Fire Water -- Umeshu 2026

A few years ago a friend saw my post about making umeshu and let me know that he had an ume tree and he and his wife do not use the fruit. Last year I hit him up, and this year I returned with some of the finished product and some bags for bringing home this year's crop.

I was a bad girl and didn't get around to cleaning the fruit. In the laundry room they were ripening and more than ripening and smelling delicious and today I finally prepared what was left. Because there is so little fruit I thought about what else I could use to make this year's potion. I considered aquavit, the tipple of my ancestors, and its tasty mix of aromatic seeds and sprigs.  Which led me to thinking about allspice, and my tiny tree from Fastgrowingtrees.com, which I mention a lot, here. I laugh every time I see their commercials, as in "Fast growing? You are kidding". But I love my tree and thanks for the leaves.

I emptied the green waste and looked around the garden, taking some allspice. Then I noticed my Cecile Brunner. Then I remembered my big Cecile Brunner in the back. I wandered. In the back yard I saw very few roses -- it's been windy -- but I gathered a bud and some spent blossoms. Then I plucked some lime leaves from that tree. Back in the front I remembered the tiny strawberries. There were precisely three, but that's fine. And some pineapple sage. Then I took some violets. Invasive. Do not smell. But they're pretty. And a tiny sprig of lavender. 

Here's my little haul.

Finally I remembered our kahili ginger! I've never known whether it is edible, but I looked it up. Turns out it is. I went back outside, cut a stalk down near the root and added it to the mix. Photo from last year's ginger.

And here's the finished umeshu product.

Now we wait.

My hands smell like roses.

You Must Make This Recipe

only once, and then never again.

It's rhubarb season, my people. I don't recall making any rhubarb recipes last year, maybe longer, because it was bumming me out. I could never get the proportions right. My pies were swampy or way to sweet or...I don't know what. They looked nice but didn't have that perfect combination of sweet, tart and perfume-y.

But I got some rhubarb this week and wanted to try something new. I saw this recipe and it was soooo beautiful that I had to try it. I'll let you know how it turns out.

The reason I will never make it again is that it is laborious to prepare. Half hour my ass! Lots of ingredients (several divided, just for fun and confusion). 

Chop the rhubarb in a specific way, then toss it with sugar and cornstarch.

Lay down parchment in a pan

Place the rhubarb in zig zags in the pan. Can't complain about this, because it's the reason I'm baking it.

Zest an orange and squeeze the orange for juice.

Make a caramel with butter, sugar, honey, orange juice.

Sift dry ingredients

Make a batter with eggs, butter, zest, vanilla, dry ingredients and sour cream. Sour cream? pour onto the rhubarb puzzle, and bake.

Perhaps if I'd written out the steps, as above, before embarking on my quest it would have seemed easier.

I used so many utensils:

And it turned out great.

No News Is No News, Genealogically Speaking

I have handed off information and links to my DNA to the researchers. And now I wait. We have a kickoff meeting on June 2nd. In the meantime, I'm thinking about what the first researcher told me over the phone. She needed to take medical leave and couldn't continue working with me, but was able to report back about what she'd found so far.

As I mentioned earlier, she told me that the same man fathered my mom and her brother. But that that man was not related to the families I thought I came from. My grandfather "was either adopted by his parents, or your mother had a long-term relationship with another man who is the father of your mother and your uncle." In our discussion she shared that my bio-grandad had Midwest connections and southern German DNA, unlike the German DNA I have on my mom's mom's side. Instead of the names that are so familiar to me, the names she mentioned as possible connections are completely new and *sometimes* names I've never even heard before. Signs point to Illinois, not Cheyenne or Tucumcari or anywhere in Texas, or even Los Angeles, where these births occurred.

At first I concerned myself with seeing if I could figure out who the mystery bio-grandad might be based on the names that she shared with me. One very common last name was listed alongside my grandad's on a bowling trophy. Maybe Granny got it on with one of Grandaddy's co-workers. So I tried to figure out who that person, listed only by first initial, might have been.

Then I thought about my grandparents' only known connection to Illinois -- an unknown dentist who lived in  Chicago who they also bought jewelry from (random, I know). I looked at directories of Los Angeles dentists with the names the genealogist provided. And then I forked over more money to Ancestry to have other people figure this out.

In the meantime I couldn't stop thinking about Chicago. What if the break in my mom's paternal line is farther up, and it really is that my grandfather was adopted. Did the orphan trains come through Cheyenne? Turns out that they did.

I'll probably hammer away at this more until June 2nd.

News of Norway

Is it me? Is it Norway?

It's probably a bit of both.

Happy Saturday! I'm reading the English language translation of Bergens Tidende, the local newspaper and finding all of the weird parts. There's an opinion piece about some new development on a spit of land that's about half a mile from the place where my grandmother was born. The author seems miffed that the developer is mimicking the shape and color of historic buildings. Around here, ersatz historic buildings are considered somewhat sensitive to the local aesthetic. I used to call them Fictorians, but I've gotten used to them.

Anyhoo -- I'm reading the article and minding my own business, navigating the ads for athletic shoes that keep popping up, when I see it:

I write to my friend and ask "Is this a Norwegian idiom?" I mean, I get it but who expects to read the words "butt" and "taste" in the same sentence over their morning coffee. I told mrguy and he says it is now his favorite saying and will use it all the time.

Then I'm reading an article with the headline "They were waiting to die. Then came the miracle drug." As the wife of a man with a terminal illness, I am drawn to miracle cures of a Western medicine sort. The story starts out as one of testicular cancer in Norway, which in the 1970s metastasized rapidly in patients. Then there was nothing that could be done to help. Then a scientist discovered that bacteria stopped dividing when current was run through it using platinum electrodes. It was the platinum, which was spreading platinum compounds into the bacteria solution. They tested the platinum stuff on animals and people. So was born Cisplatin. Men with testicular cancer were saved by this treatment. My man, also, has been saved by this treatment. Also, if he ever had ball cancer, he's probably cured of that.

Also, this is the only article I've ever read in which a cancer doctor advises a patient to continue smoking.

A Heckava Sunday

I ordered two tickets to Syttende Mai luncheon at the club, hoping that a friend would join. And she did! We met a while back as members of the club and we should do a better job of keeping in touch because she spends half of the year in Norway. We're just catching up and she's about to head to her cabin in a few weeks.

So I went over to her place and she drove this time. May 17th is Norwegian Constitution day, so people who gather put on their traditional garb and gather to celebrate. This year May 17th was also the day of our local wacky foot race in which people wear all kine nonsense and parade about. The route goes directly in front of the Club.

We had a fantastic time catching up on our ride. I got to hear about new windows in the cabin, and she got to hear the latest about mrguy. We took the back way, so to speak, and it was unspeakably lovely -- the kind of day that makes tourists decide to move here and regret it their first summer. It was so sunny that I barely recognized my city. 

We left two hours early because of the ratfuckery of the foot race. And yet our trip was so smooth. Certain roads were still re-routed, so we saw parts of the city that we'd never seen before. We found a nearby parking space, and there we were an hour early. My friend mentioned that she'd done a Club work day when she gardened with other members. She wanted to take a picture of their garden work. She was turned toward me with her back to the crosswalk behind us so she could not see the entirely naked man heading our way. I turned to her and said "Wait for a sec...........NOW!!" She took the photo not exactly knowing what she was capturing.

It was this:

We were already having a good day, and then she takes this perfect photo of naked man in front of the newly planted garden with Norwegian flags.

Across form the Club, people were out enjoying the park in their banana and Cheeto package outfits. There was an entire marching band playing. It was delightful. We took a park bench and gabbed for a while. I took some time to program my hat to say Syttende Mai, and then we headed back toward the Club. Managed to see the naked man again and capture a distant photo of him from the front for the amusement of mrguy, who stayed home.

The doors opened at 3. Snacks were in the bar. We had lovely conversations with various ladies and waited and waited for the dinner bell to ring. Dinner at the club is beyond random. In this case we had one of our better chefs. And the salad was beyond. Beyond!! The entree, however, was tragic. Salmon sat on a delicious sauce of stewed leeks and fennel, in a further puddle of ginger carrot nage. But -- no starch. We're Norwegian, for cryin' out loud! Then the salmon was entirely confusing. It was translucent. It was room temperature. It looked as if it had been taken out of the refrigerator and put in a sunny window to warm up. I ate the sauce from under the salmon.

Some people were wearing their traditional bunads. The adorable married couple next to me were wearing alternative bunads. They'd just graduated from college and were moving to Norway, which I think is a smart choice. They were trans. This is not a safe place to be gender non-conforming.

The program for the luncheon, which was now being served closer to 6pm (!) involved various toasts and songs. The first toast was in honor of the king of Norway. The second was in honor of the president of the United States, named. Our side of the table looked askance. The guy next to my friend told her "I'm a Republican, but I'm not *that* kind of Republican". I was shocked that this was the choice, not to toast the United States, which seems much more universally agreed-upon.

I texted a blow-by-blow to mrguy when things got slow. 

It was a great day. I don't really know how to help my people make a better club. I would like to help, but I don't have the free time right now. 

I have so many opinions. Basically I can't invite friends unless they understand that the food will often be super weird and nobody has mic technique when they give toasts or announcements.

"Gratulerer med dagen!"

Things Go Better With Iron, Apparently

Yesterday I got my final iron infusion. I was talking to the nurse about how my mental health seems better since I started the infusions. He said he hadn't heard that there was a connection between the two, and was curious about it based on what he knows professionally. So I tapped out a google search with my *right* hand and he and I discovered that there is totally a connection.

Iron helps you metabolize dopamine and serotonin. That's all you have to tell me. And him, too!

This has been a public service announcement by mrsguy.

Some pretty things from this week:

The last orchids from the front yard, plus some clippings of a plant whose name I do not know. I have been growing this in two big pots on the front walk, and they get shaggy and woody and I've wanted to buy more of them but don't know what they are. A month ago I experimented with rooting them and it's INSANE how quickly they root. Today I am going to try planting some in the garden to see what happens. 

The inside of a dumpster near work.

Sunset cat.

Speaking of Advertising

In a dream from the other night I was talking to Hillary Clinton about the history of pure food laws and Upton Sinclair.

And I spent time in the company of THIS GUY who I get a lot of ads about:

But Deliver Us From Evil

Somebody listened! After torturing us for 30 years, this hideous commercial is struck from local airwaves for deceptive advertising. Ahhhhhh

 

Jury Duty Update

Today I decided to search for the name of the defendant in last year's jury trial. 

As we left it, my jury pool didn't agree to convict him of spousal battery, kidnapping and the like. Only hit and run.

This, despite:

• Having a fight with his girlfriend
• Driving in anger to where his girlfriend was staying
• Driving into a pizza delivery guy's car in the parking lot because he saw his girlfriend talking to the pizza delivery guy
• Yelling "I've caught you"
• Arguing with her about whether she'd come home with him
• Picking her up, putting her in his car and driving off (battery, kidnapping, hit-and-run)

The guy totally did it, and everybody on the stand lied. The jury selectively ignored the judge's instructions. I initially thought that the state hadn't made its case. But I changed my mind.

From the time of the case, a year ago, I've regretted not finking on my fellow jury members who ignored the judge's instructions. I told them outright that I was worried that the defendant would harm his girlfriend again. I wondered how long it would take for him to break the law again.

Answer: 3 months

He and two other guys were arrested and tried for shooting three other guys out of their car window. The victims all lived.

It looks like my defendant got off with probation and anger management.

Wondering how long it will be before he acts out again. I hope never.

I Am Not My Own Grandpaw

It was right there under my nose, but I simply didn't see it.

I have been working on my mom's mom's family tree for 30 years. But only half of it, the reason being that there were some really dedicated genealogists working on my maternal grandfather's line. I figured that they had it handled.

So when DNA matching came about, I figured it was one more tool that could help tease apart the knots in the genealogy that were hard to unravel. But it also turns up some questions. I did not think that my family would be one of them, and here we are.

A woman contacted me years ago. Her own DNA test had proved that her dad wasn't her bio-dad. And she had two half-brothers who had the same bio-dad. They were related to relatives of mine, so she reached out. She thought my uncle was her dad. I told her that if we proved the relationship I was happy to tell her anything she wanted to know.

But she was a dna match of people that I expected to be related to. And I was not. It turned out that she was the daughter of a 2nd cousin of mine. But it seemed I was not related to him. 

There was another question. Also on my mom's side. A person showed up as a DNA match (first cousin) and I couldn't figure out how we were related. I reached out to the person and he did not respond. I looked him up. He looks exactly like everybody on my grandmother's maternal line. Looks like my brother. Looks like my uncle, Mom's brother. We all have the same bulbous nose.

I hired an Ancestry.com genealogist to figure out the two mysteries. Who is this first cousin of mine, and where is the break in my mom's paternal line? I had so many theories. The truth blew me away.

The first cousin is, in fact, my uncle's son. Not a huge surprise. And the break in the family line? My grandfather does not seem to be my mom's bio-dad. More mystifying is that she and her brother have the same bio-dad. He just doesn't happen to be my grandfather. My siblings, who loved him deeply, would be horrified and I don't plan to tell them.

I sat with that non-grandpaternity information for a few days and hired Ancestry again. It's expensive, but I need to know. Unlike other parts of my family, where there was a bit of lore to go on, here I have nothing. Even with the Irish side of my family I had a (very common) surname. I just hammered at the research for a decade and found the answer. I have more money than time these days, so I hope to get some answers that will let me dig in to another family tree and do research on some new topics.

More as I know it.

20 Minutes

I remember exactly the moment in which I last pruned the wisteria. I was listening to an audiobook and decided not to continue it. What a great revelation. My first entry into audiobook spurning. Life is too short, people! Listen to something that doesn't bug you!

This past year the rain was plentiful and the wisteria responded by PROLIFERATING!! And covering about a quarter of the window in the aku room. It was bugging both of us and we responded by (drum roll) not discussing it with each other. Then we did, and I suggested a time limit of 30 minutes. We forgot how easy this task is -- how tender the shoots and the way that you can simply follow last year's cuts to prune the new growth. It was unbelievably satisfying. After 20 minutes we felt satisfied with our work.

Before:

After:

:

Ahhh

A Saturday in April

It is a magnificent grey day here in the big brown box. We had a good coffee time convo this morning, with the brilliant mrguy realizing that if our insurance doesn't pay for the PET scan we want, we could totally pay for it ourselves and make it happen. This is exactly what money is for. For saving your life. Yay!

Yesterday we talked to the oncologist and our oncology nurse navigator. The onco doctor has referred mrguy to a radiologist, and now is suggesting that because we think there aren't any mets, radiation could just zap that little effer and get rid of it. Radiation is not a groovy time. He'd switch to carbo/taxol as his chemo, and for 5 weeks he'd get zapped 5 days a week. Both the carbo and the radiation are cumulatively awful. That's why we'd want to get a PET sooner than later. a) are there any metastases and b) is the kanjinti already beating the cancer back by itself? If b, why worry about radiation? It was doing so well before. Or can he have kanjinti instead of switching up his chemo while he's doing radiation? Our nurse navigator is hoping for kanjinti rather than radiation. Anyhoo, mrguy is doing his research.

Today's The Kentucky Derby. It's my sister's favorite thing, and it always reminds me of her. It used to fall on the same weekend as Norway Day, which was our sister thing we did together. But we'd always need to find a spot nearby to watch it. Apparently I wrote this up in mrsguy and don't have to retell that story! But today my sister reminded me of a different story that she was telling to some friends over coffee this morning:

My brother-in-law, her husband, used to go to the races on Fridays with his friend Junior. One of those Fridays was the day before the Derby, so my sister gave her husband a tenner and asked him to put it on Giacomo to win the Derby. She wanted Giacomo specifically because that was her husband's grandfather's name. Next day they were watching the Derby and Giacomo won!!! It was at this point that her husband confessed that he hadn't placed the bet because he thought it was such a bad bet. Yeah, he was wrong. It paid out 50-1. A $2 bet paid out $800, and her ten bucks would have been many times more than that. Sis told this story to her feisty 90-year-old friend this morning over coffee and her friend said "And he's still alive?!" Funny. And Giacomo the horse is still alive, apparently, living the stud life.

Because it is Derby day today I went to the Derby website to look at the horses. I don't believe in racing, but this was in solidarity with my sister. There was a grey horse who was sooo pretty. Then I remembered that my grandparents owned a grey race horse at one point. Her name was Eleanor Grey. Not sure what the nomenclature was, but she was a harness race horse, and a pacer. She did some racing in the early 1950s. So like my granny to want a race horse.

Before signing off, here are some of yesterdays colors.

Sugar

I'm still on my sorghum kick, so I ordered some sorghum syrup. It arrived today.

I dipped the end of a spoon into the bottle and was surprised by how sticky the syrup is. I'm not quite sure how to describe it, but it took forever for the thread of syrup to stop stretching and find its end. That was at room temperature but I'm guessing it'll be easier to use without a mess when it's colder.

More when I know it.

I got the syrup for its iron content and its general sorghumness. Then I did what you're not supposed to do and I put it in yogurt, with a few chopped pecans. It was super tasty, but I probably defeated the iron absorption with the dairy.

I love using different kinds of sugar. With my coffee it's always white. I didn't know until Mickey and Raylene told me that to make it that color they use animal bones. I care about too many things, and that one I just draw a veil of charity over, if you know what I mean.

Palm sugar (jaggery) is my favorite to use in savory foods and some sweets. So tasty with lime, and it proffers good funk. I first used some jaggery from mrguy's stash of brewing ingredients. When I ran through it I went to the Pakistani grocery and asked for jaggery and the nice lady pointed to a bag of C&H. Did I realize previously that the word just meant sugar?

No I did not. This is the same place where the lady got tired of my asking for Amul butter during the pandemic. I eventually found a different source because we are lucky enough to be *thick* with South Asian markets around here. Anyway, on that day I was the red-faced purchaser of palm sugar, and her store is still my go-to. I mostly use this sugar in my applesauce. Jaggery, some allspice leaves from the slowest-growing tree to ever be sold by fastgrowingtrees.com, a little lemon from the tree (if any are hiding within it) and I am good. I made a lot of applesauce during the pandemic because every day my mom took an apple from her diningroom to her apartment and she never ate them. When the elder hoard became too large, her caregiver brought them to me and I made applesauce.

Popping back up to the top -- yay sorghum. I look forward to finding things that you will make more tasty. 

Perhaps my next batch of greens. 

Flights of Scandinavian Fancy

A friend suggested that we apply for a residency to stay on Svalbard and make music with another person we know. That just took me down all kinds of roads. Mrguy is not down with this idea, given that if you go there and want to walk outside the city limits you are required to carry a rifle because of polar bears. Eek.

You know me and bears.

But mrguy was not invited by my friend, by the way.

The third person fronts a metal band. It isn't outside of the realm of possibility that we could make music in Spitsbergen. Efterklang did it and made a beautiful documentary. I heard about it on Fresh Air, and we asked for the digital file of the film. The deal was that in exchange you had to get a group of at least 5 people to watch. We tried, but couldn't really sell it to our friends. Finally, at least ten years later, we broke the rule and watched it in Guy Home Theater. 

So this Svalbard thing took me down many rabbit holes. What kind of music could I do? I haven't sung or touched an instrument in years. I was reminded of the artist Louise Hoffsten, who made the most beautiful album called Käre Du, which took Swedish folksongs and gave them a light, gorgeous, jazzy twist. The song  "Om dagen vid mitt arbete" just slays me. Could there be inspiring songs in Norwegian?

Reddit suggests "...the Norwegian band Folque". They're pretty cool. In a I-can-imagine-Jack-Black-shredding-this kinda way. Then I tried listening to some Danish 80s music by Danseorkestret. I know one of those guys and it would be funny to revamp / tweak one of their songs. I don't really know much about them -- yet.

That's what happens on a Sunday. I was feeling crappy in the mind this morning, and now I feel much better.

From me to you.

A Stray Dog

The prompt was that we were to write from the perspective of a stray dog in our home town. Instead I wrote about my mother's nemesis, the dog down the street.

There are no strays in my neighborhood. My name is Mei Ling, I am a Pekingese, and X Road in San X is my scene. Because I “wet” on Mrs. X’s lawn and leave brown spots, she does not like my father who walks me. I’ve heard her daydream out loud of planting pokey plants in her front yard to make me go elsewhere. I don’t care. I’m a proud lady Pekingese and I own this place.

Sorghum

The anemia continues. I would really like to know what a blast of iron feels like, and I'm responding so slowly to the iron pills that I've decided to go with infusions. First one was today, and then one a week for the next three weeks. I didn't really know what I was signing up for, and it's quite like mrguy's infusions and in fact it's in the same infusion lab. The infusions last for 2-3 hours.

In the meantime, I've done some research about iron-rich foods and one of them is sorghum. What do you know about sorghum? I knew nothing, except that I thought it was sweet enough to provide a syrup. Turns out that I am right. I have some coming by mail in the next week.

A few weeks ago I got some sorghum via Bob's Red Mill. Cooked it up, and probably didn't cook it enough. It was chewy but nice. Maybe I'll ask mrguy to prepare some in his instant pot. Then I'd be sure it was cooked through. Then on my buy nothing facebook group a guy was giving away some sorghum flour. So today I made banana bread using white *and* sorghum flour. I think it tastes pretty good, although I baked it a bit too long.

Readers of mrsguy know how I love a one food festival (like the asparagus festival!) -- so I started exploring where the sorghum festivals can be found. Unfortunately the nearest one is two states away.

There's the Simon Sorghum Festival, in Ohio. Here's their YouTube video about the festival. Rural heritage crafts demonstrations are a bonus.
The Wewoka Sorghum Festival in Wewoka Oklahoma. This one has the added benefit of being co-sponsored by the Seminole Nation. So there are living culture demonstrations, as well.

Blairsville Georgia has a Sorghum Festival, as well. It includes a biscuit eating contest.

So today's excitement was going in for my iron infusion. I enjoyed the pink tape. Iron infusion goo resembles Coca Cola syrup, by the way. I mostly slept while the infusion was happening. It's literally in the same infusion center as mrguy visits, and he was even in there for part of the time I was, because it's his disconnect day.

Everybody there was so nice. They all knew mrguy, because he's a regular. And when he told them that I was in curtain 9, some came in to introduce themselves, which allowed me, in return, to thank them profusely for the great care that they give him.

I worked from home for the second half of the day. Looking forward to feeling better. They say that I should start to feel better in a few weeks as the iron does its duty.

Complaint Department

The prompt was to write a one-page complaint. I riffed, instead.

Fava beans – you are pointless. To even get to the bright green diarrhea-producing nugget inside you, you need to be shelled, boiled and shelled again. A pox upon your house.

To the green produce and dog waste bags – I do not believe that you are compostible. In addition, I am horrified by the feel of you in my hand. I literally cannot unfeel you.

To the people who complain to the neighborhood email list about dog owners who put the poop in the bottom of your newly-emptied trash can – shame only works if you catch them in the act. Also, stop smelling your garbage can.

Chickens – I know you’re having an egg. Can you please hold it down?

To the makers of cheap but soft toilet paper – you have embarassed me deeply. You are so soft that I didn’t notice the paper clinging between my cheeks and small bits of your product fell to the floor during a dermatological exam. Thanks a lot. I never understood the commercials with the blue bear until now.

Pilot G-2 07 pen – do you ever write in a smooth line? It takes me three passes to write “butter” on the grocery list. I understand that in this life no person is guaranteed a pen that writes well, but somehow even seeing you next to the grocery list fills me with contempt. You rob me of the small joy of writing.

Two drummers in separate houses on my suburban street – can you *please* get lessons? Drumming is an artform, not simply the act of ownership and doing. You are driving my husband to madness with your as-if-trying-drums-at-guitar-center level of drum hitting. Smite Different.

Cancer – the way you return without so much as ringing the doorbell and then shake things up? Not cool.

Books with the spines turned backward in author zoom interviews = distracting shapes that scream to be known.

-- Joys? --  

Those are abundant.

The color of a new red maple leaf against a blue sky. I told a dear friend how much I love that one thing and she sent me a photo of it. I almost cried.

Turkey vultures circling high above.

Eating the chicken-y vegetables out of a pot of stock I’m making.

Mechanical pencils. They rarely let you down.

Cats. Mine, yours. Doesn’t matter.

The song and video “Guinea Pig Bridge”, by Parry Gripp. 55 seconds of adorableness and delight. When I’m having a *moment*, sometimes people suggest that I watch it because they know it’s my reset. Find it on YouTube.

Also the color pink, and contrasting thread.

Sign Ze Paypahs!

From yesterday --

It's supposed to happen today. But the day is not over and it hasn't happened yet.

So I thought I'd go to YouTube and listen to Sign Ze Papahs. Cheech and Chong. You know, that sketch is not funny. But the bro used to say "Sign ze papahs" in a German accent for the entirety of my childhood. It was always funny when he said it. But I was wrong.

As refreshment for my mood center, I watched Guinea Pig Bridge. It never disappoints. 55 seconds of happiness.

And then it happened, at 4:59. Hats off to my sister, our real estate attorney, the ancestral beings and anyone else who made this happen in a way that will not come back to haunt me. I feel like I can see my future in front of me finally.

Thank you to all who have listened, comforted, assisted in any way. I do not care if I see a penny from this transaction. Just want distance and clarity. Here's the building, with my pop in it, on a sunny day.

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 mishpoche.

I totally forgot to mention that our friend from the extinct ukulele band came over on Saturday night. What a treat! He just moved to our town and we're excited.

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.

Practicing

I may have mentioned that this is mental health week. I'm trying not to beat myself up too much, if that's possible. I've been high anxiety and low capacity. But I'm also kinda practicing for retirement. What's going to work for me? What do I need in order to be able to enjoy it?

I need to do one productive thing per day. That allows me to enjoy the other things. So this is my yesterday:

• Hanging with mrguy, drinking coffee and talking about politics and cancer
• Genealogy research
• Making organizational schema for family documents
• Estate stuff / Important Mom Docs
• Real estate: past real estate information
• Real estate: tenants, subtenants, floor plans, money stuff
• Family trust stuff

• Office supply store for clear bins
• Sorting, sorting sorting
• Office supply store to swap broken clear bin for an unbroken one

Why would I do this on my week off? Because I want to sort these documents into categories that I know I can discard without worry as soon as possible. I have ten boxes of family stuff in my garage and two empty file cabinets that I want to get rid of. I don't want the emotional burden and the physical space that it takes up. Maybe I'll look at the jade fruit and stuff next. I want to know what I have here at my house.

Then I rewatched the D.A. Pennebaker documentary "'Original Cast Album: “Company'”. I have had "Ladies Who Lunch" stuck in my head for days. Then I looked up where I could listen to the digitized Frontera Collection, and listened to some recordings by Marta Triana and Manuelita Arriola.

A good first weekday.

Weekend Stuff

I feel better. I tried very diligently to feel the calm today. I'm even wearing my "Live In The Meow" shirt.

On Friday I congratulated myself for taking the next week off, but then quickly realized that this week is chemo week and talking-to-the-oncologist-about-next steps day, and such. They're even talking about mrguy resuming his kanjinti this week in the hospital with an overnight stay. Oh well. I will do everything in my power to un-lax. But we only have today and tomorrow to hang out together before the fun starts. I'm even thinking of having Norwegian dinner on Sad Saturday, since mrguy will be sadding.

This morning we went out to breakfast at the place down the hill, which was great. I remembered not to eat my whole meal, and for that reason I did not feel like I needed to sleep right away. Did a little genealogy sleuthing, and then went out to an estate sale. I just really needed to get some new stuff into my eyeballs.

It was not as I expected. Sometimes you go to an estate sale and it's Hoarder City. So much hoarding. Lots of mold. Lots of crafts that it looked like she was going to try to sell. It was the third day of the sale and you could barely navigate. She even hoarded orchids. There were dozens of orchids in pots in the back yard. I left without finding anything, and feel pretty great about that. Feast your eyes on some gourd porn.

The hoarder house street (in the slide area, and also so narrow that I had to back into someone's driveway to do a 3-point turn rather than continue the way I was headed) had one house whose plantings made my heart sing. I love camellias and banksia.

I was already out and about, and it's a beautiful day so I went back down the hill to the car wash. It rarely disappoints. And there was a great song on the radio, Remington Rand, by The Particles. 

On the way home a woman didn't see that I had the right of way and cruised through the intersection and I barely missed a collision while swerving and screaming. So much for that relaxation.

Tomorrow we will take a drive to a wetland we've never been to and we will look at birds. And possibly otters or nutria or whatever other vermin hangs out there.

Protest -- Or Mrs Guy Gets Her Yayas Out

There is no photographic evidence, but mrguy and I went out to the local large street to wave at cars and get them to honk today. It was joyous, lovely, kind and loud. A woman asked mrguy "Is she *always* like this?" and he replied "Yes. 24/7." I told her "It's been a rough couple of weeks and I need to get my yayas out".

And that's the story. It was so great to have mrguy with me. Last time the protest was held during chemo week on what he calls "Sad Saturday", which is a day that's hard for him. On that occasion I came back to the house after protesting for a while, and then took him out in Tiger Brown so he could see the crowd and experience it a little bit.

Today's highs were a man who had a sign "90 and Pissed", lots of smiling and cheerful neighbors, a vintage car club that made two circles around the block, lots of honkers, and one middle finger. Why is it that mrguy, who is one of the nicest people, is always the guy who gets the finger?

I noticed a few things -- the early car crowd wasn't necessarily there for us. The people with Tiny Tree air fresheners were not fans, at least in the first hour. Then the people with different-colored or multi-colored tree air fresheners seemed to honk, and the cars with green ones were pretty resolute, as a group in their disdain. We had a bunch of repeats who drove by several times. And one guy who pulled over and I thought he said "I'm gay and I voted for Trump," but folks with better hearing said that he said "I'm gay and I love you," or something more positive. I see you, gay man who pulls over to support!!

Waves of people arrived by public transit starting around 11:30, and we left around 12:30, secure in our knowledge that we were not emptying the crowd. We grabbed Tiger Brown and ran the gauntlet ourselves, honking for the entire city block. 

It was great.

Then I went to the supermarket, bought some celery root, and made this soup.

Delicious! Adding potatoes...

Celebrity Dreams 2026

Last night I fell asleep watching an interview of Jose Andres by Trevor Noah and combined the two people in my dream. 

We were making an impromptu dinner at my house and I showed Jose Andres all of the proteins my freezer. I referred to it as my "meat library".

I was charged with making a yeast-based flatbread. I was supposed to know how to do it without a recipe, but I also needed to show people where things were in my kitchen. Then I had to ask for help with the recipe and after that I made some very sad looking dough. Jose Andres / Trevor Noah helped me behind my back, and improved and portioned my dough.

Not sure how it turned out, other than as a blog post.

A Friday : )

If it's Friday, it's dermatology day!

New spots. New opportunities for removal. New opportunities for Mohs surgery?

Hopefully not.