touch typist, so that's awkward.
No sympathy - there's no pain with an silent migraine, just a dull ache behind the right eye.
.
1390 Dear Diary - Thursday
Friday, July 20, 2007
Catching up on the diary entries. Thursday I attempted to visit Piper, to give him the stock sales check, but he wasn't in his office. I did some minor household shopping, and not much of anything else.
In the evening I went to the Third Thursday dinner. Last month it was just Roman and me. Last night we had a decent group - a new guy named John, The Ditz, Tom and his new wife, Roman and me. Not a crowd, but better than two.
We had warned FW that The Ditz would be there, in case she was planning to attend. The Ditz really surprised me last night. She was reasonable and rational, didn't say anything outrageous or stupid involving ethnic groups or bombs or horoscopes, and didn't mention Roman's girlfriend at all. She usually makes sure she mentions her at least once whenever she sees me and Roman in the same place. As far as I know, she doesn't yet know that they have broken up. Odd. Roman and I called it quits a over year ago, but she continued to take it upon herself to pick at the scab for the whole past year, so I have to wonder why not last night.
The horoscope thing was especially significant, because Tom was there. Tom reacts violently to any suggestion of belief in any superstition. This being a Chinese buffet, the placemats have the Chinese zodiac, and she ALWAYS asks everyone at the table what their symbol is, and Tom always gets mad - doubly so because she doesn't seem to recall having asked him a dozen times before, and doesn't remember his violent reaction every time. She didn't study the placemat last night. Didn't even look at it. Mostly she talked about her vacation on the Delta Queen, from New Orleans to St. Louis in 10 days, and about investments. She sounded sane.
Now I have to wonder how much of her ditziness is fake.
When I got home I watched a show I'd recorded while I was out (ok, Big Brother, if you must know, shut up - it was DVD-setting practice!), and went to bed at a decent hour.
.
Catching up on the diary entries. Thursday I attempted to visit Piper, to give him the stock sales check, but he wasn't in his office. I did some minor household shopping, and not much of anything else.
In the evening I went to the Third Thursday dinner. Last month it was just Roman and me. Last night we had a decent group - a new guy named John, The Ditz, Tom and his new wife, Roman and me. Not a crowd, but better than two.
We had warned FW that The Ditz would be there, in case she was planning to attend. The Ditz really surprised me last night. She was reasonable and rational, didn't say anything outrageous or stupid involving ethnic groups or bombs or horoscopes, and didn't mention Roman's girlfriend at all. She usually makes sure she mentions her at least once whenever she sees me and Roman in the same place. As far as I know, she doesn't yet know that they have broken up. Odd. Roman and I called it quits a over year ago, but she continued to take it upon herself to pick at the scab for the whole past year, so I have to wonder why not last night.
The horoscope thing was especially significant, because Tom was there. Tom reacts violently to any suggestion of belief in any superstition. This being a Chinese buffet, the placemats have the Chinese zodiac, and she ALWAYS asks everyone at the table what their symbol is, and Tom always gets mad - doubly so because she doesn't seem to recall having asked him a dozen times before, and doesn't remember his violent reaction every time. She didn't study the placemat last night. Didn't even look at it. Mostly she talked about her vacation on the Delta Queen, from New Orleans to St. Louis in 10 days, and about investments. She sounded sane.
Now I have to wonder how much of her ditziness is fake.
When I got home I watched a show I'd recorded while I was out (ok, Big Brother, if you must know, shut up - it was DVD-setting practice!), and went to bed at a decent hour.
.
1389 Dear Diary - Wednesday
Friday, July 20, 2007
I haven't been keeping up the diary function the past few days. I've been filling the ether with trivia, the "I'm alive and relatively rational" function. Usually when I do that it's because I am avoiding addressing some issue, but that isn't the case here. I just haven't taken the time.
I have to go all the way back to Wednesday, and I'm already forgetting what may have happened Wednesday morning and afternoon. Nothing noteworthy, apparently....
Wednesday evening was Shakespeare, "As You Like It", at Boscobel. Boscobel is a 200-year-old mansion on the Hudson River, across from West Point. Every summer the grounds host the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival. The performances are held in a huge turreted tent (here - scroll down a bit, photo on the left, also do click to see the video). The dirt-floored stage is in the center of the tent with tiered seating around three sides, and the cast also makes excellent use of the lawn outside the tent. The view of the lawns and the river is framed perfectly by the arch of the tent opening.
FW had set it all up as a Mensa outing back in May, but the only people to respond immediately (and separately) were Roman and me. I think because on the weekends the tickets are very expensive (Mensans are not generally noted for financial success, or if they do have it, they certainly don't like to spend it), and during the week everybody else works. Anyway, FW bought the tickets very early, which distressed me a bit because I had planned to invite a friend from NJ, it would be only an hour's drive for him and entirely possible (though not probable) and worth at least a try, but FW said that seats were assigned, and a later ticket purchase would probably not be near us.
Which would make things extremely awkward if I wanted to sit with my NJ friend.
FW doesn't especially like Roman, which complicates matters, I couldn't abandon them to each other (although on his side there is no animosity, and they are always civil to each other). So I didn't invite my friend. Then, a few days ago, there had been an FW-Roman explosion, soothed over but still remembered, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to sit between them for the entire evening, being unsure how things would go.
As it turned out, there were several seats open on either side of us, so I could have issued my invitation after all. Me Sad. And the two of them were quite pleasant to each other. Me Happy.
The original plan had been a picnic on the grounds 2 hours before "curtain" (there being no actual curtain), but it had rained earlier in the day and looked like it might rain more, so the picnic was cancelled. So Roman and I met for dinner in Poughkeepsie, and then headed to Cold Spring. We got there early, so we were able to visit the gardens and marvel at the river view before FW joined us and we went to the tent.
Roman had warned me that although the actors adhere strictly to the bard's words, stage directions, props, and costumes might be from an entirely different era.
Yup.
They did "As You Like It" as a western.
Imagine Shakespearean English in a Western drawl.
Archery and sword fights were accomplished using rifles, knives, and pistols. People thundered up riding Monty Python horses. The shepherdess's sheep were actors on hands and knees with mops on their heads.
It was fun. I enjoyed it.
It didn't rain, but it was so damp that when I took my jacket off the back of the seat, it felt like it needed wringing out. By the end of the play, fog had moved in, so that as the actors went out onto the lawn to exit, they disappeared. My hair, pulled into a pony tail, was a mass of fuzz, standing out three inches from my scalp even where it was pulled back.
As I drove home up the river, the fog got thicker, and just about when I was starting to worry, six miles from home, the fog suddenly stopped, like a line had been drawn across the road. At my driveway, it was perfectly clear.
Dark. The trees around the house were full of fireflies, more than I usually see. They looked like tiny Christmas lights. When I looked up higher, the sky was full of stars, the Milky Way was broad and dense. As I was looking up, a meteorite crossed the sky below the Milky Way. I waited, and there was another.
I have to say it was a good evening. I just wish there hadn't been those empty seats to remind me of what I missed.
.
I haven't been keeping up the diary function the past few days. I've been filling the ether with trivia, the "I'm alive and relatively rational" function. Usually when I do that it's because I am avoiding addressing some issue, but that isn't the case here. I just haven't taken the time.
I have to go all the way back to Wednesday, and I'm already forgetting what may have happened Wednesday morning and afternoon. Nothing noteworthy, apparently....
Wednesday evening was Shakespeare, "As You Like It", at Boscobel. Boscobel is a 200-year-old mansion on the Hudson River, across from West Point. Every summer the grounds host the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival. The performances are held in a huge turreted tent (here - scroll down a bit, photo on the left, also do click to see the video). The dirt-floored stage is in the center of the tent with tiered seating around three sides, and the cast also makes excellent use of the lawn outside the tent. The view of the lawns and the river is framed perfectly by the arch of the tent opening.
FW had set it all up as a Mensa outing back in May, but the only people to respond immediately (and separately) were Roman and me. I think because on the weekends the tickets are very expensive (Mensans are not generally noted for financial success, or if they do have it, they certainly don't like to spend it), and during the week everybody else works. Anyway, FW bought the tickets very early, which distressed me a bit because I had planned to invite a friend from NJ, it would be only an hour's drive for him and entirely possible (though not probable) and worth at least a try, but FW said that seats were assigned, and a later ticket purchase would probably not be near us.
Which would make things extremely awkward if I wanted to sit with my NJ friend.
FW doesn't especially like Roman, which complicates matters, I couldn't abandon them to each other (although on his side there is no animosity, and they are always civil to each other). So I didn't invite my friend. Then, a few days ago, there had been an FW-Roman explosion, soothed over but still remembered, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to sit between them for the entire evening, being unsure how things would go.
As it turned out, there were several seats open on either side of us, so I could have issued my invitation after all. Me Sad. And the two of them were quite pleasant to each other. Me Happy.
The original plan had been a picnic on the grounds 2 hours before "curtain" (there being no actual curtain), but it had rained earlier in the day and looked like it might rain more, so the picnic was cancelled. So Roman and I met for dinner in Poughkeepsie, and then headed to Cold Spring. We got there early, so we were able to visit the gardens and marvel at the river view before FW joined us and we went to the tent.
Roman had warned me that although the actors adhere strictly to the bard's words, stage directions, props, and costumes might be from an entirely different era.
Yup.
They did "As You Like It" as a western.
Imagine Shakespearean English in a Western drawl.
Archery and sword fights were accomplished using rifles, knives, and pistols. People thundered up riding Monty Python horses. The shepherdess's sheep were actors on hands and knees with mops on their heads.
It was fun. I enjoyed it.
It didn't rain, but it was so damp that when I took my jacket off the back of the seat, it felt like it needed wringing out. By the end of the play, fog had moved in, so that as the actors went out onto the lawn to exit, they disappeared. My hair, pulled into a pony tail, was a mass of fuzz, standing out three inches from my scalp even where it was pulled back.
As I drove home up the river, the fog got thicker, and just about when I was starting to worry, six miles from home, the fog suddenly stopped, like a line had been drawn across the road. At my driveway, it was perfectly clear.
Dark. The trees around the house were full of fireflies, more than I usually see. They looked like tiny Christmas lights. When I looked up higher, the sky was full of stars, the Milky Way was broad and dense. As I was looking up, a meteorite crossed the sky below the Milky Way. I waited, and there was another.
I have to say it was a good evening. I just wish there hadn't been those empty seats to remind me of what I missed.
.
1388 Blogline Burp
Friday, July 20, 2007
Yesterday I noticed many of the blogs I follow through Bloglines.com had 20-30 "updates" rather than the usual 0-4. That happens every once in a while. Don't know why. Today, this diary was showing 20 "new posts" in Bloglines.
Not me. I didn't do that. Bloglines has a tummy ache.
I notice that Blogger is adding blank lines between paragraphs, even in OLD posts in other blogs.
Not me. I didn't do that, either.
.
Yesterday I noticed many of the blogs I follow through Bloglines.com had 20-30 "updates" rather than the usual 0-4. That happens every once in a while. Don't know why. Today, this diary was showing 20 "new posts" in Bloglines.
Not me. I didn't do that. Bloglines has a tummy ache.
I notice that Blogger is adding blank lines between paragraphs, even in OLD posts in other blogs.
Not me. I didn't do that, either.
.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
1387 Toilet Cleaning
With a nod to The Dark Prince, whence this cometh.
TOILET CLEANING INSTRUCTIONS:
Sincerely,
The Dog
TOILET CLEANING INSTRUCTIONS:
- Put both lids of the toilet up and add 1/8 cup of pet shampoo to the water in the bowl.
- Pick up the cat and soothe him while you carry him towards the bathroom.
- In one smooth movement, put the cat in the toilet and close both lids. You may need to stand on the lid.
- The cat will self agitate and make ample suds. Never mind the noises that come from the toilet, the cat is actually enjoying this.
- Flush the toilet three or four times. This provides a "power-wash and rinse."
- Have someone open the front door of your home. Be sure that there are no people between the bathroom and the front door.
- Stand behind the toilet as far as you can, and quickly lift both lids.
- The cat will rocket out of the toilet, streak through the bathroom, and run outside where he will dry himself off.
- Both the commode and the cat will be sparkling clean.
Sincerely,
The Dog
1386 Being
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Repeating here a comment I made on an acquaintance's journal, just because sometimes I have to remind myself:
First you have to figure out who you are.
Then you have to like who you are.
Then you have to be who you are.
That's where strength comes from, and all else follows.
Took me a long time to learn that.
.
Repeating here a comment I made on an acquaintance's journal, just because sometimes I have to remind myself:
First you have to figure out who you are.
Then you have to like who you are.
Then you have to be who you are.
That's where strength comes from, and all else follows.
Took me a long time to learn that.
.
1385 Musical Taste
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Looking at my CD collection, it appears that my tastes run to folk, bluegrass, classical, and gentle oldies. I have very little true rock (beyond the Stones and Jimi), especially nothing from the past two decades. That's partly because if what I hear from the "musical guests" on late night TV talk shows is at all representative, there's no MUSIC there. It's all noise and no talent.
On the other hand, Daughter accuses me of being a nascent Deadhead, because every time I've heard anything from the Grateful Dead, I've said "Oooo, I like that." I'm definitely a fan of Mickey Hart.
I've avoided Black Sabbath just because of their name I suppose, even though several people have told me I'd like them. Then I found this: [Video. If you're coming in on a feed and don't see it, click on the post title.]
Ok, yeah, there's talent there. They're not for sitting listening, though. I have to be up and moving for them.
I guess the old dog can still learn new tricks.
[Oops - just noticed the DATE! Still nothing from the past few decades....]
.
Looking at my CD collection, it appears that my tastes run to folk, bluegrass, classical, and gentle oldies. I have very little true rock (beyond the Stones and Jimi), especially nothing from the past two decades. That's partly because if what I hear from the "musical guests" on late night TV talk shows is at all representative, there's no MUSIC there. It's all noise and no talent.
On the other hand, Daughter accuses me of being a nascent Deadhead, because every time I've heard anything from the Grateful Dead, I've said "Oooo, I like that." I'm definitely a fan of Mickey Hart.
I've avoided Black Sabbath just because of their name I suppose, even though several people have told me I'd like them. Then I found this: [Video. If you're coming in on a feed and don't see it, click on the post title.]
Ok, yeah, there's talent there. They're not for sitting listening, though. I have to be up and moving for them.
I guess the old dog can still learn new tricks.
[Oops - just noticed the DATE! Still nothing from the past few decades....]
.
1384 How to Pronounce "Ashokan"
Don't know why, but I get a lot of search hits from people trying to find the pronunciation of "Ashokan" (as in "Ashokan Reservoir", "Ashokan Field Campus", "Ashokan Farewell", etc.)
I guess some people might think it's ASH-o-can or ash-o-CAN.
It's actually pronounced ah-SHOW-kn. To rhyme with "I've spoken."
It may help you to know that there's a hamlet called "Shokan" (SHO-kan).
Happy search hits.
You're welcome.
(In case you're wondering about why I'm sure of the pronunciation, my country house is about 15 miles from the Ashokan Reservoir, I have been to many events at the Ashokan Field Campus - the local Mensa group used to have their annual fall gathering there - and I am slightly acquainted with Jay and Molly, who wrote "Ashokan Farewell" back when Jay thought that the Field Campus was going to be sold.)
.
I guess some people might think it's ASH-o-can or ash-o-CAN.
It's actually pronounced ah-SHOW-kn. To rhyme with "I've spoken."
It may help you to know that there's a hamlet called "Shokan" (SHO-kan).
Happy search hits.
You're welcome.
(In case you're wondering about why I'm sure of the pronunciation, my country house is about 15 miles from the Ashokan Reservoir, I have been to many events at the Ashokan Field Campus - the local Mensa group used to have their annual fall gathering there - and I am slightly acquainted with Jay and Molly, who wrote "Ashokan Farewell" back when Jay thought that the Field Campus was going to be sold.)
.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
1383 T-Shirt
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Seen on a T-shirt this evening:
Seen on a T-shirt this evening:
I'M MEAN
BECAUSE
YOU'RE STUPID
If you saw it too, confess.
1382 Poison
This version comes from Stories as told by a Cherokee.
The little boy was walking down a path and he came across a rattlesnake. The rattlesnake was getting old.
He asked, "Please little boy, can you take me to the top of the mountain? I hope to see the sunset one last time before I die."
The little boy answered "No Mr. Rattlesnake. If I pick you up, you'll bite me and I'll die."
The rattlesnake said, "No, I promise. I won't bite you. Just please take me up to the mountain."
The little boy thought about it and finally picked up that rattlesnake and took it close to his chest and carried it up to the top of the mountain. They sat there and watched the sunset together. It was so beautiful.
Then after sunset the rattlesnake turned to the little boy and asked, "Can I go home now? I am tired, and I am old."
The little boy picked up the rattlesnake and again took it to his chest and held it tightly and safely. He came all the way down the mountain holding the snake carefully and took it to his home to give him some food and a place to sleep.
The next day the rattlesnake turned to the boy and asked, "Please little boy, will you take me back to my home now? It is time for me to leave this world, and I would like to be at my home now."
The little boy felt he had been safe all this time and the snake had kept his word, so he would take it home as asked. He carefully picked up the snake, took it close to his chest, and carried him back to the woods, to his home to die.
Just before he laid the rattlesnake down, the rattlesnake turned and bit him in the chest. The little boy cried out and threw the snake upon the ground. "Mr. Snake, why did you do that? Now I will surely die!"
The rattlesnake looked up at him and grinned, "You knew what I was when you picked me up."
----------------------------------
My mother had a saying. "You can adopt a dog, and take it into your life, and feed it, and care for it, and love it, but then if it bites you, how many times will you allow it to bite you before you get rid of it?"
.
The little boy was walking down a path and he came across a rattlesnake. The rattlesnake was getting old.
He asked, "Please little boy, can you take me to the top of the mountain? I hope to see the sunset one last time before I die."
The little boy answered "No Mr. Rattlesnake. If I pick you up, you'll bite me and I'll die."
The rattlesnake said, "No, I promise. I won't bite you. Just please take me up to the mountain."
The little boy thought about it and finally picked up that rattlesnake and took it close to his chest and carried it up to the top of the mountain. They sat there and watched the sunset together. It was so beautiful.
Then after sunset the rattlesnake turned to the little boy and asked, "Can I go home now? I am tired, and I am old."
The little boy picked up the rattlesnake and again took it to his chest and held it tightly and safely. He came all the way down the mountain holding the snake carefully and took it to his home to give him some food and a place to sleep.
The next day the rattlesnake turned to the boy and asked, "Please little boy, will you take me back to my home now? It is time for me to leave this world, and I would like to be at my home now."
The little boy felt he had been safe all this time and the snake had kept his word, so he would take it home as asked. He carefully picked up the snake, took it close to his chest, and carried him back to the woods, to his home to die.
Just before he laid the rattlesnake down, the rattlesnake turned and bit him in the chest. The little boy cried out and threw the snake upon the ground. "Mr. Snake, why did you do that? Now I will surely die!"
The rattlesnake looked up at him and grinned, "You knew what I was when you picked me up."
----------------------------------
My mother had a saying. "You can adopt a dog, and take it into your life, and feed it, and care for it, and love it, but then if it bites you, how many times will you allow it to bite you before you get rid of it?"
.
1381 What Makes a Man, Anyway?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I am so overwhelmed by what it would take to get this house company-ready. Seriously. A few months ago I came in second in an international messy computer room contest. And that was only because I didn't have a very good photo. (Mine is the fourth photo down, here.) It's worse now.
The only way to get past overwhelmed is to DO something, anything. Even the tiniest bit of progress is something done, a step forward.
Today I sorted paper in the kitchen. I promised myself three months ago, last time I sorted paper, that when a newspaper or magazine arrived, I would throw out the previous issue, whether I'd read it or not.
I didn't. From the mess of paper, I now have a neat 2-foot stack of unread magazines I'm reluctant to throw out, and six weeks of unread daily newspapers.
I did throw out all the catalogs.
Well, a step forward. Let's see if I can prevent a backslide before I get the next bit done.
------------------------------------
Jack's Shack (Hmmm - wonder if he's aware that term has a meaning on "Big Brother"?) over at "Random thoughts- Do they have meaning?" has a recent post on teaching his son to piddle standing up. The post kicked off comments on whether men always have to stand to urinate. Some people think sitting is ok. Others think that a man who sits, ever, isn't a man at all. There seems to be a lot of emotion on the subject.
Jay was all man. He was 6'3" tall, and 240 lbs, mostly bone and muscle. His habits and mode of thought were so male I used to tease him about it. He reeked of testosterone. I was surprised to find that at home, he sat.
I asked why, and he said that "a toilet is not a urinal. It's too low. It would make more sense to use the sink." If a real urinal, or tree, or anything else was available, he'd happily use that, of course, but he saw standing in front of a toilet as asking for trouble. Having had a few husbands and visiting males over the past 40 years, I saw his point, and was grateful.
It isn't whether you stand or sit that makes you a man. It's completely irrelevant. Sitting when there's only a toilet doesn't unman you. It makes you a considerate man. In my opinion, consideration makes a man much more desirable than any macho posturing. If standing is required to make you feel manly, you aren't very confident in your masculinity.
Why aren't home urinals common? They'd make a lot of sense. Is it because most plumbers are male, and they don't have to clean up after themselves?
[Note - if there are any males reading this who are candidates for using a toilet I am expected to clean, who do not intend to sit, well, that's ok. I accept that choice. There are other ways to be considerate. It evens out...]
-----------------------------------
This reminds me of a story.
A new building was built, and our product area moved into it. All the guys were annoyed about the urinals in the men's rooms - they were apparently set very low. "I feel like I'm back in grade school!" It so happened that the product manager was a very short man.
A few months after the move into the building, we got a new product manager. He was exceptionally tall, and a few days after he arrived, all the urinals were replaced with higher ones. There may or may not have been a connection.
He lasted a short time, and then was replaced by May, whom I have mentioned a few times in this journal. She was introduced in an all-hands meeting, and when she took the podium, she floored the whole group with, "Don't worry, guys. The urinals are staying."
.
I am so overwhelmed by what it would take to get this house company-ready. Seriously. A few months ago I came in second in an international messy computer room contest. And that was only because I didn't have a very good photo. (Mine is the fourth photo down, here.) It's worse now.
The only way to get past overwhelmed is to DO something, anything. Even the tiniest bit of progress is something done, a step forward.
Today I sorted paper in the kitchen. I promised myself three months ago, last time I sorted paper, that when a newspaper or magazine arrived, I would throw out the previous issue, whether I'd read it or not.
I didn't. From the mess of paper, I now have a neat 2-foot stack of unread magazines I'm reluctant to throw out, and six weeks of unread daily newspapers.
I did throw out all the catalogs.
Well, a step forward. Let's see if I can prevent a backslide before I get the next bit done.
------------------------------------
Jack's Shack (Hmmm - wonder if he's aware that term has a meaning on "Big Brother"?) over at "Random thoughts- Do they have meaning?" has a recent post on teaching his son to piddle standing up. The post kicked off comments on whether men always have to stand to urinate. Some people think sitting is ok. Others think that a man who sits, ever, isn't a man at all. There seems to be a lot of emotion on the subject.
Jay was all man. He was 6'3" tall, and 240 lbs, mostly bone and muscle. His habits and mode of thought were so male I used to tease him about it. He reeked of testosterone. I was surprised to find that at home, he sat.
I asked why, and he said that "a toilet is not a urinal. It's too low. It would make more sense to use the sink." If a real urinal, or tree, or anything else was available, he'd happily use that, of course, but he saw standing in front of a toilet as asking for trouble. Having had a few husbands and visiting males over the past 40 years, I saw his point, and was grateful.
It isn't whether you stand or sit that makes you a man. It's completely irrelevant. Sitting when there's only a toilet doesn't unman you. It makes you a considerate man. In my opinion, consideration makes a man much more desirable than any macho posturing. If standing is required to make you feel manly, you aren't very confident in your masculinity.
Why aren't home urinals common? They'd make a lot of sense. Is it because most plumbers are male, and they don't have to clean up after themselves?
[Note - if there are any males reading this who are candidates for using a toilet I am expected to clean, who do not intend to sit, well, that's ok. I accept that choice. There are other ways to be considerate. It evens out...]
-----------------------------------
This reminds me of a story.
A new building was built, and our product area moved into it. All the guys were annoyed about the urinals in the men's rooms - they were apparently set very low. "I feel like I'm back in grade school!" It so happened that the product manager was a very short man.
A few months after the move into the building, we got a new product manager. He was exceptionally tall, and a few days after he arrived, all the urinals were replaced with higher ones. There may or may not have been a connection.
He lasted a short time, and then was replaced by May, whom I have mentioned a few times in this journal. She was introduced in an all-hands meeting, and when she took the podium, she floored the whole group with, "Don't worry, guys. The urinals are staying."
.
Monday, July 16, 2007
1380 Mayoral Scuffle
Monday, July 16, 2007
When I get annoyed or upset, I get in the car and drive. Anywhere. Back roads through farmland and woods. I try to get lost and then find my way back. I listen to NPR if it's interesting, look at the scenery, and lose myself for a while. Driving is relaxing, and I find that it helps to clear my thinking.
This evening I went to the deli and picked up a bottle of iced tea, and then went for an impromptu ride, no purse, no money, no id, no phone, no nothin', and I quickly felt a little better.
The news was on the radio, and there was a conversation about how the internet can affect elections, how you never know who might have a camera when you do something stupid. Like, Mayor Sottile of Kingston. The newspaper has the whole story, and I suppose I'll have to find it and read it, but what they said was that the mayor and the wife of an opposition candidate for DA got into a scuffle in a bar. She threw her drink at him, he threw his drink at her, she hauled off at him with her purse, and so on.
The whole thing was captured on the bar's security camera, and was immediately uploaded to YouTube. You can see it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvNuOLDLddA. I had to watch it twice to locate the protagonists (it's short). They're in the back.
I was amused when the NPR commentator said that although the tape is impartial, it's interesting that every person who sees it has a different opinion of who did what, who started it. Which, she said, illustrates why, when you see something like that, you need an impartial reporter to explain it.
Yeah, sure, ok. Just so we all think the same thing, right? Giggle snort.
Mayor Sottile opened the festivities the day I volunteered at the children's reading program at the library. My thoughts were that he's a big man, with a lot of physical presence. I'd think twice about throwing a drink in his face, even if he did give me an unwelcome pat on the cheek.
When I got home, I was a lot more cheerful than when I left the house.
.
When I get annoyed or upset, I get in the car and drive. Anywhere. Back roads through farmland and woods. I try to get lost and then find my way back. I listen to NPR if it's interesting, look at the scenery, and lose myself for a while. Driving is relaxing, and I find that it helps to clear my thinking.
This evening I went to the deli and picked up a bottle of iced tea, and then went for an impromptu ride, no purse, no money, no id, no phone, no nothin', and I quickly felt a little better.
The news was on the radio, and there was a conversation about how the internet can affect elections, how you never know who might have a camera when you do something stupid. Like, Mayor Sottile of Kingston. The newspaper has the whole story, and I suppose I'll have to find it and read it, but what they said was that the mayor and the wife of an opposition candidate for DA got into a scuffle in a bar. She threw her drink at him, he threw his drink at her, she hauled off at him with her purse, and so on.
The whole thing was captured on the bar's security camera, and was immediately uploaded to YouTube. You can see it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvNuOLDLddA. I had to watch it twice to locate the protagonists (it's short). They're in the back.
I was amused when the NPR commentator said that although the tape is impartial, it's interesting that every person who sees it has a different opinion of who did what, who started it. Which, she said, illustrates why, when you see something like that, you need an impartial reporter to explain it.
Yeah, sure, ok. Just so we all think the same thing, right? Giggle snort.
Mayor Sottile opened the festivities the day I volunteered at the children's reading program at the library. My thoughts were that he's a big man, with a lot of physical presence. I'd think twice about throwing a drink in his face, even if he did give me an unwelcome pat on the cheek.
When I got home, I was a lot more cheerful than when I left the house.
.
1379 Frustration
Monday, July 16, 2007
I'm frustrated about several things right now, from about four different directions. I want to just throw everything up in the air and let it fall where it may. Sometimes things are just too much trouble. Sometimes people are just too much trouble. I'm really tired of people telling me one thing and doing another. Making plans and committing me way earlier than necessary, without telling me before doing it. NOT being willing to make plans and "save the date", and then complaining that the calendar is full. Promising calls or emails and then never delivering. Feeling that I have to be available to family, but NOT share that time with friends. Aaaaagh!
.
The blank space above represents a paragraph I wrote, deleted, and rewrote four times. I'm just too frustrated to be reasonable.
The moral of this post - never ever tell anyone who knows you about your blog. You can't vent anymore.
I'm not looking forward to Wednesday evening. I'm not looking forward to next weekend. I am not happy.
[Later - rereading the first paragraph, it occurred to me that there are four people who might read it and jump to the conclusion that it's all about them. Remember Carly Simon's "...you probably think this song is about you..."? Well, pieces of it ARE ABOUT ALL OF YOU! SO THERE! Snarl....]
.
I'm frustrated about several things right now, from about four different directions. I want to just throw everything up in the air and let it fall where it may. Sometimes things are just too much trouble. Sometimes people are just too much trouble. I'm really tired of people telling me one thing and doing another. Making plans and committing me way earlier than necessary, without telling me before doing it. NOT being willing to make plans and "save the date", and then complaining that the calendar is full. Promising calls or emails and then never delivering. Feeling that I have to be available to family, but NOT share that time with friends. Aaaaagh!
.
The blank space above represents a paragraph I wrote, deleted, and rewrote four times. I'm just too frustrated to be reasonable.
The moral of this post - never ever tell anyone who knows you about your blog. You can't vent anymore.
I'm not looking forward to Wednesday evening. I'm not looking forward to next weekend. I am not happy.
[Later - rereading the first paragraph, it occurred to me that there are four people who might read it and jump to the conclusion that it's all about them. Remember Carly Simon's "...you probably think this song is about you..."? Well, pieces of it ARE ABOUT ALL OF YOU! SO THERE! Snarl....]
.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
1378 Moved TVs
Sunday, July 15, 2007
I watch television more in the den than in the bedroom, so the den's getting the new TV. I removed the dying TV from the bedroom and put it in a corner in the kitchen, beside two other dead TVs. Gotta figure out how to get rid of them.
Then I moved the TV from the den into the bedroom. Not very easy. The den TV is far back on a board that extends from the side of the desk into the corner, with a bookcase to the side, and scanners, printers, telephones, and other stuff piled in front. I had to move a bunch of stuff and climb up on the desk to be able to reach it.
There's about 47 thousand cords under the desk, plugged into several "bars", and working alone, I couldn't figure out which one was the TV power cord. Can't do the "wiggle and watch" bit alone. I finally just unplugged stuff until the TV went off. Six plugs later, I discovered the TV wasn't plugged into a bar - it was plugged directly into the wall BEHIND the desk. I can't easily reach that far.
I managed to get it unplugged with the tips of my fingers, but there's no way I could get enough of a grip to plug the new TV in there. Don't know how I managed it in the first place.
Carried the den TV into the bedroom, got it all hooked up. Easy, except for the weight. It's not big, but it was heavy.
Got the new one out of the box, and installed it in the den. I was surprised at how light it was. It has a larger screen than the old ones, but I could easily lift it with one hand.
Done.
Now I have two large boxes and three (one from last fall) dead TVs to dispose of. I understand they make great aquariums, hint hint....
.
I watch television more in the den than in the bedroom, so the den's getting the new TV. I removed the dying TV from the bedroom and put it in a corner in the kitchen, beside two other dead TVs. Gotta figure out how to get rid of them.
Then I moved the TV from the den into the bedroom. Not very easy. The den TV is far back on a board that extends from the side of the desk into the corner, with a bookcase to the side, and scanners, printers, telephones, and other stuff piled in front. I had to move a bunch of stuff and climb up on the desk to be able to reach it.
There's about 47 thousand cords under the desk, plugged into several "bars", and working alone, I couldn't figure out which one was the TV power cord. Can't do the "wiggle and watch" bit alone. I finally just unplugged stuff until the TV went off. Six plugs later, I discovered the TV wasn't plugged into a bar - it was plugged directly into the wall BEHIND the desk. I can't easily reach that far.
I managed to get it unplugged with the tips of my fingers, but there's no way I could get enough of a grip to plug the new TV in there. Don't know how I managed it in the first place.
Carried the den TV into the bedroom, got it all hooked up. Easy, except for the weight. It's not big, but it was heavy.
Got the new one out of the box, and installed it in the den. I was surprised at how light it was. It has a larger screen than the old ones, but I could easily lift it with one hand.
Done.
Now I have two large boxes and three (one from last fall) dead TVs to dispose of. I understand they make great aquariums, hint hint....
.
1377 Relationship Signs
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Chris, in his latest post over there at Inane Thoughts & Insane Ramblings, talks about how and whether you can judge the health of a relationship by witnessing the interactions of the couple. (Go to his blog for the discussion, book reference, and quotes.) The following is Chris's words, and he says:
"So when I evaluate a relationship, I look for signs of cherishing and respect. If it is not there, I don't see that relationship lasting. Cherish is the opposite of contempt, one of Gottman's Four Horseman [Gottman is a researcher w/ a 95% success rate in predicting relationship long term success. The 4 dooming signs include contempt, defensiveness, criticism, and stonewalling.].
I guess that makes sense. Cherishing is a positive indicator that is the flip side of Gottman's negative predictor (contempt). After all, you can't cherish someone and hold them in contempt at the same time.... "
This is another one of those things that when you hear it, you say, "Well, yeah. Duh." You feel like you've known it always, and yet, you'd never thought about it before, never put it together so neatly. People never get the credit they should when they speak universal truths. The next day, everyone acts like they've known it forever, not noticing that their way of thinking and acting has changed since the day before.
Chris's post kicked off a new train of thought in me.
Back to Gottman's four dooming signs: contempt, defensiveness, criticism, and stonewalling. I fully agree with that. Absolutely. Every failed relationship I've ever seen, or have been in, has had one or more of those four. By the end, my second marriage had all four on both sides. (We dragged that train wreck out way too long.)
Every successful relationship I've known has had all four of the opposites, which I see as respect, faith/comfort, acceptance, and openness. I had all of those with Jay. Just as you can see dooming signs almost instantly, everyone instantly saw the good signs in us.
The 30s-ish daughter of a friend recently asked her father, essentially, how you can tell when someone is or is not "the right person". He's been divorced three times, and recently ended a 4-5 year relationship. His divorce from the daughter's mother, after 35 years of marriage, was rather nasty, and I think perhaps the daughter is afraid to attempt a relationship, afraid that they all end badly, so why try.
There's a lot of advice out there, much of it of the "similar values, beliefs, background" variety as predictors of a good match. And, yes, that's what was wrong with my first marriage - we were poles apart in the values, beliefs, background areas, BUT! That wasn't the basic problem! The problem was that we didn't have respect or tolerance for each other's values, etc. With respect and acceptance, any difference can actually be a positive factor.
Unfortunately, none of the advice is any good at the beginning of a relationship. When the pheromones and hormones are flying, you don't see the warning signs. You make excuses for the inexcusable. People around you might see it (those dooming signs) and even tell you, but you don't listen, because "they don't know him/her like I do, they don't understand". It's only after the bloody end that you can look back and realize they were right.
About the only advice I can give is to listen to your friends (not family - Daughter disliked Jay until she got to know him, then she disliked the way I treated him. She was too close and had other issues of her own.) Anyway, bring your new romantic interest around your friends. Listen to specific comments they may have, especially as pertain to your interactions with him or her. Even strangers may contribute astute perceptions.
They may not know about the "four dooming signs", but they'll see them anyway if they're there.
----------------------------
Me? I'm not going to settle. I shall insist on respect, faith/comfort, acceptance, and openness. I can't say I'd rather be alone than accept less, but I WANT the whole package.
.
Chris, in his latest post over there at Inane Thoughts & Insane Ramblings, talks about how and whether you can judge the health of a relationship by witnessing the interactions of the couple. (Go to his blog for the discussion, book reference, and quotes.) The following is Chris's words, and he says:
"So when I evaluate a relationship, I look for signs of cherishing and respect. If it is not there, I don't see that relationship lasting. Cherish is the opposite of contempt, one of Gottman's Four Horseman [Gottman is a researcher w/ a 95% success rate in predicting relationship long term success. The 4 dooming signs include contempt, defensiveness, criticism, and stonewalling.].
I guess that makes sense. Cherishing is a positive indicator that is the flip side of Gottman's negative predictor (contempt). After all, you can't cherish someone and hold them in contempt at the same time.... "
This is another one of those things that when you hear it, you say, "Well, yeah. Duh." You feel like you've known it always, and yet, you'd never thought about it before, never put it together so neatly. People never get the credit they should when they speak universal truths. The next day, everyone acts like they've known it forever, not noticing that their way of thinking and acting has changed since the day before.
Chris's post kicked off a new train of thought in me.
Back to Gottman's four dooming signs: contempt, defensiveness, criticism, and stonewalling. I fully agree with that. Absolutely. Every failed relationship I've ever seen, or have been in, has had one or more of those four. By the end, my second marriage had all four on both sides. (We dragged that train wreck out way too long.)
Every successful relationship I've known has had all four of the opposites, which I see as respect, faith/comfort, acceptance, and openness. I had all of those with Jay. Just as you can see dooming signs almost instantly, everyone instantly saw the good signs in us.
The 30s-ish daughter of a friend recently asked her father, essentially, how you can tell when someone is or is not "the right person". He's been divorced three times, and recently ended a 4-5 year relationship. His divorce from the daughter's mother, after 35 years of marriage, was rather nasty, and I think perhaps the daughter is afraid to attempt a relationship, afraid that they all end badly, so why try.
There's a lot of advice out there, much of it of the "similar values, beliefs, background" variety as predictors of a good match. And, yes, that's what was wrong with my first marriage - we were poles apart in the values, beliefs, background areas, BUT! That wasn't the basic problem! The problem was that we didn't have respect or tolerance for each other's values, etc. With respect and acceptance, any difference can actually be a positive factor.
Unfortunately, none of the advice is any good at the beginning of a relationship. When the pheromones and hormones are flying, you don't see the warning signs. You make excuses for the inexcusable. People around you might see it (those dooming signs) and even tell you, but you don't listen, because "they don't know him/her like I do, they don't understand". It's only after the bloody end that you can look back and realize they were right.
About the only advice I can give is to listen to your friends (not family - Daughter disliked Jay until she got to know him, then she disliked the way I treated him. She was too close and had other issues of her own.) Anyway, bring your new romantic interest around your friends. Listen to specific comments they may have, especially as pertain to your interactions with him or her. Even strangers may contribute astute perceptions.
They may not know about the "four dooming signs", but they'll see them anyway if they're there.
----------------------------
Me? I'm not going to settle. I shall insist on respect, faith/comfort, acceptance, and openness. I can't say I'd rather be alone than accept less, but I WANT the whole package.
.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
1375 Saturday Sigh
Saturday, July 14, 2007
I went to a party/BBQ at The Gypsy's today. It was her son's 11th birthday, and a good excuse for a big-deal party. Gypsy's parties are always good. She goes all out on the food, and the conversations always make for interesting (although trivial) listening.
I never talk much at her gatherings, partly because I simply don't talk much anyway except in a small "around the table" group, and partly because if you have to raise your voice to get in, I'm out. I have a soft quiet voice, and am reluctant to raise it. (I also don't much care for loud women. Brassy women. I'll just let them have the floor. And the man, for that matter.)
Not that I can't speak up. I have some theater training, and I can make myself heard in the last rows without a microphone, without straining in the least. I know how to project. Perhaps I don't speak up and jump into conversations because I don't feel I have all that much to contribute. Not that what I might have to say would not be pertinent, but that most party conversations, although interesting to listen to, are of no real import. If you try to throw meat in, you get a blank stare.
I've never learned to chit-chat.
I was even more quiet today. I was there five hours or more, and may have spoken all of five words. I was a bit late in arriving, too. My brain felt scattered. I had a lot of inertia to overcome to get out the door. Maybe I'm still tired from Thursday? Doesn't sound likely. Anyway, mostly I sat, listened, and sipped root beer. I haven't had A&W in a long time. It was good.
.
I went to a party/BBQ at The Gypsy's today. It was her son's 11th birthday, and a good excuse for a big-deal party. Gypsy's parties are always good. She goes all out on the food, and the conversations always make for interesting (although trivial) listening.
I never talk much at her gatherings, partly because I simply don't talk much anyway except in a small "around the table" group, and partly because if you have to raise your voice to get in, I'm out. I have a soft quiet voice, and am reluctant to raise it. (I also don't much care for loud women. Brassy women. I'll just let them have the floor. And the man, for that matter.)
Not that I can't speak up. I have some theater training, and I can make myself heard in the last rows without a microphone, without straining in the least. I know how to project. Perhaps I don't speak up and jump into conversations because I don't feel I have all that much to contribute. Not that what I might have to say would not be pertinent, but that most party conversations, although interesting to listen to, are of no real import. If you try to throw meat in, you get a blank stare.
I've never learned to chit-chat.
I was even more quiet today. I was there five hours or more, and may have spoken all of five words. I was a bit late in arriving, too. My brain felt scattered. I had a lot of inertia to overcome to get out the door. Maybe I'm still tired from Thursday? Doesn't sound likely. Anyway, mostly I sat, listened, and sipped root beer. I haven't had A&W in a long time. It was good.
.
Friday, July 13, 2007
1374 No Explosions
Friday, July 13, 2007
It was almost exactly two years ago that I went to dinner and a movie with an old friend, thinking that it was platonic, and discovered during the evening that it was "a date", my first since Jay had died. That evening started an explosive chain reaction that almost destroyed my sanity.
Tonight I went out for dinner and a movie with an old friend, planning to have a nice platonic evening (ironically the same theater, by the way), and I discovered during the evening that he wanted to call it "a date".
I'd like to keep him close, an intimate friend, but I don't want any romance. That's a good way to lose a friend. I prefer not to lose him as a friend. I'm two years older now. We'll see if I've learned anything.
.
It was almost exactly two years ago that I went to dinner and a movie with an old friend, thinking that it was platonic, and discovered during the evening that it was "a date", my first since Jay had died. That evening started an explosive chain reaction that almost destroyed my sanity.
Tonight I went out for dinner and a movie with an old friend, planning to have a nice platonic evening (ironically the same theater, by the way), and I discovered during the evening that he wanted to call it "a date".
I'd like to keep him close, an intimate friend, but I don't want any romance. That's a good way to lose a friend. I prefer not to lose him as a friend. I'm two years older now. We'll see if I've learned anything.
.
1373 Quick Quick
Friday, July 13, 2007
This'll be a quick entry - going out for dinner and movie this evening, and I have to wash and dress yet.
My friend's surgery went well yesterday. Of course, it took all of 20 minutes, then another hour or two recovery, but the entire hospital time was 7 hours. We spent most of the time talking in the ambulatory surgery waiting room.
Some of our topics might have shocked the other people in the waiting room. "And then when she said she 'likes to thuck it' I thought she meant the stud, and she did mean the stud, but not the one I was thinking."
During the surgery, I was so tired I fell asleep in the waiting room.
I got home about 7:45 pm, and was falling asleep at the laptop, but then a friend called and we were on the phone for an hour and a half. That's remarkable for me. Got to bed about midnight.
This morning I remembered that the show on Hell is this evening, and the VCR in the kitchen had died, so I had to drag out the book on the DVD recorder in the living room, and figure out how to set the time and program it to record this evening. I'd never used it for anything beyond watching, so it was all new. The booklet is badly organized and uses words they don't bother to define, so it took me almost an hour to set it.
I was so unsure that I did it right, I also set the ancient VCR in the bedroom. It'll probably explode at 9:58 this evening, dust being explosive....
Whatever. If I don't capture the show, it'll be because I'm not supposed to.
I did some shopping this afternoon, for a friend's son's birthday party tomorrow. I wasn't sure what I was looking for (per her recommendation), but then I found it, and I'm pretty sure I got the right thing, I think. I had bought him a fancy trick kite last week, but then last Friday he fell off a slide and lacerated his spleen, so now he's on bed rest. A kite has become inappropriate. So I needed something for a kid who needs quiet occupying for the next month.
I hope he has a nice day - no rain.
This'll be a quick entry - going out for dinner and movie this evening, and I have to wash and dress yet.
My friend's surgery went well yesterday. Of course, it took all of 20 minutes, then another hour or two recovery, but the entire hospital time was 7 hours. We spent most of the time talking in the ambulatory surgery waiting room.
Some of our topics might have shocked the other people in the waiting room. "And then when she said she 'likes to thuck it' I thought she meant the stud, and she did mean the stud, but not the one I was thinking."
During the surgery, I was so tired I fell asleep in the waiting room.
I got home about 7:45 pm, and was falling asleep at the laptop, but then a friend called and we were on the phone for an hour and a half. That's remarkable for me. Got to bed about midnight.
This morning I remembered that the show on Hell is this evening, and the VCR in the kitchen had died, so I had to drag out the book on the DVD recorder in the living room, and figure out how to set the time and program it to record this evening. I'd never used it for anything beyond watching, so it was all new. The booklet is badly organized and uses words they don't bother to define, so it took me almost an hour to set it.
I was so unsure that I did it right, I also set the ancient VCR in the bedroom. It'll probably explode at 9:58 this evening, dust being explosive....
Whatever. If I don't capture the show, it'll be because I'm not supposed to.
I did some shopping this afternoon, for a friend's son's birthday party tomorrow. I wasn't sure what I was looking for (per her recommendation), but then I found it, and I'm pretty sure I got the right thing, I think. I had bought him a fancy trick kite last week, but then last Friday he fell off a slide and lacerated his spleen, so now he's on bed rest. A kite has become inappropriate. So I needed something for a kid who needs quiet occupying for the next month.
I hope he has a nice day - no rain.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
1372 No Sleep
Thursday, July 12, 2007
It's 5:45 am, and I've had no sleep. I'm taking a friend to the hospital for outpatient surgery today, and absolutely had to wake up by 7:30. That's early for me, since I have no regular wakeup time these days.
I suspected that I wouldn't sleep at all because I'd be afraid of sleeping through the alarm. I was right. I spent many hours with my eyes closed, but I don't think I had more than a few 15-minute episodes of drifting. When you lie there with closed eyes, the mind takes off on its own, and the things I was thinking about (actually, the Who, and the frustration and growing hurt and anger) made it even harder to sleep.
When it got to 5:30, I realized that if I did fall asleep at that point, I absolutely would sleep through the alarm.
So here I am.
.
It's 5:45 am, and I've had no sleep. I'm taking a friend to the hospital for outpatient surgery today, and absolutely had to wake up by 7:30. That's early for me, since I have no regular wakeup time these days.
I suspected that I wouldn't sleep at all because I'd be afraid of sleeping through the alarm. I was right. I spent many hours with my eyes closed, but I don't think I had more than a few 15-minute episodes of drifting. When you lie there with closed eyes, the mind takes off on its own, and the things I was thinking about (actually, the Who, and the frustration and growing hurt and anger) made it even harder to sleep.
When it got to 5:30, I realized that if I did fall asleep at that point, I absolutely would sleep through the alarm.
So here I am.
.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
1371 Food Fight?
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Some guy in Kingston is turning 60, and has decided to celebrate by inviting the entire community to a food fight this Sunday, I assume in his yard. Right next to the Family Court building in uptown Kingston. "Bring water pistols, also anything soft that will do well in a food fight -- mashed potatoes, key lime pie, jello." FW wonders if I'd like to go.
Ack!
Food fights seem to be a staple of situation comedies, and every time I see one, my thoughts run like "Now who's gonna clean that up?", and "That will definitely stain that sofa!" Not to mention the waste of perfectly good food.
I simply cannot imagine me in a food fight.
I also can't imagine a food fight in uptown Kingston. The first time a load of mashed potatoes hits a neighbor's car or yard, the police will be called.
And who's gonna clean it up?
.
Some guy in Kingston is turning 60, and has decided to celebrate by inviting the entire community to a food fight this Sunday, I assume in his yard. Right next to the Family Court building in uptown Kingston. "Bring water pistols, also anything soft that will do well in a food fight -- mashed potatoes, key lime pie, jello." FW wonders if I'd like to go.
Ack!
Food fights seem to be a staple of situation comedies, and every time I see one, my thoughts run like "Now who's gonna clean that up?", and "That will definitely stain that sofa!" Not to mention the waste of perfectly good food.
I simply cannot imagine me in a food fight.
I also can't imagine a food fight in uptown Kingston. The first time a load of mashed potatoes hits a neighbor's car or yard, the police will be called.
And who's gonna clean it up?
.
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