Freedom and Determinism

Hey. It's me! Waiting for pathology in the offices of the world's tallest Mohs surgeon. I think this will be a quickie. But while I'm waiting, with a bandage on my face and a drippy nose, might as well catch up on the weekend.

It rained this weekend, which was glorious. The boy kitten thanked me for putting his favorite blanket on the sofa. Mrguy has been consulting Key Ideas in Human Thought, one of our best pre-Internet reference sources.

Saturday was Irish genealogy club day. Two hours of good times, hints, things to pursue. 

And then, a little jaunt with the rev. We went for a rainy ride and some hot tea in Sugar City, where mrguy and I got married. That's her fetching elbow on the right, and the bridge in the distance on the left. We drove past the old old place. They've painted it blue. In the window? One of the many neighborhood cats in windows in that town that are distantly related to our old cat, nose. Nose and eyes were, themselves, spawn of a neighborhood ragdoll, mrbrownballs. We didn't get nose until we moved into the house next door to this one, so it's nice that it's now populated with one of his mishpocheh.

Speaking of which, Sunday was a bagel and lox feast at the house of that nice guy's brother. We got to talk a little bit by ourselves, but mostly the day was spent in stories of their close-knit community. They were so lucky to have one another, and it seems like that nice guy's mom was one of the neighborhood's adhesives. She drove the kids, she edited the newsletter, she was the person who connected and networked, before that word existed. I wish I'd known her better, which is the desired achievement of every memorial.

Her friend had a psychic connection with the livingroom carpet.

The spreads were divine. I even ate my first chopped liver.

And now...we wait.

Color Day!

I am listening to Stay True, by Hua Ha. Narrated by the author. It has reeled me in and now spat me out with grief. I have vowed to come back to this later. Too, too tender. I decided this on the way to the grocery to buy some vinegar for the egg dye.

Arriving home, I appreciated the Scarlet Pimpernel growing in the front yard. I know it's a weed (thanks, Mom!) but its flowers are just about my favorite color. Also I love lawn daisies. I know I'm not supposed to like them (thanks, Mom!) but I do.

When I came back to the store in need of a new and different friend to keep me company while egg dyeing, I went to Libby. Looked for memoirs. Found that Mo Rocca has a book that's not available at the moment, but that he also has a podcast. Thanks, Libby! So I listened to Mobituaries. The first episode was about Laura Branigan. OK. The second is about what I call the Mid-Atlantic Accent. You know, the accent that every American actor used in the 30s-40s (think Bette Davis). Now *that's* fascinating. It included much discussion of what used to be considered an appropriate presidential accent, side discussion on presidential pets, deep dive on the meaning of the "r" sound over the decades, and so much other goodness. Mo Rocca kept me sufficiently entertained during egg dyeing, egg photography and egg dye tie dye.

Did you know this could be done? Please consult these pages (or YouTube) for the answer.

That was just so darned relaxing, I gotta tell you. A great last day of my week off. That, and I got photos from clamdip2020's trip to England, a friend sent a text with Hawaiian sheet music, and mrguy is puttering around making a quesadilla. 

Ahhh.

Easter Eve

Today is Easter Eve. Mrguy and I went up the stairs at the end of the street (huff, puff) and went on a short walk up there. The view today is amazing.

Yesterday, as I mentioned, was filled with obligations. After I decided not to go to the Good Friday service I relaxed. Went into the living room and hung out with mrguy. When he retreated to the kitchenden to watch baseball I stayed and listened to some of the records that I bought at Hungry Ear in January. I started up the Japanese one with the wistful looking guy on the cover -- and the music was hideously orchestral, blowsy (but not in a good way) and in English. I almost called it right there. But I moved the needle to track 2, and it was twangy crazy Ventures-influenced rock. I flipped over the record sleeve to see that this guy was the lead guitarist of The Launchers. It ended up being about 70/30 rock to chanson. It's a keeper.

While I was listening I lay down on the rug and put my legs on the hearth. And I worked on my arm rotation. The physical therapy appointment for my right shoulder isn't for a few weeks, yet. When I rotate my shoulder in a certain way (like when you unhook your bra), it makes me feel like I'm going to throw up. But today it feels better because of whatever I did while listening to The Launchers and staring up at the ceiling.

Then I listened to the other record and stared out the window. I need to do that more consciously and more often. 

Good Friday Thoughts

The rev invited me to see some amazing singing that's happening at her church today. I was going to do it (fancy opera singers were on the bill). Then I looked at the church calendar and realized that it is Good Friday, the saddest day on the calendar. I can't do more sads. My feelings are too close to the surface, and this morning was Pilates, a conversation with the oncologist, a conversation with our oncology nurse navigator and a followup / stitch removal at the dermatologist. I'm 50-50 -- of four spots he biopsied two were cancer. One will get burned off, and the other is in the middle of my face and will require Mohs. On the way home the central character of the memoir I'm listening to was murdered. 

I put on my makeup and everything, thinking I was going to hear Bach, but no. Jesus death is too depressing.

In other news I've had a mixed bag of dreams lately. Last night I dreamed that I was at my old restaurant and my section filled up and I simply couldn't get to everyone fast enough (a recurring dream). Then someone wanted a crawfish milkshake. I asked my boss if we had crawdads that week and she said yes, and it was evident that I would have to cook and shell my own crawdads in order to make the milkshake.

A different dream saw me at the forklift factory, which was kinda laid out like a supermarket. Donald Trump was on the PA system telling us that there would be no more awards given to employees, that it cost too much money. I couldn't believe that he had infiltrated my work life somehow, so I put my fingers in my ears and sang really loud so I could drown him out in my own head.

A very rewarding dream had me in a familiar situation in which I had taken incompletes in a few classes repeatedly (I used to do this in undergrad) and then took these classes again and totally flaked until the end. I went to the final but was obviously going to flunk. Instead of reminding myself that I could take these classes again I stopped to realize that none of this mattered because I was about to retire and had already had a career. Now *that* was pretty awesome. 

If I could take control of my dreams more often I'd probably sleep better.