Pretty Things -- Tiny Paintings Edition

I bought two small paintings for $60 and put them over the sofa. 

O'Hara, whoever you are, I would like more, please. These are from 1970.

I love them.

Visible Mending. VERY Visible Mending

I went on ebay looking for cashmere sweaters with holes, specifically so I could do some visible mending.

I bought a lovely orange sweater with a few holes. More holes than they said, but I don't care:

I received the sweater and began covering the holes. First, I used a piece of vintage fabric to cover the one on the back. Then I picked out a few colors and used them to embroider some designs over holes. I was very pleased with myself.

I put the sweater down on the table, and turned around mere minutes later to find this:

Such a pisser. Boy kitten chewed a ginormous hole right next to the mending I'd done. I decided to see if I could salvage it. I used a piece of a tshirt from the free table (the same one I used to repair my "skirt") to make a patch. Then I used a little bit of it on the sleeve to make a teeny patch. It looks kinda nutty, but I'm really liking how it turned out, and I got unprompted admiration from my coworkers yesterday. They pretty much agree that boy kitten's work led to improvements.

Here's the patch on the back. Yes, I will iron it at some point.

I just bought another cashmere sweater on ebay yesterday. I'm having fun.

Never Again Will I Ever...Or Will I?

This was the prompt:
"Think back to a fiasco—a moment when you were helplessly, hopelessly human. A mistake, a misstep, a plan gone spectacularly sideways. Write about what happened, what you were afraid it said about you—and what it revealed instead."

We were on a work assignment in Hamburg. Our project manager had quit and hadn't been replaced yet. We didn't think we could get our crates (artwork, AV equipment) past customs for no good reason other than fear, and the registrar at the museum was cackling with laughter because this was her last act / responsibility before retirement. Also she made disturbing jewelry with glow-in-the-dark rubber zombie fingers. You'd think I would like that but I did not.

With great relief, in our penultimate evening in Hamburg the bulk of our work was complete and we'd passed inspection. We went out to dinner and we / I got hammered.

A guy tossed a colorful postcard on the table, advertising a nightclub. Cool! Before the guys could stop me I walked out of the restaurant and hailed a cab. They managed to jump in with me, and off we went. And thus, at the tender age of 50, I found myself dancing in a cage at a raging gay nightclub in St. Pauli. I had so much fun until I realized that someone had stolen my purse which contained my passport and a week's per diem. My more sober companion, an air force veteran, noticed it in the hands of a woman in the parking lot. He snatched it from her and returned it to me.

The next night at dinner I apologized to my workmates. My hero responded "THAT was AWESOME", which took away a tiny piece of my mortification, which I feel even now, for obvious reasons.

What did I learn? Nothing, to be honest.

Hot Dog Diplomacy

It's week 2+ of 5 in mrguy's radiation and chemo journey. He feels like shit. Wants to throw up, or he has diarrhea or he's constipated. He's sleep deprived and angry with everything.

On the other side of the fence our neighbor's beautiful wife died suddenly. He feels like shit and is being loud. Mrguy can't sleep with him acting out. I went to the wake on Friday. It was beautiful. But it's been days, now, of lack of peace. Kinda like when [name redacted]'s sister and mom passed away in weeks of each other. He acted out, I asked him to keep it down (not knowing the context) and that made things escalate.

Six months later mrguy saw him manning the grill at our block party, and told me "I'm taking one for the team." He does not usually eat pork or beef, but he sidled up to [name redacted], started a conversation and ate a hot dog. 

Hot dog diplomacy worked. We have been cool ever since.

Right now I'm at the place where I want to protect my man, but I don't want to ruffle any feathers. And mrguy just yelled at me, which made me cry. Mrguy tries not to bother people, and [name redacted] takes up so much space, as do all of the people in the neighborhood whose sounds and actions bother him. And the things that I do that he usually overlooks have also provoked him. Poor guy. I have taken refuge in the pasha lounge with some sewing and an audiobook.

Genealogy Updates

This has been soooo interesting. I am lucky that I got my mom to do a dna test. She's that much closer to the answer of who her ancestors are than I, right?

What has been answered definitively is that she is not related to her father's side of the family. And that she and her brother have the same father. And that a fellow who shows up as her nephew is an unknown son of her brother. My siblings and I have an unknown biological grandfather who was responsible for both of my grandparents' children. We are all related to my grandmother's side of the family. And all of us look like that side of the family including, very strongly, my newfound biological cousin.

What my mom's dna tells us is that in addition to the German roots in Saxony that I already know about and have researched, there are German roots in Bavaria. Recent german roots in Bavaria. I thought I knew everything about my Germans, and I did not.

The genealogists at Ancestry looked at my mom's dna and my own and her bio nephew. In addition to the recent Bavarian connections, they found other German genealogy matches in the "unassigned" areas of my mom's matches. With great effort they found ancestors that were in this additional German line. What they are seeing is that there was only one likely man who linked those two families together, and unlike all of his family, who lived for generations in Illinois, he lived 7 miles away from my grandmother during the time that my mom and her brother were born. I determined that he was in the automobile business during this time, which makes it even more likely that he would have come into contact with my grandmother and grandfather.

I am loving this.

Project Pause

I stopped where I needed to but am happy with the progress. Most of the pots match-ish, and I have new herbs growing at the top. As things grow in I can move them to different levels. Not sure what I'm going to do with the bottom three spots.

A lovely thing happened on the way home from the movie theater the other day. There were goats grazing on the field in the abandoned middle school. I pulled over and took photos. It smelled so goat-y, and they were chewing so loudly that I could hear them over the distant freeway, passing cars and light rail. I liked it so much that I took mrguy the next day to experience it.

Such goat variety!

Vacation Wednesday -- The Project Continues

I bought this wacky plant stand several months ago. It's been harder to get pots that fit than I thought. Yesterday I went to the Home Depot near work, since I had to go that way to get blood tests. I had partial success. For some reason three of the pots that are the same size won't fit in some of the holders. And then some of the holders are sizes that aren't common. So it's a bit of a mosh.

Also I need to Rustoleum the metal, and I really don't feel like doing it. And I am now seeing that this project is going to require patience, and trial and error.

But my goal became clear this week. What I really want is to get the front porch a bit tidier and to create an herb garden in the plant stand. There is enough room for the other things that I love, like succulents, but one thing that I have felt is lacking at the Big Brown Box is herbs. Accessible herbs. During the pandemic I had them in the aku room, but they eventually got buggy, so I gave up. Right now the aku room is kinda perfect. I have some great geraniums that are flowering like mad, and some weird succulents that I decided to like because they apparently like the room. It looks so darned great.

So here's what the week looks like.

Monday. A hodgepodge of pots and plants.

This morning I had some plants temporarily in random pots.

This afternoon I found *some*pots that fit and some saucers that I could use. In the meantime I repotted some orchids that came from my mom's house that have never bloomed. Hoping to find a home for them somewhere in the garden, but the maple trees seem to have made all of the front yard un-diggable. We'll see if I can get help. Or grow stronger ;)

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, mrguy is on Day 3 of his radiation. He slept a lot this afternoon and has now gone back to bed at 6:55. I watched the episode of Dr. Pimple Popper that was recorded after her stroke. She and her husband talked about how their children are in college and these are supposed to be their golden years, wondering what comes next. I cried while cooking greens.

How To Decide, And Other Thoughts

Some writing from The Hatch.

I can't remember the prompt, but here is the output:

How to decide.

Paddle around. At an uncomfortable junction, either dig in or move on, once you see it happen. Give it a random time frame. It’s the frame that matters. And conserving the time.

Choose what suits you. Accept what suits you. But don’t only accept. That’s the rule.

How to decide. Step out. Don’t look for constraints. Choose your own. Release. Imagine what you will and will not do. Keep what you need. Keep the memories. Jettison the things. There will always be new things.

How to decide.

+++

The prompt was to reimagine the lyrics to a song, substituting word meaning or...can't recall. We had 5 minutes. The only lyrics that came to mind were for The Ladies Who Lunch, from the musical Company. I kinda went with opposites.

For you men

I cry

Running in the shoes that bring hunger

Here you go

It's for someone else

+++

This was a warm-up, suggested by Jon Batiste, who was our guest for The Hatch. Just stream of consciousness. He used the phrase "complete inevitable statement", which I loved. So that's how I began.

“Complete Inevitable Statement” that starts as a feeling and coalesces out of the filmy mists, as they say. 

Rinse, lather and repeat.

Breck, as I recall, was golden brown and pungent. Every shampoo had to have that fragrance until Herbal Essence came and made everything green, and shampoo world was broken open entirely, with man’s finest artificial scents, rooted in fruit and candy flavors. 

But the 1976 Olympics of it brought us the unintentionally cookie flavor of telling two friends "and so-on”. 

My husband wants a cookie oven for his man room. Thanks a lot, Jon Batiste.

Vacation is Delicious

Monday was great. I did laundry and putzed around on the computer and started a project -- the green pots out front. They came from my grandfather's car dealership and originally held potted palms. Then to my mom's house to hold jade plants and, on the porch to the left, big old monstera plants.

 

I was super stoked when I got to be the next keeper of the pots. Mom helped me do the original plantings. One of the things I really enjoyed doing with my mom was gardening and having her boss me around while gardening. Btw, I wish I still had lots of aeonium (the large succulent flowers).

My glow up was more modest this time around but I think I did pretty well with what we had on hand. Before:

After:

Some smaller succulents, some freeway daisies, some dianthus. I think it'll turn out ok once everything gets established. The original plants that I had in there (can't recall the name) have been gradually made into cuttings, and are rooting in water in the aku room. I have at least ten plants going. I think I've mentioned before that if I knew they could have been rooted I would have done it years ago. I couldn't let go of the original plant, so even though it's woody, I have it in some water on the porch and I kiiinda want to see if I can get it going again, just for fun.

Meanwhile, on the genealogy front, I received my research plan from the Ancestry genealogist team working on my case. They have managed my expectations, somewhat. Unless there is some documentary evidence that my grandfather was adopted, we may never know his parentage for certain.

Vacation Week

I took the week off. Because. Because mrguy is starting radiation. Because I want to retire but haven't yet.

Although I've been off for two days, it's the Monday that seems like vacation. Over there at the factory they've been working for 7 minutes! Me? I slept in until boy kitten would let me no longer. Mrguy has had his first radiation already. I hope it's killing his tumor already. Our oncologist was hilarious on Friday "Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Tumor. On Monday you're gonna die" (or something like that).

In the meantime, it's a beautiful day. Super hazy and foggy. I'm planning to go to the hardware store and buy some pots and plants and clean up the front porch. That is my idea of a good time. 

But first, some tea and genealogy. I received an email from Ancestry about some new tool, which made me want to visit the website. I clicked on Ancestral Journeys, which I generally don't do because I thought I knew every part of my family until recently. I logged in to my mom's account, which isn't linked to my family tree, and Franconia was a region that came up on Ancestral Journeys. I'm not aware of any connection there, or to Southern Illinois. For people with no family trees Ancestry relies on DNA matches and their trees to give hints to Ancestral Journeys. So it looks like I have other parts of Germany to explore at some point when I learn more about my family ties there.

That's what I've got this morning. One more cup of tea and I'll start the day. 

Small Joys

I was looking for some dust cloths the other day while helping out with an internal exhibition at the forklift factory. It's the 20th anniversary of one of our most popular lines of forklifts, so we were putting up an exhibition of designs from that first forklift. I got the delightful job of dusting a large neon sign that was going to be on the title wall of the exhibit. It's from the production office of that first forklift line, and I'm guessing it probably hadn't been dusted for fifteen years. It mostly lives in the warehouse, as a backdrop to the spot where the guys have a stage for practicing the guitars and the drums. We brought it out of retirement this week. And I like to dust.

I was looking in our hallway supply cabinet for some cloths, when I noticed a coffee mug sitting on top of the cabinet. That is not where coffee belongs, but it is where I can imagine someone resting a mug of coffee *temporarily* before entering the archives. No liquids allowed in the archives!

I can imagine the coffee drinker forgetting about the mug. And another person leaving it there because what if someone was sad that you'd taken their coffee mug to the kitchen. I can imagine this thought occurring to many people over many months, but mrsguy is a person whose curiosity gets the better of her.

I picked up the mug and was rewarded for my effort. There in the coffee mug was the most amazing-looking scum. If you moved the cup gently from side to side the scum moved as a whole. Freaky spores from the air or a mouth had bloomed into small turquoise circles and a brown one, which hadn't lived up to its potential, or maybe it had completed its journey earlier than the other two.

 

We will never know.

Summer House!!

I wish I could have those three hours back. Everybody was going crazy over the scandal happening on that show so I put in a little time watching the reunion episodes. I'm not otherwise familiar with the show. 

Boy was that dull. The people who shocked all of their friends by getting together are bad tv. They just stared blankly into space and shrugged a lot. The guy half of this couple just lied a bunch without blinking and justified his cheating on girls as "just what I do", while his beloved sat next to him impassively.

How can you make this story so boring, while spending ten hours filming it?

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.