Egg Protest

I made some hard boiled eggs yesterday. As readers of mrsguy are aware, my mom used to put a little mark in pencil on the hard boiled eggs to differentiate them from the raw. And during the pandemic and whatnot I took to writing actual things on them, because you have to crack the shells in order to eat the eggs. And I live to make mrguy laugh.

Here are some highlights from previous years.

Yesterday I felt the need to return to the egg tradition as the leadup to the election shortens.

And here you go. Marjorie Taylor Green, J.D. Vance, Steven Miller, Project 2025 and the Heritage Foundation. 

I smash you!

In the meantime, I am encrusted with cat as I write this. The inky ingot is laying across my chest with his back paws on my sternum, his left front on my arm and his chin resting on my arm. This is both delightful and a little painful. My guy is long in the toof, and when I moved his head a moment ago we saw the impression of one of his fangs in my arm.

It's worth it, though. A sweet morning with my men.

We Left The Home

We actually got out of the house yesterday. I don't think that mrguy enjoyed it as much as I did, but I needed it. The morning started with the big inky boy purring and clawing into my bare shoulders and neck while quacking like a duck and drooling on me. The fact that he's discovered me over the last few months is both a joy and a pain in the neck. How, after 14 years, is he somehow obsessed with me?

Then it was a delightful 2 hours with the local Irish genealogy club. The topic was cemeteries, gravestones, traditions, cemetery records.

Then we had a nosh and went out to a favorite spot. It was completely foggy, which was lovely. It smelled like low tide, and there was a lovely garden in the parking lot that had so many gorgeous things that attracted happy, supping hummingbirds. There were also children chasing each other and screaming about nuclear waste.

We sat on a bench beyond the parking lot. A little walk was good for mrguy.

It felt cold quickly, so we went home after a little bit. Mrguy took a nap and started feeling the effects of our Covid and flu shot the day before. Fed him some chicken soup and we turned in early.

One More Day -- Heat Wave 2024

From Sunday, written while sitting on a chair with my legs dangling in the dog pool:

We're gonna need a bigger thermometer.

Big boy cat is sleeping on the kitchen counter. Big mister chonk kitten is downstairs in the lady room hanging off of the bookcase with his legs dangling like a very well fed panther. Me? I feel warm but pretty darned calm.

I don't know what it is. Lack of calendar items for the past few days, perhaps. I should not be calm at all. It's been around 90-95 in the house for that last few days. The deadline passing on our family business is a relief of sorts (until it isn't -- but a consultant says that the only thing keeping us from thriving is fear).

Worry about the cats has waned now that little girl's suffering is over. Sweet friends sent us flowers in the color of her fur. Everybody thought that the one who died was the big boy. He is doing well.

Mrguy is too hot. I think he's doing well but is taxed by the heat.

I filled up the dog pool in the back yard. Friends came over and put their legs in. I invited clam, but she was busy with family stuff so I came back to the dog pool myself and watched the light fade while doing a meditation focus exercise. Close your eyes and spend half a minute thinking about each sense, one sense at a time. What do you hear? What do you smell? What do you taste? What do you feel? It was lovely. I could feel the cool water on my legs and the sweat on my forearms. I could hear the whoosh of traffic on the freeway. I could smell the (few) blossoms on the lime tree. Taste is always a challenge, but I realized I could still taste 4 o'clock's popsicle. Centered, I opened my eyes and watched the water on the bay and thought about the joy of having the only dog pool in town with a 3 bridge view. 

It was several days before it cooled down. And today I used a blanket on the sofa for the first time in a month.

An Hawaiian Happening

They have the Hall and Oates Channel on softly in the background while I wait for the results of my latest Mohs surgery. I don't require that much Hall and Oates in my life, and need to drown it out. I figured out very happily that I have Iwalani Kahalewai's An Hawaiian Happening on my phone. Unlike most humans I don't have a lot of music on my phone at the moment. I love George Chun's arrangements. Sometimes sassy, and sometimes molasses slow, with some piano and noodle-y wandering guitar. Go find it here.

On my way over here to get my face rearranged I was listening to Sally Field's autobiography. The first few chapters were a little challenging -- I had a hard time remembering who was who (and this is where a visual learner has trouble with audiobooks) but I came to like it. It's kinda harrowing at times, and then there is some familiarity. Like the argument with her stepfather where he tries to control her by threat. I don't think that I ever shared this, but while visiting my mom one day last year I wasn't doing what my mom wanted. As usual. So she started threatening me -- you like your job, right? If you don't do (whatever it is she wanted me to do) I'll tell them about you.

Thanks, Mom!

I told her it was too late. They already know. They don't care.

My doctor makes really fine stitches.