Living Your Principles

Inspirational song: Invisible Sun (The Police)

This one counts as a double.

I have been dreaming of putting solar panels on my home for so many years, I can't remember a time I didn't want it. Maybe when I was too young to know what solar panels were. I mean, Jimmy Carter put them on the White House. Did I understand the concept then? It would have been my absolute first exposure to the concept, if so. But the idea of generating my own guilt-free electricity? That's my idea of heaven. I've made my house as efficient as I know how: using all LED lights, upgrading my hot tub to one thoroughly insulated, cooling with a whole house fan for all but the very hottest days of the summer. But I like having a well-lit kitchen, my clothes dryer is electric, and darn it, sometimes I like falling asleep with the TV on. I have emotions about how much electricity I use, even with my efforts at efficiency. Solar panels would go a long way to helping me feel less wasteful.

I've been very upfront about Mr S-P's favorite haunts, the building salvage yards where he frequently spends hours browsing through everything. His mountain cabin is better than 90% reclaimed and recycled from places like these. Yesterday he sent home a text from the big one in Boulder with a photo and the question, "Want to go solar?" He sent it to both me and T, and T said he wasn't interested in carrying the panels in the picture up the steep hill between the parking area and the cabin half a mile up and through the woods. My answer was along the lines of "For the house in town, sure!" The entire set-up, 40 panels plus a ton of accompanying structure, was not cheap. But it was a savings of roughly $3000 over a new system. From the salvage yard, he called the company who originally installed this system, and got information and a quote for installation. So, um, it looks like this February, we will be going solar!

How does this count as a double? Because not only am I reducing my carbon footprint so I can sleep with the teevee on when I feel like it, we are reusing the large set-up that someone scrapped when they upgraded to a Tesla wall (from what we understand), keeping a large amount of material out of a landfill. Win-win!

Cruising

Inspirational song: Climb Every Mountain (The Sound of Music)

I am uncomfortable with being without my car. I have no place I really need to go in a hurry these days, but I still get sort of itchy when my car is in someone else's care. Which is a little weird, knowing that there are three other vehicles here that I could drive in a pinch, but the little blue one is mine. There were a couple recall items I have been putting off for ages, plus the perpetual issue of it forgetting periodically how to shift gears. (The last is a long story--you could probably Google the history of Ford Focus and transmission problems if you are really interested. Mine is a 2013.) It shouldn't be long until everything is fixed. I'll just be anxious without my baby until then.

I tried to share a video with the Scenes From Smith Park Facebook page, but I think I just sent it into a void. The baby is gaining skills faster than we know how to handle it. In the video, she crawls (real crawling now) over to the stairs at her house, and propels herself up three or four of them like a pro, giggling all the way. We are all in trouble now. She was over here this afternoon, but I lucked out. She reclined on my bed with me while she snacked on a bottle and I finished watching the TV show I'd been in the middle of when she arrived, and then she promptly fell asleep. She stayed out for over two hours. I later learned that she had had a fitful night, fussing until after 11. I'm not surprised she was conked out so long.

As the evening wore on, I got another video, sent from the other room here. Grandpa takes a lot of footage, and this time she showed off that not only can she pull herself up holding the ottoman, but she can set herself back down, putting a pacifier in her mouth at the same time. I was glad to see her sit and not tumble. This is comforting.

Quick Jaunts

Inspirational song: Shipoopi (The Music Man)

The theme for the day is "getting all worked up to go places, to stay only a few minutes and go home." I had to go all the way to the Northglenn office of my rheumatologist, for all of five minutes, to provide them two vials of blood. Didn't see the doc. Don't think she was even in that office today. Already had my next appointment scheduled. I didn't even have a copay. It was weird, spending more than an hour on mostly interstate, for such a short event.

Babysitting this evening ended up being nearly as quick. I was supposed to be the crossover between mommy leaving for a night shift and daddy coming home after work. I went a little early so my daughter could pack a dinner and get ready without Dino hanging on her. I played with the baby, fed her a bottle, and put her down when she fell asleep in my arms. By the time she was awake again from her evening nap, I was getting a call that my daughter was heading back. (The new facility was overstaffed for the night, and she volunteered to be the one to go home.) I stayed a little longer to be with the girls, but I was still out of there early, at my car as my son-in-law pulled up.

By the time most of you read this, my grandbaby will be officially 7 months old. Her pediatrician gave instructions on starting new sorts of foods, to slowly introduce things that are common allergens, with research now saying this is the best way to approach them. She has been underwhelmed by scrambled eggs. I don't know what she thought of Cheerios. (I'm desperately allergic, so I refuse to be present for that.) And this evening was the first introduction to vanilla yogurt. It could have gone either way. She might have thought it was sweet or tangy, good or bad. My daughter put a tiny bit in her mouth, and she tasted it. Immediately, that little hand shot out and grabbed the spoon and pulled it back to her face. Yogurt was a big hit. Her mommy took a spoonful for her own self, and oh, the look of betrayal on her face!

Poke

Inspirational song: Hit Me With Your Best Shot (Pat Benatar)

I realize, as I'm typing out the title of this evening's song, that it might imply my topic would veer into discussion of the Rona vaccine. I hadn't intended to, even though it's a timely subject, and all over the news. I'm not scheduled to get it anytime soon. Maybe they'll say something about when I should present myself for it tomorrow when I report to the rheumatologist for a blood draw I couldn't do a month ago at my appointment that ended up on Zoom. The only one of us I expect to get it soon will be my younger daughter, whose recent job change will keep her in the health care industry, back in a senior living facility and in contact with residents. If she doesn't get it with the month, I will be shocked.

No, today was a different sort of shot. Mr S-P needed a cortisone shot into a joint, and it had to be precisely positioned via x-ray. I was all excited to witness things from a different angle, as the spouse not having something cut, inserted, or removed. I had at least hoped to be in the prep/recovery room, if not watching the procedure like he did for my skin cancer removal and thyroid biopsy. No such luck. They said the whole thing would be quick and there really wasn't seating in the little room. So I sat in the main waiting area, near where my daughter used to work until last month, and just scrolled through the internet until they were done. It wasn't a big deal, and he wasn't sedated. Just had a bunch of local anesthetic, so I got to drive for the rest of the day. The whatever-caine hadn't worn off the last time I remembered to ask how it was feeling, and now he has already gone to sleep. I'll ask tomorrow whether he thinks there is improvement. Let's hope. If this doesn't buy much time, the next step might be all the way to joint replacement, and we want to put that off as long as possible.

With the holidays coming soon, I have to carefully edit my topics to publish. It's hard to fill my usual space and end gracefully. I've all but given up on that last part lately. I suppose that it's safe to assume when I end abruptly or it seems like a clunky non sequitur, it's because the things I want to add are somehow off-limits. Rather than torture myself to make it all match and flow, I'm just throwing down words and running away. Like now.

Woe

Inspirational song: Classical Gas (Mason Williams)

That was sudden and decisive. As I sat over my coffee, my jaw stiffened up, and then both cheekbones followed. My head throbbed and my eyes got heavy. I would have said it was a migraine, but I also felt like a mule had kicked out both of my kidneys. The worst part was I had already skipped the bargaining and self-deception phase, and started with anti-inflammatories and tramadol before I even poured my coffee. 

By ten-thirty I admitted defeat and crawled back in bed. Well, specifically on it. I don't know why the distinction is important, but somehow it is. I put on car detailing videos on YouTube (trust me on this-- watching Detail Geek is thoroughly life-affirming), and I let myself surf between wake and sleep the rest of the day. I've had to get up and take care of mundane things throughout the day, like eating and letting the dog in and out of the house, and every time I've limped around like I'm recovering from major surgery. It's less than ideal. 

I have no idea what laid me low. I'm used to a great deal of pain and fatigue in my autoimmune life, but this seemed remarkable and unwarranted. For a hot minute this evening, my throat was slightly scratchy, and I had that common 2020 panic of "oh, no, what if it's Rona?" Then I had a bowl of ice cream, and at least that much is fine now. I assume tomorrow will be fine, like this never happened. But now the tasks I couldn't accomplish today will be due then, plus the things already on the schedule for tomorrow, and I'll feel overwhelmed and put-upon. I don't know how to spell it, but just know that tonight's post ends on a loud, whiny, self-pitying sigh.

Contemplation

Inspirational song: Jive Talkin' (Bee Gees)

Somebody on Twitter alerted me that there was a new documentary about the Bee Gees, and that it was actually very good. I caught the very end of it on HBO when I was channel surfing, and I chased it down to stream it so I could see it all. Darned if it wasn't as good as Random Person I Follow On Twitter promised it would be. I really enjoyed it, and now I'm all nostalgic for my elementary and middle school years. At least now I've learned that to get my fill for all these old songs rattling around my head, I don't have to purchase them, but pull up a few on Spotify and mark them as "liked," and they'll show up for years in my daily mixes. Is it bad that my only real disappointment with the documentary was that they never mentioned for a second the movie they made right around the time Saturday Night Fever was being made (Sgt Pepper)? 

Today is the first time I started feeling a little panic over Christmas preparations. I'm starting to think about foods, both the Christmas Eve feast and the goodies I want to give away. And now I'm working through what I want to give as gifts to the people who were easy to figure out. That accounts for perhaps half of my giving this year. The people who I haven't figured out yet are absolutely stumping me. Why does this get harder every year? Is it just because I want so few tangible items myself? For a decade or more, my favorite gifts of all have been attention and companionship (particularly in combination). 

Now that I've started streaming videos, I'm not quite sure how I'm going to stop. I've moved on from pop music megastars to dog training videos. It's making me want to try some new tricks, but it's actually pretty late at night (my regular writing time), and the silly puppy is zonked out next to me, taking up more than her share of the bed. You know, watching these bits is showing me that we are technically training even now. I'm petting her ears, face, and paws, and she is snoring through the whole thing. This is exactly how relaxed I want her to be. It's funny what counts as training.

Salve

Inspirational song: Who's That Girl (Eurythmics)

The football game snuck up on me. Who schedules a 10 am kickoff? Apparently CU does. Maybe it was to fit a television slot. Maybe it was to beat the snow. Whatever the reason, I missed most of the first half. Pity that. I would have rather missed the second half, after several of our stars were injured and the kids blew a 21-10 lead. Ah, well. They've played better in this short, odd season than they have most of the last decade. They have a lot to be proud of. Just not today.

Once the game was over, I needed a salve for my emotional wounds. We went over for a short baby cuddle. She was asleep when we got there, and we enjoyed our visit with our daughter. The grandbaby eventually woke, and was her usual charming self. She is getting even better at standing and doing a rudimentary version of assisted walking. She has months before she needs to be really good at it.

Finding a coherent theme has been rough lately. I can't escape the feeling that we are just waiting for something. But what exactly is the goal? The end of the pandemic? The resumption of real estate season? Some milestone for one of the two young girls? I just don't know. It's all a bit vague. It leaves my mind scattered and my writing a bit aimless. I need form and direction. Maybe that will come to me in the new year.