That Ain't No Crime

Inspirational song: The Sword of Damocles (Rocky Horror Picture Show)

I'm not sure why I bothered to get out of bed this morning. I don't think I had a positive influence on the march of time, and I'm fairly certain the same is true vice versa. I started this morning with a Monkey's Paw kind of dream, where my younger daughter insisted I walk over to a restaurant, without asking any questions, and as I walked there, I realized that her father was probably there waiting to surprise me. The dream went south from there, because the reason he was home was that he had been injured and sent back to recuperate. It started with him missing the rest of the thumb that the table saw shortened for him several years ago (in real life), and the longer it went on, the greater percentage of his limbs were gone. I'm not good at dream interpretations, but I don't think it meant much more than starting my day with a really strong feeling of unease. Once I finally got a chance to chat with my man, I was only slightly kidding when I asked him to avoid power tools until I had enough time to distance myself from this creepy dream.

I really wanted my experiment to work. I wanted to believe that a sturdy deck brush, a strong concentration of Simple Green, and some elbow grease would work to remove the neon green mold that showed back up about an hour after my man put away the power washer last year. I went over a small section, rinsed it, and went over it again, and it still looks like crap. I tried another section with a bleach based mold remover spray, with just a little brushing and rinsing, and it looks brand new. I don't think I should use much bleach outside, so close to my plants and trees, but I have to find something that will get rid of the mold. The man suggests that I'm not going to be able to weasel out of using the power washer. I'm afraid he may be right.

I'm at the end of a clumsy, uncoordinated, unproductive day. I keep tripping on things, dropping and knocking stuff over, and generally being a bumbling fool. I haven't felt comfortable in my own skin (and not just the part that still smells like bleach). I couldn't even get out of the car at the grocery store without majorly clocking my head on the doorframe. I'm ready to call it a day. I have to go to bed early tonight anyway, since I have to be at physical therapy at 8 tomorrow morning, and the main artery between here and there usually moves at about 10 miles an hour at that time of day. Time to hit the hay and hope that tomorrow runs better than today.

Learning Curve

Inspirational song: It's My Party (Lesley Gore)

It is amazing how quickly group dynamics can change. We had a tight knit, serious group of mah jongg players in last year's club, and we played twice a month, without fail. After the last board year ended last summer, a couple of the key players moved away, and it has been like pulling teeth to find anyone interested in filling those slots. We had one last ditch effort tonight, to hold a training session at night, and still it did not work. The master and I have decided it's not worth it to try to keep drawing from a shrinking pool, and we are turning instead outside of the club. She has neighbors down at her end of the development (really, it's the neighboring development to mine, but I feel like it's all one big neighborhood) who have approached her about wanting to learn to play, and we are going to switch it to a location-based event. It makes much more sense to go where there is interest rather than try to drum up interest where there is none. I told her that I still don't want to gamble with real money, but she warned were are actually going to have to get better about adding up points. When last I was in Colorado, I found her a great little book on the history of mah jongg, and it has been giving us a lot of interesting ideas, and it informed us that there are even such things as cruises devoted to the game. We may find it is worth our while to travel, to reconnect with the old core group. The only problem is that when we go out of town separately, we often watch each other's animals. Who will feed my cats and make sure her dog gets a daytime potty break if we go on a mah jongg weekend?

While we sat and waited for no one to show up from our club, we actually had a great time scheming, and laughing over the instruction booklet from her travel set that she has never fully unpacked. It was obviously written by a non-native English speaker, and typeset by an inattentive transcriber. If I had had to rely on this booklet to learn the game, I would have chucked it in the trash and never played a single round. It was painful. I'm so glad I learned from the master instead, who is imminently patient and has an endearing dry wit.

Today was graduation day of a sort from physical therapy. I remember very well the disappointment I felt in December when the first therapist made me feel like I had failed her, when I now know it was the other way around. I had a chance to thank my doctor last week for referring me to the smartypants I see now. He said that he has gone to that clinic himself, and had unbelievably good results as well. When I filled out the end-of-therapy survey forms, I was able to say in all honesty that I had no difficulty in performing the tasks that were so trying a few months ago, like getting out of the car, climbing stairs, and rolling over in bed. On Thursday I go back, but to address a different problem: the soles of my feet. Bones has promised me that he can help me with the heel pain that has been my constant companion for the last decade or more. My pie in the sky goal is to be comfortable in a pair of sexy shoes for the time it takes to get from the house to the car, and from the car to a restaurant or show somewhere. But I will settle for no pain on the bottoms of my feet when I'm sitting with them up on the couch, at rest.

Small Art

Inspirational song: Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) (Don McLean)

There is an entertainment industry that has sprung up in the last several years that I don't recall existing when I was a younger woman. There are different names for these venues, but I'm fairly certain there is some level of franchising and licensing at work here. These are the shops where people (mostly women, I suspect) gather to drink wine and all paint the same painting. The first time we did this as a group, I wasn't impressed. I didn't like the painting I did that first time, and it kind of left a sour taste in my mouth. I felt like it was an art mill, and that not even old Magic Bill Anderson was this uninspiring. But the opportunity came around again, and I let myself get excited about going again. I'm glad I let go of the trepidation, because tonight was a far better experience. Maybe it was the choice of painting, a simplified Van Gogh interpretation of a local landmark. Maybe it was the combination of people, most of whom I know better now than I did a couple years ago when we went. Maybe it was because I brought a handful of my own brushes, and set my wine bottle right next to my easel for easier refills. Tonight was a blast and I am much happier with my painting. It's still not elaborate or finely wrought. You only get about two hours to work on it. Nonetheless, I'm going to leave this one visible. Not sure where I will display it on a permanent basis, but I'm not hiding in in a corner like the last one.

I have to be honest. I had a lot of wine, and I'm a bit worn out. I'm going to accept the fatigue, and much like tonight's painting, I'm going to be happy with the simplified art and stop here. It's a lesson to learn, that sometimes less really is more.

Too Easy Being Green

Inspirational song: Getting In Tune (The Who)

I am in touch with my inner Sisyphus this evening. I swept and swept and swept the deck all day, trying to dislodge a long winter's worth of debris from every nook and cranny, and a Park's worth of sand from the spaces between the boards. Tonight, a cold front is blowing down petals from the trees above, and a whole new crop of sycamore pods are littering the surface of the deck. But for a moment there, for a couple hours this afternoon, that place was perfect. I took a break from scrubbing as obsessively as Lady MacBeth to sit under the canopy of the umbrella, to enjoy the sounds of the spring. I had sent all the animals inside, much to their dismay, and had planned to join them when I decided I was just too tired to go another step beyond the patio chairs. I turned off the music I had been playing, and listened to the conversation of the birds. I filled the squirrel feeders today, and while I sat, still and quiet, a few birds started creeping closer and closer to them. Some just hopped around the bushes and yard decorations, and one cardinal hen spent several minutes trying to decide whether I was real or a figment of her imagination. After a while, she was chased off by a noisy boy, who ate and chirped and didn't seem to mind when I slowly reached for my camera to take his picture several times. I swear, the more he raved about the free lunch, the more birds came into the yard to see what the fuss was about. It was with regret that I eventually had to let the dogs back out to disrupt the fine dining.

Now that the weather is turning again, I aim to turn my spring cleaning tendencies to the inside of the house. I tried to do a little of that today, to negate the odd feeling the living room took on after I moved the ficus back out to its spot on the front porch. It seems so empty in here without that giant green presence, and I've been feeling all day like I just moved in to this house. I can't figure out why the discordance is so out of proportion to the loss of one feature in the house. I will have to experiment a little to see whether I can make it feel lived in again. I'm not bringing the tree back until next winter.

My little shadows followed me all around the Park today as I checked on progress. I'm not allowed to cross it alone. The buddy system is the law here. I stood under the weeping willow again, while it danced and petted me. I had hoped to remove some of the white ropes holding it upright, but watching how much it swayed in such gentle wind made me change my mind. It's not ready yet. Maybe by the end of summer, but even then I doubt it. The bald cypress is finally showing signs of life, as one of Friday's pictures illustrated. I'm very relieved that only one tree, the lower peach, is forever dead after last year's excessive rain and insects. I haven't decided yet whether I'm brave enough to try to replace it myself. I'm still working on trying to decide how to handle the green mold that is taking over the damp side of the house. My deck looks kind of pretty green, but I might be willing to drag out the power washer and give it a whirl. But first I'm going to invest in a deck brush and see how much I can get with a little elbow grease, and maybe a couple drops of bleach.

It's On

Inspirational song: Get the Party Started (Pink)

I honestly thought I had nothing to do all day today except yardwork and basketball. I'm glad I was within range of my phone when the calendar alarm sounded. I was expected at a birthday party for a sweet little leprechaun today, and I had to rush to get ready. I say that only half jokingly. The birthday boy turned one on St Patrick's day, and he was wearing the cutest little shamrock clothes. They complemented his strawberry blond hair quite well. It has been a very long time since I was around that many very small children. It was quite overwhelming. But it was a good time, and the kids were as cute as can be. I have to say that my friends must also be the best kind of pet parents, because their dog was as patient and kind as any animal has ever been around so many children. He even sat and made happy faces when one little girl put toy handcuffs on his wrists. He just waited, still, until his daddy removed them. The dog's reward came later, when everyone was busy taking pictures of the birthday boy smashing his own personal birthday cake all over his high chair (and he was then whisked away for a quick bath and fresh shamrock clothes). The dog helped himself to all the cake and frosting within reach. I imagine both he and the baby are in sugar comas now. 

When I left, I intended to go straight home to rest, but I remembered en route that I had an errand to run, and I didn't want to have to go out twice. That errand happened to take me past a garden center, and I stopped there on the way home too. I couldn't help it. I've been waiting, biding my time by walking past the same existing bushes over and over. But no more. It's on. I got a handful (or rather a compact carful) of flowers that are blooming now, and a big, soggy bag of potting mix. I dug deep inside me, and found just enough of an energy reserve to get them all in pots before sundown, or in the ground (no pictures of those last two; it was dark then). Having just a few flowers changes the whole vibe of the deck. Instantly it has gone from gloomy late winter to colorful spring. I need the weather to hold out so I can thoroughly enjoy it. But of course another shot of cold air is coming through this week. 

Every time I go outside, I glance over the giant mound of knockout roses, looking to see how soon it will be in bloom. Today, I found the first four buds starting to form. One looks like it's just a few days away from opening. Soon, a few weeks from now, I will have hundreds of pink knockouts. The party has started.