It Pours, Man, It Pours

Inspirational song: Who'll Stop the Rain (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

My mother continues to warn me to be mindful of the things I say. She really means it when she says I should be careful what I wish for. It seems I should heed my mother's warnings, and add in that old staple "I'll give you something to complain about" as a corollary. Every time I complained about where we were living, it just got worse and worse. Farther from town, farther from retail opportunities, farther from the closest airport. I learned to stop complaining about distances, eventually, and said, I don't care where we move next, as long as it is green. I wanted water above all things. I said, in all seriousness, I felt like my soul had dried out living in the desert for six years. I used to watch the tv shows where they made over people's back yards, and I would say, the only thing I would ask for is water: in a pool, a hot tub, a fish pond, or a fountain. I would be in it. 

Flash forward to this year. In January, we were still under drought conditions. I prayed for rain. I wanted it so, so much. By February, we had caught up, and even ran a slight surplus for the year. Before today, the last day of June, we had doubled our monthly average, and it has rained so hard today, we have added at least two inches to that, maybe more. It is ridiculously swampy now. My trees are drowning. My flowers are brown and rotting. And I stay home, not interested in driving across town to go to the Y (especially since they close the pools when there is thunder, and it has been thundering frequently for days). The unwillingness to get out in the thick wet air is so bad, I even dragged my feet when I had the chance to go to Bonfire last night. I need to find something to break me out of this lethargy. But I must use caution in how I speak of that need.

I didn't leave the house until after six tonight. It had been dark and gloomy since a little after four, and it added to the difficulty to find motivation to go anywhere. I went searching for sisal rope for a project, and ended up at a craft store. I never found rope, only hemp twine, which is not what I needed. I bought pastels, thinking it might help me design the trident I discussed back in the Church of Poseidon post. I haven't gotten to spend much time at the beach this year, but the whole county is so wet I feel like I'm underwater all the time. I might as well start the design for the tattoo, so I have time to live with it before I put it on me permanently. I may be getting it as early as September. We will see. Who knows what my attitude towards water will be by then.

Rainmaker

Inspirational song: I Will Follow Him (Little Peggy March)

Within the first two weeks of this blog, I wondered aloud how long I would survive in the heat, and having to get out into it. I think if it were just heat, even as bad as it is out West right now, I would be handling it. I have been in 123 degree temps in Death Valley before and survived. What is weighing me down now is humidity. It rains every single day, and it makes it impossible to want to go outside. I left PetSmart a couple days ago, and could barely walk from the store to the car in the thick, wet air. I couldn't breathe. And the mold is making me rethink my aversion to pills of any kind, as I reach for allergy meds. I went to a movie again today, and once again, it poured while I was inside. I am considering renting myself out, traveling between Albuquerque, New Mexico, Lamar, Colorado, Colby, Kansas, and Amarillo, Texas, just going in a loop, watching movies so it will rain for a couple hours in all those places where there is still exceptional level drought. It could be a hell of a racket. They need a rainmaker like me. I tried taking a photo of the steam rising off the street when I got home, but I made the mistake of parking and then walking out with the camera, and it had mostly dissipated by the time I got there.

I definitely have a new shadow. No matter where I am in the house, a very tiny barnacle is following me, clinging to me, cuddled in my lap or nipping at my toes. The main lesson for this week is learning to use the stairs when I am on the wrong storey of the house. As long as she never jumps from the balcony, the lessons will be worth it. I guess I should clarify, that is her lesson. Mine is to watch the floor more carefully when I walk and check every seat before I fall into it. 

Today was my neighbor's memorial service. The crowd of cars in front of the house has grown. I am very glad to see such a strong show of support for the widow. I am very curious now whether she will stay here or move back to Alabama, like he had wanted to so desperately the last few months. She hasn't been able to spend time in the house since he died. When she's home, she's usually in a chair in the garage, which is odd, because that's where he used to hang out. He would sit there with the door open, a drink in his hand and some classic music playing on the radio, and treat us to a sample of the voice that kept him employed until recently singing for a doo-wop band on a cruise ship. She says it's harder for her to be inside without him. I imagine there is still a shadow of him in that garage, and that's more comfort to her than the quiet of the house.

Yesterday was hard to get photographs, but today the kids seem to be posing every time I turn around. I think the baby has already learned to look right into the lens. She likes stepping on the iPad when I am writing. Maybe I can combine those skills and teach her to take selfies. We would take over Instagram. Hey, Athena, come here. I have something to show you...

(Out of) Control Freak

Inspirational song: Separated Out (Marillion)

I came home from running errands just now. I found the tiny baby staring at me from the couch, and I greeted her as Athena Smith. I chanted at her the creepy monotone line from the old movie Freaks, "One of us, one of us, we accept her, we accept her." When they told me on Wednesday that she was positive for FIV, I knew that her chances of being adopted by anyone else were just too slim, although I took a couple days to come to peace with the inevitability of me being the one who could and would do it. I struggled a little. I accepted the mantle of crazy cat lady years ago, but it never felt out of control until this week. Getting to this point feels very limiting, particularly in terms of travel, both for vacation pet sitters, and for logistics for the next time we move and select a living situation. I should feel happier on a day like this, but instead I'm feeling swamped, almost shameful.

But for all that I felt like a freak today, I suspect I'm a little more in control than the woman who was at the shelter while I was there. She was filling out paperwork for one kitten to be adopted that day. Another woman came in with two she had just adopted Wednesday, and her landlord made her take them back and surrender them again. The first woman said she wanted both of them as well. They had a 24 hour hold period, but she can pick them up tomorrow. Then a third person came in with a kitten she found. She said that he was sick, but didn't explain how (his appearance was fine). Lady number one took him from the girl's hands, and he was never even processed as a surrender. All I could think was that I hoped this woman had a farm. Otherwise, I might expect to see her show up on television as an animal hoarder.

Three days of amoxicillin has turned Athena into an entirely different kitten. Now that her eyes are no longer weepy, she has discovered the most important thing about kittens: they are made of rubber. She is bouncing around the house like she finally got a full battery charge. This makes it difficult to capture a decent picture. And it is too oppressively humid to go take pictures outside. I'll double up on pictures tomorrow.

Keeps Rainin' All the Time

Inspirational song: Stormy Weather (Lena Horne)

The rain just isn't stopping this year. Down here it has only sprinkled a little in the last couple hours, but yet another big line of storms has started marching through the area. I don't think we've missed a day in weeks. The up side is my water bill is going to be awfully small for what I'm trying to grow around here. The down side is I am finding it very difficult to gauge the amount of water in the container plants versus what is in the ground, and the in-ground plants are swamped and covered in brown spots while the hanging baskets are crunchy (especially my calibrachoa). The top level of the pallet garden has been the worst of all. I think it has to do with the soil I used up there (when I ran out of potting soil, I stretched it with garden soil, and that was a big, dry mistake.) Lots of my flowers that are in the ground are rotted messes, including the pretty carnations that had once been doing so well both in the front beds and under the pallet. I have one little watermelon the size of a big gumball from one of those quarter machines, and I suspect my rodent thieves are just letting me get my hopes up so they can laugh their evil little asses off when I come find it removed in a few weeks.

Yesterday I didn't want to leave the house. I'd had an emotional day, and didn't want to do anything. I kept wanting to believe that all the constant rumbling thunder I heard would cancel water aerobics, but I forced myself to drive out anyway. I looked at the radar map before I left, and saw the storms weren't too close to the area around the Y north of here. I noticed some watch and warning boxes, but didn't think too hard on what the red box just barely south of me meant. I drove the 8-9 miles, found the pool door locked because of lightning, and talked to a woman in the locker room who said something about a weather warning. I finally paid attention to the text on the weather app, and realized that there was a tornado warning just across the river from my house. It takes 20 minutes to drive to that neighborhood, but it's just four or five miles as the crow flies. So instead of working out, I drove home to make sure my Park was ok. It was completely untouched. It sounds like the event itself was strong enough to knock over some trees in the saturated ground, but not much else.

I am starting to get used to going solo again, when I want to go out to find entertainment. Tonight is another trip to the movies by myself. It's one of the easiest things to do without a date for me. I have gone a few times since my man went away. Every time it has rained hard enough to be heard over the films. This time I'll make sure I check the weather warnings.

Love Trumps All

Inspirational song: Love's Great Adventure (Ultravox)

It has been quite a day. I have so much to think about, so much to feel, and I'm a little overwhelmed by it all. This morning began on a high note, and has been a bit of an emotional roller coaster since. I listened to talk radio as the kitten and I drove to her first weigh in, and was pleased to hear the SCOTUS drop two barriers to the true equality of love. As the details have fleshed out, it has been made clear that there is still work to do, but today represented two major steps forward. I was cheerful, bordering on giddy, when we arrived at the shelter to find a long line out the adoption door. (The shelter was waiving all adoption fees on kittens, because they have so many.) I stood in the waiting area for nearly an hour, while Athena got weighed, microchipped, treated for upper respiratory illness, and tested for communicable diseases. Then came the first wave of bad news. The vet tech came to tell me that she tested positive for FIV, but because she is just a month old, the test is unreliable. She could have antibodies from maternal exposure, or she might have been exposed and able to fight it on her own. Or, she could have the exposure and succumb to it. I drove back from her checkup numb. I don't know what to do anymore. I can't suggest that my friend adopt her anymore. And I really worry that if I release her after the foster period ends, that she could be unadoptable, with that huge "positive" marker on her info sheet. She will be six months old before a follow up test is reliable. I can't consign her to a cage for four months at the shelter, while she is passed over for adoption. I already love her too much for that.

Last night I learned why I woke to the sound of EMS sirens on Monday. My sweet neighbor got out of bed in the middle of the night and died, and his wife found him hours later when she woke. This came out of nowhere. Just last week he was out working on his lawn as always. He was only in his mid-60s. His wife is hurting so badly right now, and I feel awful. Her friends and family have pulled in tight around her, to enfold her in love. The only thing I could think to do was to mow the front yard, and make sure it was as neat and tidy as possible, for her visitors. The couple always took such pride in their yard, and it felt like a proper thing to do. I noticed while I was there, that her friends are starting to show up with food. The sin-eating has begun. It is one of the most fascinating spontaneous expressions of love, following a death. I don't know whether other people interpret it the way I do, but it seems blatantly obvious to me.

My first reaction to the Supreme Court rulings today was to update my Facebook status, like you do. I tried to keep it generic, as I do still have a lot of friends whose understanding of this issue has not yet evolved. I simply said, "love trumps everything." A contemporary of my daughter really tried to argue against the blanket statement, suggesting that unadulterated hatred was fueling him. I got the feeling that he was coming from a place of a broken heart, not a learned hatred of a segment of the population. I stood my ground. I swore to him I did understand the pain and anger he was talking about, but I didn't know true power until I jettisoned that toxic hate and learned to love first. Not a transactional love that expects anything, including love, in return, but love that nourishes me in the giving, not getting.

The only thing I can think of to use as today's photograph is my lantana. There is only one plant, and it blooms with a rainbow of blossoms, everything from solid, dark red, through blends of red and orange, to bright magenta and yellow. What a perfect flower for today. Love is love.

Moving On

Inspirational song: Living on Tulsa Time (Eric Clapton)

Yesterday I promised fireworks to compensate for a horribly boring daily post. They aren't taking the form I might have expected. Today one of my mother's supremely interesting friends said something (totally unrelated) that triggered a memory that is actually very dear to me, for all that it encompasses weeks of stress that culminated in an explosive argument at highway speeds. I had long suspected that the Animaniacs character of Katie Kaboom was based on stories of me (until I had teenaged girls of my own, and realized that they are all always one heartbeat away from nuclear meltdown level drama). In the weeks before I left my Oklahoma home town, to the foreign land of the People's Republic of Boulder and my freshman year of university, I was a delicate mix of fear and excitement, akin to jogging with a jug of nitroglycerin. I found myself in a relationship I had no business entering, and my friends advising against it only increased my angst. I was so tied in knots, I went five days without eating, and I mean five days, not a bite of food. But the melodramatic hunger strike eventually ended, and we loaded up the car, borrowing a giant Pontiac from my grandfather, as our cars were too small to hold everything that went to college with me. My driving shift started somewhere north of Oklahoma City, after dark. From the beginning, my stepfather pushed me to stay at the speed limit, which at the time was still a mind-numbing 55 mph, even on the interstates. I was far too interested in getting out of the state, and getting on with my new life (does that sound familiar to anyone who has been reading this blog since I started it?) I didn't make it to the Kansas border before I was in a full-blown screaming match with him, threatening to run us all into an overpass if I wasn't allowed to drive like I wanted. (My poor mother, in the back, not wanting to takes sides in this fight--sorry, mom.) But like most of my life, I paid attention to the music playing on the radio, the constant soundtrack that always seems to match exactly what is happening around me. As I drove across the Kansas state line, Eric Clapton sang, "Well I left Oklahoma, driving in a Pontiac, just about to lose my mind..." All these years later, I wonder, how did that DJ know? He turned a miserable night into one of the funniest memories from that year.

When I'm ready to leave a place, I absolutely commit to it. I leave and don't look back. I remember the first time we lived in California, in the central coast, in a place that was actually quite lovely. But I had been creeped out by my daughter's guitar teacher who kept making inappropriate passes at me, and I associated the whole town with that one guy who didn't understand the word no. So leaving there was no hardship. A few years later, I happily put North Dakota in the rear view mirror, swearing I was done with 44 degrees below zero and winters that last until well into April. (Do you read me, Mr Man? Done.) And there are two desert towns I can think of that I will never call home again. I am conflicted about where I am now, though. We've been here two years (two years next week, actually). I still really, really like it here. I know the chances of this being my forever home are slim, bordering on none. But I am not ready to leave it yet. I dread what must happen to make me ready to leave here, because it will have to be significant.

I finally mustered up the courage to clean out the spare bedroom where the first two kittens were. I washed all the bedding and towels that I'd left in place, and carried out all the trash. I think I've finally put that behind me now. I started clearing my other spare room as well, although I haven't heard the final decision on whether my friend will rent the room. I am not going to rush her. She needs to be absolutely certain it's the right thing for her. I am going ahead and starting a collection to take to the consignment shop. I need to do that regardless of whether she moves in. 

I keep watching the top of the crape myrtles, visible from my bedroom window. They are just starting to bloom, and there are buds just about to burst any day now. Every time I see them, I sing in my head "skyrockets in flight." My soundtrack is a little silly sometimes. But I keep listening to it, because it is so often right in tune.

A Very Boring Girl

Inspirational song: Up All Night (Boomtown Rats)

Insomnia is a cruel, cruel bitch. I was awake until nearly 3 this morning, and woke at dawn to the sound of a fire engine pulling up in front of my neighbors' house, on the side closest to my bedroom. I peeked out to see EMTs walking in the driveway. I decided not to play Gladys Kravitz, the ultimate nosy neighbor. I have left them alone, although I did notice a lot of family cars parked there all day. I hope they are all okay. They're the sweetest couple of retirees you can imagine.

This morning was a mah jongg going away party, and the friend who is moving next week let us know yesterday that she wouldn't even be back from the new house to attend. But we all had a great time playing and having brunch in her honor. It would have been a shame to waste the opportunity.

And since then, I have done nothing. Zero. I have fallen asleep on the couch with a kitten on my neck, and woke too late to make water aerobics. I watched tv, and I surfed the net. I don't see a single thing in the above worth writing about, and less to photograph. I'm not going to hide my shame. I'm copping to it. You caught me. I'll try for fireworks tomorrow.

Fun & Games

Inspirational song: Games Without Frontiers (Peter Gabriel)

It isn't necessary to accuse me of anthropomorphizing animals. I freely admit to it. And to be honest, I really don't see much harm in it. It brings me great comfort, truth be told, in seeing and hearing the similarities between us and our domesticated pets and their wilder cousins. It makes me feel more closely tied to the planet to notice and accept our common traits. I mentioned before, as I held the doomed neonatal kittens how much their cooing sounded like human babies' noises. Having the chance to foster Athena (I got to choose her shelter name) is giving me a chance to notice even more similarities. At this moment, she is finally asleep, tucked into the crook of my left elbow, in a dark, faux-fur draped burrow. I had been putting her back into her bower in my spare bathroom at the top of the stairs when it was nap time, so I could work without worrying about her getting under the dogs' feet. She hated being alone so much, she started resisting naps. She was getting tired and cranky, and fought sleep by making a tiny little noise every few seconds, to keep herself awake. This was the exact modus operandi of my own daughters, especially the elder, when they were tiny. I'm reasonably confident that most human babies have used this trick.

Animals play games as assuredly as humans do, as much to learn and communicate as for entertainment. My white sidekick cat loves to play the stalker game more than any cat I know. This is the one where you make eye contact from a distance, freeze for a second, and then dip out of sight. After a few seconds, you pop back into view, and then hide again. The one from whom you are hiding will creep closer, and stop each time you look at them, a sort of inter-species game of red light green light. Given a long enough hallway or circuitous floor plan, this game can go on for quite a while. This morning, Athena was attempting a little baby version of it, and I realized, she was playing peekaboo with me, at her own instigation. It made me wonder, who thought of it first, humans or felines, or is it one of those developmental milestones that all infants everywhere cross, like learning to walk or to control your bladder? Yesterday she learned to come down the stairs under her own power, and I wished for a baby book to record the moment.

Our old man cat has been obsessed with the plastic rings that come from drink bottles for nearly all of his 15 years. Yesterday I introduced Athena to one, and she's learning it's a great toy to hunt and kill. My kids have said for years that they learned from the cat that the answer to the universe is "ring." I'm just preserving the wisdom of our line by teaching the next generation how to play.

Night and Day

Inspirational song: Athena (The Who)

My crisis of confidence appears to have ended. I'm not gonna lie, when the shelter called me on Wednesday to see whether I would be willing to try again with a foster kitten, my stomach clenched in fear and I thought I was going to throw up. But I said yes. I was shaking as I wrapped up the things I was working on, and I talked to myself in the car, in the manner of Maria soon-to-be Von Trapp, as she broke out in song with "I Have Confidence." I insisted on taking only one, and I declined the bottle-fed babies this time. I brought home a 3-4 week old who can do just about everything for herself, except prepare the food every eleven minutes (or maybe it just seems that frequent.) This has been nothing like the first experience. While somewhat physically taxing, it is fun. It is night and day different from watching the other kittens fail to thrive. Now the hard part will be giving her back in a month when my job is done.

My time has very little structure these days. I am up late at night, taking care of the kitten and messaging the man on another continent, and I'm up early in the morning to take care of me. This morning was water aerobics with an instructor who is at least 15 years older than I am, and who has absolutely no sympathy. I heard her say something today about being ex-military. Her class is as tough as boot camp to most of us soft-in-the-middle-aged women. But I think I will see results with a hard-liner like her. I followed up her class with about a half hour of weight machines, and by the time I made it home, it was all I could do to lift a half-pound kitten and drift in and out of sleep on the couch. I'm lucky that my well-adjusted pride is accepting our visitor with only nominal hissing. And I managed to capture the look on the professional eater dog's face when she looks at the baby. I sure hope I'm reading her right, that she wants more than anything to play nanny.

Napping today was crucial. Tonight is a birthday party with the Bonfire crew. I am contemplating choosing coffee as my beverage of choice for the event, so I can give another hour or so of play time to the little one when I return. But if I am to catch the "super moon" coming up over the woods behind the house, I need to get over there right now. So I will dash.

Blending the Edges

Inspirational song: Tangled in the Pines (BR5-49)

I don't think I was cut out to live a lonely existence. I'm not the type to choose "hermit" as a profession. For all my social awkwardness (which is fairly significant), I do try to keep myself open to new people, whose experiences are different than mine. I want to grow, learn, and keep blurring the lines. It hasn't always gone smoothly for me. I have been burned, and I have made mistakes that I can't always walk back. But I keep trying. So I have put myself out there again, taking a risk I swore years ago that I was done with, and I am in negotiations to get a temporary roommate. This will serve to help out a friend and to keep the house from feeling so quiet and empty of human conversation. My friend is unhappy where she is, and I have a space that has more positive energy and acceptance than her current situation. The big question is do I have enough physical space to fit her and the dog and furniture that comes with her? We should know in a few days if it's going to proceed. If so, I am going to be making a lot of trips to the consignment shop to clear out some closets and the spare bedroom.

The day before my friend called, I took a call from the animal shelter. They were willing to take a chance on me after the disastrous neonatal kitten experience. So I am trying one more time to foster. This time, the kitten--singular--is a little older. She is between three and four weeks old, big enough to feed herself soft food, to regulate her own body temperature, and to use a litter box. Things are going so much better than the last time. So far getting a clear photograph of her has proved as elusive as getting one of Bigfoot. I will discuss her more in future days, as her portfolio grows. For now, I'm working on letting her find her way around the big cats, now that she is proving to be healthy and spunky. The big, clumsy dogs watch through the deck windows, wishing they could play with her too. My professional eater dog looks at her with dreamy eyes, like she thinks she could be an excellent nanny to the baby.

While my potential roommate and I walked around the house, looking at it critically for spacial and logistical details, I noticed the large shefflera I keep by the front window had an arrowhead growing up through it. For years, the arrowhead struggled to stay alive, and suddenly, without my notice, it has taken off into a blended space. On the opposite side of that window, I have a sweet potato vine that came back from last year, and is wrapping itself around the arm of my adirondack chair and up through a Boston fern. And a few feet away, a potted climbing rose that was recently placed under a crape myrtle is now shooting up, tangling in the tall branches. I suppose there is no segment of my life where anything stays in neat, tidy, separate boxes. Ma vie, sans frontieres.

Timing Is Everything

Inspirational song: Time the Avenger (The Pretenders)

I've heard the phrase "better lucky than good" spoken in our house more times than I could ever count. I would say 9 out of every 10 times, it is due to good timing. Maybe we are more observant than average, or maybe we are just unafraid of asking the right questions. But we seem to get to the right place at the right time an awful lot, in my opinion. I met the right person two weeks ago, the personal trainer at the Y, not only to give me the support I need to regain my strength, but also to challenge me to take my writing to a higher level. I met her right when I was kicking around the idea of other writing projects in addition to these daily posts, and she has presented an inspiration to make that a reality. The idea is still gestating, so I won't provide details until and unless it becomes reality. Early this morning, my eye caught on a Facebook post from an old friend who was putting out a call for a rental home in the town we just left, where we couldn't sell our old house. Our tenants gave notice they were moving out at the end of July, and this family needs a home in early August. I couldn't believe my luck. We've been in talks, and I hope she wants it. I loved that house, so I have to believe other people will as well. 

I think my whole family, human, canine, and feline, is based on the right time, right place principle. I've told the story of my sidekick, the white cat who was on her way to the euthanasia room when my man swooped in and saved her. My little red-headed dog arrived just a few days later, another miracle save by my hero. We were driving along old Route 66 in California, at dusk, and in the dim light, he started to swerve the car around the dead dog in the road. Just as he began to turn the wheel, the "dead" dog picked his head up. The man slammed on the brakes, and was lucky that the car behind us both managed not to hit us, and not to run over the dog when he started to go around us in the center turn lane. I sometimes send a silent thanks to that unknown driver who sat behind us in the lane, with his hazard lights on, allowing my man to scoop up the dazed puppy and set him in the back seat of our car. The dog was mostly unharmed, having been knocked unconscious and hit hard enough in his hip to break a tiny flange off of the top of his femur or pelvic bone (I think the former). As his head started to clear, with a little dribble of blood coming from his nose, he focused on my voice as I talked to him soothingly. I think in that moment, he decided I was his, and he has been more loyal than any dog I've ever known before. He's the first dog I've ever felt I could trust to walk with me outside the yard, without a leash. (As long as he doesn't catch sight of a deer or a rabbit, that is. Then all bets are off.) He has been the best dog I've ever known personally, one of those once-in-a-lifetime companions that I hope everyone has a chance to know in their own lives. As I write this, he's in his usual spot, sleeping peacefully on the rug next to me. I am so lucky.

Persistence

Inspirational song: Back In the Saddle Again (Gene Autry)

How often do we hear it? If you fall, get back up. If you fail, try again. Practice, practice, practice. I am spending long weeks teaching myself what it takes to make a habit, and what it takes to feel like a success. There have been so many days when I didn't want to write, when I felt uninspired, but I was determined to keep the promise to myself to do this every day. It gets a little easier each time, and it never stops feeling good when I live up to my own expectations.

I started painting again today also. I made that little sketch the day before the last board meeting, but I let so many things take priority that I put it down and let it linger for a while. It still has a long, long way to go, but all of the colors are fully roughed in now. I came up with a plan for the next small painting project as well. I don't think any of them are destined to be masterpieces, but just retraining my muscles and brain to do the right things. But then, my favorite painting, the one I am most proud of, came from one of those moments when I just needed to create, and I reached for the closest flat surface I could paint on. It happened to be a scrap piece of drywall, and now I'm left with something wonderful that I have found impossible to frame for nearly ten years. I think about being brave and using the table saw to make a simple frame the way I've pictured it in my mind. I'm still just a little leery of power tool accidents while I'm here alone.

I'm thrilled with how I'm feeling now that I've gotten back around to the idea of weight lifting and water aerobics as well. After feeling so bad for so long, I am in danger of sounding like a born-again zealot now that I've rediscovered healthy living and healthy eating. But there are much worse things I could do. I'd rather rave than rant or whine. I have another couple things in the works, one I said I'd never do again twenty years ago, one I said that about last week. I'm feeling pretty brave these days. I'll talk about them as I see whether they work out. For now, I'm optimistic.

Free to Walk About the Cabin

Inspirational song: Let's Get Physical (Olivia Newton John)

It is amazing the difference a few months can make. This past winter I was miserable, stuck in a spiral of bad habits and bad health, not sure how to get out of it, or even sure that I was going to be able to escape. As bad as my attitude and prospects appeared, I really didn't have an option to give up and accept defeat. I had things that needed doing and the onus was entirely on me to shape up and take care of them myself. The first weeks were a rough climb, but I think I'm finally at cruising altitude. And oddly enough, I think the stumble last week did more to demonstrate how far I've come than if I'd not made any mistakes at all. I was able to recover, and get back to healthy eating and activity in a shorter time than at any point I can recall in the last three or four years. Yesterday at the Y, I was able to spend an hour in the weight room, and an hour in the pool, and today I just have a little muscle fatigue and vague soreness. It makes me want to jump around and cheer, having such definitive proof that I have completely broken free from the dark place. It also helps getting rid of a few stressors that had been weighing heavily on my shoulders. I made it in for a regular checkup, something I'd been putting off for a year, and scheduled a screening that is more than three years overdue. Two fewer things dragging me down; two steps closer to a clear conscience and open schedule.

Not everything was all hearts and rainbows. I did find more rather annoying evidence of rodent activity. Some little idiot had decided since he had removed all the green tomatoes on one plant, he would shred the stalks so no one else can have more tomatoes later in the year. It's past the middle of June now. I don't think it's worth it to attempt to start over with fresh plants. But I think on my way to see a movie this afternoon, I'm going to stop in and read up on sonic pest control options. And I will spare my mother's sensibilities and keep all the obscene names I'm going to fling at the rodents off the blog. You're welcome, mom.

Picture Day

Inspirational song: Photograph (Ringo Starr)

We have circled around again to that place where I really haven't much to say, profound or otherwise. So I decided to cover myself in insect repellent and take a walk-around with a camera, and let the pictures talk for me. Since my phone had just been put on the charger, I took the iPad as camera. Once inside, I quickly noticed that I had not been careful to keep the case away from the lens, and I got a bit of shading, some enough to really take away from otherwise decent shots. I did get a little blue solar flare that I like more than it really warrants. But then, I'm generally easy to please. I did find a decomposing rat in the back half of the Park, but I will be nice and not post that picture. I took it as evidence more than anything else.

I Knew What I Was In For

Inspirational song: I Should Have Known Better (The Beatles)

Yesterday, while I was chatting with the next door neighbor, she said to me that her son had been busy for a few weeks, and hadn't been by to see her. It made her so sad and lonely, and she wondered how on earth I was holding it all together with my man gone for months. I think I told her something flip, trying not to make a big deal about it, but it did leave me thinking. The separations started long before this current job. I haven't ever counted days, but I wouldn't be surprised to be told that between a third and a half of our entire relationship has been long-distance. It goes back to the very beginning, when we were in college, together only two months, and he took off for six weeks to visit his sister who was teaching in Australia. To a 20 year old in love for the first time, yes, that was emotional pain like no one in the history of time had ever experienced, and wasn't I to be pitied? A couple years later, I had graduated and moved in with my mom for six months, and living two states apart was hard on us both. Later, I can remember being upset that he was gone on a two week camping trip with the Boy Scouts when our older daughter cut her first tooth. But over time, even though the logistics of sometimes-single parenting on a tiny income were challenging, we learned coping skills. Three month assignments became four, and then six or eight. He would come home after being gone a week, to the sound of the phone ringing, and be asked, "Have you unpacked yet?" And back out the door he would go. Technology has made it much easier. It has been almost 20 years since email first revolutionized our separations. I was slow to adopt video conferencing, but now I take great comfort in being able to see and hear him a few times a week, when our schedules align. I think the dogs and cats appreciate hearing him as well. It isn't nearly as hard as it once was, and I don't want anyone, like my neighbor, to imagine that I'm a big mess for being alone.

I spent the day getting things back to normal after the very bad week. I did a lot of cleaning, but I have not yet cleaned out the spare bedroom. When I took the kittens back out of there, I shut the door, and I only opened it once, the next night, when I realized I had left a lamp on in that room. I came across two or three things I normally store in that closet, and I just left them where they lay. I'm not ready to face that space. I was warned how difficult it is to care for kittens so small. I knew better, but I wanted to try it anyway. It's going to be a very long time, possibly forever, before I attempt something so difficult, with that kind of risk.

Since I stayed inside all day, I suppose today's photo should reflect that. It wasn't too hot to be outside, but in the few minutes it took to water everything, I was a mosquito banquet. I'll be viewing my masterwork from the windows for a while. 

Should Versus Want To

Inspirational song: Needing/Getting (OK Go)

I spent the last couple days in an angry, sad funk. I have an immense amount of work that needs to be done inside the house and out in the Park, but I have adamantly refused to be a responsible adult while I moped. I didn't even eat right, caving in and having fast food twice, and a single slice of cake when I finally grew up enough to go back to the grocery store to restock. I've told myself that what happened this week was out of my control, but that didn't help mitigate the guilt and frustration over not being able to keep one or both kittens alive. (They never called me back from the shelter, so I must assume that either Eva didn't make it, or they decided I was not trustworthy. Either way, I am not pleased with the situation.) 

It took one brief disruption to totally throw off all the balance and positivity I had so carefully cultivated this spring. I even failed to make it to the Y to start the weight routine or continue the water aerobics I had begun. Eventually I found a small reserve of motivation to drive over there today, and when I arrived in the early evening, there wasn't a single car in the parking lot. Apparently their traffic is so slow on Saturday nights that it isn't worth their while to keep the place open until six o'clock. So I drove home, regretting the gasoline and time I wasted. If nothing else, it left me with the need to do some sort of useful physical activity, so I mowed the front and the shady part of the back before I had had quite enough of the mosquitoes and quit for the night. My neighbor came out and chastised me for doing physical labor, and all I could think was, "you're not helping." I have written about it before. Yes, I was sick. I am not currently, and to be stronger I must be allowed to work. But naturally I said none of that. I just redirected the conversation to other topics.

There are some signs of heat stress and animal damage outside, but generally things are holding up pretty well. Summer officially starts next week, so I still have months to keep it all going. I'm still confident. I just have to remember that I'm the grown up around here, and no one is going to come along and take care of it all for me. I will do what I should, not just what I want to.

The Same Old War

Inspirational song: The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill (The Beatles)

After the brief, miserable attempt with shelter kittens, I am left exhausted and struggling to regain a normal schedule. I had no idea those few days would throw me off so badly. I'm even having trouble looking at pictures of kittens that make up 50% of any given Facebook wall. It will get better, but right now I'm going to focus my energy where I am comfortable.

It appears that all the animals took advantage of me, while I was distracted this week. This morning I woke to find nearly every single green tomato nibbled, but only partly. It was like finding a fancy box of mixed chocolates, after someone went searching for something good and only found the despised orange cremes. Once again, some little prankster left a stolen fruit where I would see it, bold evidence of the crime. That, or they witnessed me yesterday, when I placed a ripe tomato on the deck rail to photograph it. It is possible this was a piece of fan art. I don't know who it is who keeps eating all of my fruits and vegetables. I suppose the peaches went to squirrels, but during the day they seem far more interested in sunflower seeds than tomatoes or squash blossoms. I doubt birds are the problem, and I know rabbits are not climbing up the containers and cages. I'm left with mice, rats, or other burrowing rodents like voles as my suspects. The neighbor has told me on several occasions about rodents under her shed, and there are absolutely tons of golf ball sized holes in the ground on that side of the park. (There are also dozens of mounds from mole tunnels on the other side of the Park, and I had to do a little research to get it straight in my head who does what, moles versus voles. I am in danger of turning into Carl Spackler, straight out of Caddyshack, if I can't get a handle on these guys.) I have heard before that I will have to wrap my plants if I want to get any of the fruits and vegetables. That may be next on the agenda, figuring out what that entails. 

Last night, as it was just becoming too dark to see clearly outside, my black cat went racing over to the window by the fireplace, drawing my attention to someone thrashing in the hydrangea and holly bushes. I was able to discern the outline of a large dog moving energetically on the wrong side of a wire edging fence. I'm not sure why I bother putting the fence borders in. The dogs never respect the marked boundaries. I pulled both of the knuckleheads inside, and went out with a flashlight, wondering what the hell they had been trying to kill. I never figured it out. This morning I discovered how epic the battle had been, with a visible hole in the once-lush hydrangea, and along the fence all of my giant ferns were trampled. I am starting to wonder whether the sonic methods of pest control would be safe to use around dogs and cats. It would be a whole lot easier than wrapping every plant in the Park, à la Christo.

The Second Stage of Grief

Inspirational song: Mama Tried (Merle Haggard)

The male kitten, formerly known as Batman, passed away in the hours between midnight and 5 this morning. The female kitten, who I would like to name Eva (as in Braun) because she has a perfect Kitler face and I love a good Internet meme, was still alive as of 8 o'clock, when I dropped her back off at the shelter, hoping they would give her IV fluids. And I have been wallowing in the second stage of grief--anger--ever since. I am so upset they didn't take me seriously when I brought both kittens in at noon yesterday. I told them how sick they were. The reason I was there was to save both of their lives. I told the tech this morning that if they can get Eva stabilized, I would continue to foster her. But I want them to keep her at least all of today. She needs more medical intervention than I can do on my first attempt at feline neonatal care.

The last day and a half were very rough. I was every bit as exhausted as if I had a human infant in the house. This is why we knew we were doing it right having kids in our early 20s, when staying up all night wasn't a big deal. I don't know how our friends handled having babies when they were in their 30s and 40s. It's just too hard at this age. I found it interesting to learn how remarkably similar are the sounds made by human and feline infants. The cooing and mewling were indistinguishable (to my ears) from human sounds. They were just a little higher for coming from such a tiny mouth.

I hope I can get myself back in order as well, while Eva is back in the shelter. It took me no time at all to fall apart. My stomach is killing me, partly from stress, partly from lack of sleep, and partly because I stopped eating real food in order to focus on feeding the little ones. Today is supposed to be close to 100 degrees outside, and I completely ignored all the plants yesterday. The ground outside is still saturated, but I made sure the container plants were watered enough to survive today's heat. I found that by waiting a day, I missed the first tomato ripening, and it now has bite marks in it. There was another right next to it, that escaped being pilfered. I picked it and brought it inside. I may use it and the rest of the only cucumber I successfully grew in a sandwich today. It will taste like victory. I am in sore need of a win.

The Things I Do for Love

Inspirational song: Stay Up Late (Talking Heads)

In the immortal words of Roger Murtaugh (Danny Glover) in Lethal Weapon, "I'm getting too old for this shit." It has been a very long, difficult 24 hours. The foster kittens are more of a challenge than I believed. They have problems digesting, so I'm having to give them metronidazole and then probiotics in their formula. And I have done three loads of laundry since they came home with me at this time yesterday, a combination of their bedding and my clothes, with another due very shortly. I called three different numbers this morning, seeking advice, and even texted one of the shelter techs, but I couldn't reach a human no matter what I did. By late morning I was very concerned about them and drove them back in to be checked out. They took them for about half an hour, washing and feeding them, leaving me in the waiting room. They completely disregarded everything I had said about how frighteningly often they were eliminating (two week old kittens should poop less than once a day, so once every hour or more is a concern!) So here we are, back again at the Park. I want so desperately to do right by these little pinkies, and I am not sure there's enough of a cushion for me to learn on the job. Infant kittens are so fragile.

I suppose it is just as well I am spending all my time inside now. The heat finally arrived. And it is on the heels of so much rain that when I opened the door to let the dogs out last night, the whole outside smelled of dirty socks, or laundry left for days in the washer to mildew. It was nauseating. While I hide from the heat, I need to decide on a good natural spray for my roses. Something has come along and eaten off most of the leaves on at least three bushes up front. I've heard of several different concoctions over the years. I am not sure what works best in the humid southeast. I'm not even sure whether the problem is insects or too much rain.

I need to make the trek to the pet store to get the pre-moistened towels to bathe the kittens. Damp wash cloths aren't doing the trick. The little ones are just staying wet and cold, and I'm not getting enough of the mess off of them. It's a shame the closest store I know of is about 10 miles from here, through thick rush hour traffic. I will be kind and skip a photo today. None of us are ready for our close-ups right now.

Playing With Fire

Inspirational song: I Want Candy (Bow Wow Wow)

Contrary to popular opinion, I am not entirely risk averse. I just choose my moments to walk on the edge of danger. Today is one of those days. Last Friday, a friend forwarded a link on Facebook for a local animal society, putting out a desperate plea for someone who could take bottle fed kittens, at 4:30 in the afternoon, right before the weekend. The photo set off all my protective instincts, and I messaged the organization. They found someone to take that particular set of kittens, but they kept my contact information and said they would probably call me. It took them only until early this afternoon to do so. I went down and assumed care of two tiny infants. They are about two weeks old, with freshly open eyes, and zero coordination. Right now they're a little messy and a lot stinky. I took them into my spare bedroom, and shut the door. Within five minutes, there was a trio of black and white units on the other side of the door, systematically removing bits of carpeting to get in. I gave up and opened the door, but none of the adults has been allowed to touch the babies. We need a few days of separation and observation before that happens.

As risky as it seems for me to foster kittens, I think I needed this opportunity to feel like I'm contributing somehow, that I'm sharing my skills where they're needed most. Plus, I needed a shot at redemption. My man has been known to go out of his way to help wild animals, once going so far as to shoo a rattlesnake off of a California desert highway. A little over a year go, one of his rescues was a baby squirrel who was orphaned in the Park. We had absolutely no idea how to take care of one so tiny, but we tried to keep him going until we could turn him loose outside again. We had done it when the girls were little with a blue jay, but mammals are harder than fledgling birds, apparently. PetSmart doesn't sell powdered squirrel milk, and when we guessed what would come closest, we guessed wrong. We tried kitten replacement milk, and we tried almond milk. We didn't know about warming them up before they eat. We didn't know a lot of key details, and despite a valiant effort, including me staying up several nights in a row snuggling him under an electric blanket, he survived only a week under our care. We buried him under a rose bush near the front door, and I still refer to it as Edmund's rose. 

I must do better with these kittens than I did with Edmund. I have more literature than I did with the squirrel, and I have more support. They made sure I had the emergency care phone number listed in three places in my care instructions. I got the number to text the foster program lady if necessary. I have the opportunity to succeed where I failed a year ago. I'm going to take it. And the first place I'm going to start is to provide better names for both kittens. The person who surrendered them had a four year old boy who named the male kitten Batman. Seriously? Not on my watch, kid. 

Indecision

Inspirational song: It's Not Easy Being Green (Kermit the Frog)

I find myself having difficulty making decisions today, about the simplest actions. I have started toward the door multiple times, and stopped myself. I can't decide whether to water all the potted plants or wait for the rain. I can't decide whether to mow out front, or make inroads on the deadheading that I keep delaying, or do nothing at all. It's possible that my dithering is a little misdirected stress over the strange, new thing I'm trying today. When I joined the Y last week, I was able to make an appointment with one of their trainers to set up a routine. That appointment is in an hour, and I'm feeling an unreasonable amount of nerves over it. It isn't something I should be scared about, but I have let my health, or lack thereof lately, become such a huge focus and I'm almost afraid to face that mythical monster. 

In between the first paragraph and now, I had the meeting, and it went incredibly well. While I knew it would, I let the fear of the unknown get me worked up for no reason. If I had any idea beforehand that I would find a trainer with so many similar experiences as I've had, I would not have been as nervous as I was. In fact, it went so well that a seed of a rather cunning plan has been planted, but I will hug that one tightly for a while longer, so I don't jinx it. I hope I get to write about it soon.

Quiet Time

Inspirational song: My Melancholy Baby (Gene Austin)

Now that I have found peace in the silence, I no longer want to have the television playing all the time, just for noise. This is a huge sea change for me. There have been remarkably few periods in my life where I didn't need some kind of background noise, some kind of electronic chatter, all of the time. It is so unusual, I don't know how to interpret it when I let the silence stretch for so long. It doesn't feel like depression. Quite the opposite, actually. In the quiet times, I let myself be still as well. Still, but not inactive. I don't quite know how to explain that. I felt more still and peaceful cutting the grass this morning than I ever have sitting on the couch watching tv, playing computer games, and texting all at once. My stress levels have dropped so far in the last few days, and now I don't feel like every action is frantic, that I should be going in fourteen other directions at the same time. I wonder whether the hirsute ones who live here feel my change in attitude. My daughter said her cats and dog are like completely different animals now that the toxic roommate is gone. I think I was my own toxic roommate, and I sure hope she has moved out for good.

I was told today the new rule is I can't buy any more plants until I get all the ones I've already purchased into the ground. At the rate I'm going, I may be done buying for the year. I finally potted the coleus I bought a week or so ago, plus a couple others. I have been on the lookout for a specific variety of coleus since we moved here, a "Big Red Judy." I think I finally got the right one, although big box store garden centers are terrible about labeling things like that. I really should be giving my business to the smaller nurseries, like the one where we got the weeping willow and bald cypress in April. When we lived in New Mexico, I had a summer job at a little mom and pop garden center that had the absolute best plants in town, with all the cool varieties clearly named. I need to apply the lessons I'm learning about quality over quantity in food to the things I put in my yard as well. No more feeding the addiction to the clearance rack in Lowes garden center. Of course, if I don't plant the ones I already have, that point is moot.

I get annoyed when people describe cats as aloof. It shows an utter lack of understanding of the species. It's like deciding a pretty girl is stuck up simply because she didn't accept an insensitive come-on. But for all my crazy cat lady mojo, the youngest seems immune. All the others treat me like a jungle gym, while she holds herself apart. Once I started letting her hunt in our little nature preserve, she started acting much less sullen. But lately it has been too warm to leave the back door open, so the kids can go in and out at will. I need to figure out some other way to entertain my melancholy baby. I am open to suggestions.

It's Always Something

Inspirational song: Mad Man Moon (Genesis)

I'm noticing a pattern. I have about a week of enthusiasm for working, observing, and writing, and then I have a day or two when it's all very difficult to keep up the pace. Today was a good day to start with a tough workout in the pool at the Y, fall asleep from exhaustion with a coffee cup in hand, and then waste the daylight watching movies I DVRed months, or in one case, years ago. As the sun is lowering, I finally completed a perimeter walk, to feed the mosquito bloom that follows tropical storms, and take photos of what is blooming now, so the man can see his garden. I found that for the first time I can remember, we have successfully grown more than one single gladiolus. This is pretty exciting for me. Now that we kept them alive long enough to flower, we need to learn how to plant them so that they grow straight up, not tipped over at a 45 degree angle. 

I need to relearn that lesson about being careful what I ask for. A week ago I worried my grass was drying out dangerously. Today, 3-4 inches of rain later, it's taller than my ankles, perfect cover for that snake I keep looking for, hoping to see every time I approach my shed and woodpile. I suspect one day soon I will regret hoping to see one (especially now that the tall cowboy who is in the Bonfire crew has a fresh snakeskin hatband, courtesy of the poisonous fellow who sent him to the emergency room in May). 

Today really has been a pleasant lazy Saturday. I needed it. There are lots of things that need doing, and I allow that I may get one or two plants repotted or deadheaded before night sets in. But today is a day not to feel overwhelmed. Today is a day to regroup and relax.

All Clear

Inspirational song: Shelter from the Storm (Bob Dylan)

How many children, over the years, have tried valiantly to stay up on Christmas Eve, hoping for a glimpse of Santa Claus, only to tucker out and sleep right through his visit? I wanted so much to be awake through the storm last night, but somewhere after midnight, the rain and soothing voices on the Weather Channel blurred into the background, and in a fog I followed the red-headed dog upstairs, after he convinced me it was past our bedtime. I woke at about a quarter to seven, to the sound of the crape myrtle closest to the house brushing against the siding, next to my pillow. The center of rotation, or what was left of it, was very close to my house. The wind wasn't bad, and the rain was petering out quickly. It appears my Park has weathered the storm, and other than being very soggy, is no worse for wear. At the least I expected a branch or two to fall from the sycamore that sheds them frequently, but there were barely even leaves knocked free. I now have confirmation that the water fountain, that we kept layering with spray sealant, is finally water tight. I suppose I can finally paint and reassemble it. And I had put two of the bird feeders full of sunflower seeds on the ground, so they didn't blow away. Judging from what I found early this morning, a squirrel must have exploded. 

Battening Down the Hatches

Inspirational song: Raingods With Zippos (Fish)

I think I have secured everything I need to ahead of the first Atlantic tropical storm of the season. I carried in light things like deck pillows, bird feeders, and a random piece of flashing the man left lying on the swing. Little pieces of metal like that can become missiles in this kind of wind, and I'd rather not risk it. The center of circulation for TS Andrea is predicted to go directly over my head overnight. I expect to stay awake all night watching it. I'm rather excited. Think Lt. Dan on Forrest Gump's shrimp boat kind of excited. Last year there were no storms that went through my area, and the year before we only got a glancing blow from Irene. I might need to plan a morning trip to the beach Saturday, if the flooding isn't too bad. The most amazing things wash up with these storms. I don't tend to pick things up, but the photos are terrific. I can't wait.

There was a radio host I heard last year, when hurricane Sandy was bearing down on New York City, who said her tour manager had stocked up on important food stuffs, like duck fat and caviar. I found that funny, until I found myself at the grocery store today, making sure I had plenty of organic half and half and free-range chicken. I don't imagine this storm is going to trap me in my house for long, but I'd still rather I had food I actually want if I'm going to be holed up for the next 36 hours. I've had a horrible relationship with food for most of my life, and I only started liking it again when I started the transition to primarily organic, fresh, and whole food whenever possible. Growing so many herbs has helped with that as well. I can't stand the seasonings on processed foods, especially when they're advertised with words like "xtreme." I am so much happier with the things I've grown myself. It's a new experience, when food actually makes me smile. I don't want to be without the good stuff, even under threat of natural disaster.

I feel the urge to do one more lap around the Park, to see whether there's anything else to be pulled down, or taken inside. For now the wind is calm, but the eyewall of the storm is just now making landfall in Florida. I still have a few hours before I'm out in it, doing my Lt. Dan impression.

End of an Era

Inspirational song: I'm Free (The Who)

When I was 16, and I finally got my braces off, I remember looking in the mirror, singing along with Def Leppard on the radio, stuttering an F sound, while I stared at my shiny, straight teeth. They looked and felt so huge and smooth without the sharp, pokey brackets and wires that pinched. I was so pleased to be free of the mass of metal in my mouth. I'd had them about two and a half years, I think, and back then, that was such a long time to wait. It was one of those moments that crystallizes in your memory, that you refer back to often. So today, I started my car after the very last time I led a board meeting, and was happy to find Def Leppard there waiting on my radio. F-f-f-Foolin'...

It should be obvious by now that I am one of those people who strongly ties music to events. It was an automatic move, the day I started the blog, to open with an inspirational song. It felt right, and it seemed correct to continue it every day. Sometimes the song drives the content; sometimes it goes the other way. I planned for a few days to use today's song, for another reference to my teenaged self. When I graduated from high school, and my classmates asked me to sign their yearbooks, they had to wait while I wrote out the entire lyrics to "I'm Free," in every single book. I was so ready to close that chapter of my life, and run off to Colorado for college and new experiences. I feel that same exhilaration now. The board year has concluded. I offered a little advice (just a little), I thanked my outgoing board, and then I split. I'm still going to take their calls if they have questions, but as far as I am concerned, that book is closed. I'm free.

There was a stretch in there where I felt like a hostage. All the fun had been wrung out of being in the group, but I had an obligation to the position, and a promise to myself to see it to the end. I had to be prodded to do business at times, especially once the elections were concluded and I was officially a lame duck. I still want to be part of this organization, and I may even serve it in an official capacity as a service chair someday if they need and want me to, but I would have to wait until that doesn't reek of Stockholm syndrome. A summer off should give me a fresh perspective. I have made references to the breakdown of my relationship with several of the board members, and spoken hopefully of the recent improvement in those connections. Today was the strongest sign that the worst is behind me and the future has promise. Oddly enough, the moment that encouraged me most was a reference to the movie last year about the Iran hostage crisis. The woman I was closest to before the breakdown raised her coffee cup and teasingly offered "the Argo toast." I understood exactly the spirit in which it was intended, and I loved her for it.

I don't know what kind of picture to put for today. I thought about something like the sun breaking through the clouds, but I don't have one of those in stored photos, and it has been rainy for hours. I noticed yesterday that my hydrangeas are in full bloom, so maybe some nice blue pom-poms would work as a celebratory image.

Sooner

Inspirational song: Lust for Life (Iggy Pop)

I've spent a lot of the last couple months looking forward to tomorrow. When my duties on the board went from rewarding volunteer work to stressful drag, I focused on the handover as the day when I could finally get back to doing the things I wanted to be doing, for me and for my family. One of the things I promised myself I would do was start painting again. I didn't have any particular subject in mind, I just wanted to paint. So for the last few days, I let some ideas bounce around in my head, until this morning, when a pencil and piece of heavy paper appeared in my hands. I sketched, and liked what I saw, so I inked it, and kept liking it. I collected my paints and a few brushes, imagining that I was going to do heavy brushwork in a Van Gogh style. Once I got going, I let my hands work without thinking about it too much. It is taking itself in a different direction. I know better than to interfere, when the piece itself has such strong opinions on how it should look. This is a lot of fun. I am glad I didn't wait until tomorrow to begin. I guess there is just something bred into us Okies, where official start dates mean nothing to us.

I wasn't supposed to spend all day rediscovering which end of a paintbrush is up. I was supposed to be organizing today, making sure my continuity binder was ready to hand over to the next president, along with the gavel. I'm telling myself that I owe it to the next board to spend the rest of the night doing it, but it will be hard to convince myself to behave. I'm trying to tell that inner voice to shut up, the one that keeps saying that it's not like I'm not going to be around, and that the next president lives less than two miles away, where I can deliver just about anything. Our group settles down for the summer, but I still need to give my successor all she needs to prepare for next fall. It might end up being a late night.

For now, I will watch the large storm cell bearing down on my end of the county, and hope that my satellite tv hangs in long enough to see the Voice. And I will try to remember I'm a grownup, and take care of my obligations for tomorrow.