I'm about to leave for the pool for my last practice before tomorrow's big swim. Just a short, kick-heavy practice. My triceps were a little sore yesterday from Thursday's work, and then my contact started hurting on the one night I forgot my glasses and I had to cut everything short. Bleh. Not that it matters, because my practice has gotten so screwed up these past two weeks.
I can't say enough how I'm really tired of deaths/ funerals/ and all of that stuff. But when I was telling my boss that, she told me that one of my coworkers is in hospice... so I guess there's going to be another one to get through before the year is over. Joke's on me.
I've been seriously considering pulling out of the swim. It was always going to be a stretch, and then this? It's been terrible. NOTHING has gone right. Everything from a rash aggravated by chafing to a funeral to staying very late at work on a semi-regular basis has reduced time available to swim. I am a textbook case of How Not to Prepare for Your First Open Water Event.
But my coworkers kicked in a combined $71, which put me over $300 for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. And a few of them were so sweet and encouraging... well. I was always going to be slow and make a fool out of myself anyway, right? So here we go. I just hope I don't drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack. As I said, I wouldn't even attend my own.
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Here we go again.
I'm so over 2011. Can we move on to 2012 yet? The universe clearly wasn't done having fun at my expense this year, and now I've lost both grandmothers and my brother in the space of four months. Of course, my training for my big swim is wrecked with just one week to go. I'm physically and mentally exhausted. It's not just this latest loss, that of my other grandmother. It's the cumulative effects of so much in such a short time. It's hard to muster up any enthusiasm for or interest in anything, let alone my first open water swim. I'm lugubrious, despondent, disconsolate, with a side of melancholy. Instead of excitement about Purple Swim, I feel nervous and insufficiently prepared. I hate to admit this, but I'm struggling with maintaining interest in the now happening NFL season. Nothing seems to matter all that much anymore.
I'm so very, very tired of death and funerals. I would like the rest of the year off from death and funerals. In fact, don't have one for me if I should drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack. I won't attend.
But now that I'm becoming something of an experienced mourner, allow me to make a few suggestions as to how to/ how not to treat the bereaved:
1. Do not comment on appearances, including attire, for the bereaved or the deceased. The bereaved may have had to travel at the last minute and may not have had time or the presence of mind to pack appropriately. Even if they didn't travel as great a distance, the enormity of the loss may make dressing and grooming challenging. And even if you think they look "good," they probably couldn't care less. Yes, my hair's back to long and blond-- do you think I particularly care if anyone likes it, when we're in front of a casket? Noooooo. And do not comment on the deceased's appearance at all, with the possible exception of how peaceful they may look. So many people fed me crap about my brother looking good-- which was total bull because it was obvious he was swollen and beaten up, with heavy makeup necessary, and lying about it just drew more attention to the obvious.
2. Do not discuss politics or religion. I'm more intimately aware than the average bear about what's going on in politics, but I don't really want to hear a political debate in front of a casket. And do not offer platitudes about how "God has a plan" or that the deceased is an angel/ is with the angels or similar such sentiments unless you are absolutely certain that the bereaved would find such sentiments comforting. For example, I consider myself a marginal verging on lapsed, extremely liberal eastern rite Catholic and I find none of those sentiments comforting in the least. I also have 13 years of Catholic education, and I will smack down your misinterpretation of doctrine regarding angels if you annoy me enough.
3. Do not tell the bereaved what they need to do unless they actually need to do it. Yes, get them something to eat/ drink, to sit down or to sleep. But don't tell them to call-- you call them. Don't tell them to email-- you email them. Don't tell them to visit-- you call or email and invite them. Why? Because the phone works both ways, email works both ways, and you're an insensitive berk if you don't realize that lots of people say nice things they don't mean and make promises they don't intend to ever keep, so how should the bereaved know which is sincere and which isn't?
3.a. As a corollary to 3, do not lecture the bereaved for not doing something that you think is important unless a) it actually is important and b) you're not a huge hypocrite about it. And even then, don't lecture. You're probably not a professor, and even if you are? It's not class time. I may also be a little irritated that my grandfather lectured me about not calling when he's never inquired after my or my parents' well-being after losing my brother and only offered the scantest words at the time. It was only for the sake of keeping peace that I didn't snap back that I only returned all of his calls while I've been wrestling with the crippling depression that came with losing my brother. Oh wait, that's right. No calls to return. I can count the calls from anyone outside my parents and closer friends on one hand.
4. Do not make promises you won't actually keep. It makes it difficult for the bereaved to figure out who they can really trust and rely on when the shock wears off and the actual, long-lasting mourning begins.
Finally, a "do":
5. Do shut up and just be there. Talk is cheap, unless it's at 2am and you're willing to talk to someone suffering through grief-wracked insomnia. Hugs, alcohol, and ice cream are even better.
I'm so very, very tired of death and funerals. I would like the rest of the year off from death and funerals. In fact, don't have one for me if I should drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack. I won't attend.
But now that I'm becoming something of an experienced mourner, allow me to make a few suggestions as to how to/ how not to treat the bereaved:
1. Do not comment on appearances, including attire, for the bereaved or the deceased. The bereaved may have had to travel at the last minute and may not have had time or the presence of mind to pack appropriately. Even if they didn't travel as great a distance, the enormity of the loss may make dressing and grooming challenging. And even if you think they look "good," they probably couldn't care less. Yes, my hair's back to long and blond-- do you think I particularly care if anyone likes it, when we're in front of a casket? Noooooo. And do not comment on the deceased's appearance at all, with the possible exception of how peaceful they may look. So many people fed me crap about my brother looking good-- which was total bull because it was obvious he was swollen and beaten up, with heavy makeup necessary, and lying about it just drew more attention to the obvious.
2. Do not discuss politics or religion. I'm more intimately aware than the average bear about what's going on in politics, but I don't really want to hear a political debate in front of a casket. And do not offer platitudes about how "God has a plan" or that the deceased is an angel/ is with the angels or similar such sentiments unless you are absolutely certain that the bereaved would find such sentiments comforting. For example, I consider myself a marginal verging on lapsed, extremely liberal eastern rite Catholic and I find none of those sentiments comforting in the least. I also have 13 years of Catholic education, and I will smack down your misinterpretation of doctrine regarding angels if you annoy me enough.
3. Do not tell the bereaved what they need to do unless they actually need to do it. Yes, get them something to eat/ drink, to sit down or to sleep. But don't tell them to call-- you call them. Don't tell them to email-- you email them. Don't tell them to visit-- you call or email and invite them. Why? Because the phone works both ways, email works both ways, and you're an insensitive berk if you don't realize that lots of people say nice things they don't mean and make promises they don't intend to ever keep, so how should the bereaved know which is sincere and which isn't?
3.a. As a corollary to 3, do not lecture the bereaved for not doing something that you think is important unless a) it actually is important and b) you're not a huge hypocrite about it. And even then, don't lecture. You're probably not a professor, and even if you are? It's not class time. I may also be a little irritated that my grandfather lectured me about not calling when he's never inquired after my or my parents' well-being after losing my brother and only offered the scantest words at the time. It was only for the sake of keeping peace that I didn't snap back that I only returned all of his calls while I've been wrestling with the crippling depression that came with losing my brother. Oh wait, that's right. No calls to return. I can count the calls from anyone outside my parents and closer friends on one hand.
4. Do not make promises you won't actually keep. It makes it difficult for the bereaved to figure out who they can really trust and rely on when the shock wears off and the actual, long-lasting mourning begins.
Finally, a "do":
5. Do shut up and just be there. Talk is cheap, unless it's at 2am and you're willing to talk to someone suffering through grief-wracked insomnia. Hugs, alcohol, and ice cream are even better.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
crisped critter
Dear blog,
Long time, no write. What can I say, it's turning into a hectic summer. Which probably isn't the worst thing in the world, because that means a little less time to ruminate and cry, but it's also not leaving me much time for myself. Or things like laundry and litterboxes.
The hollowness from losing my brother is cementing itself pretty well in place. It's just this massive brother-shaped gap that I'm learning to manage around. It's like I've lost a limb, but there won't ever be a prosthetic that can help me manage. I experience this moment of sinking disappointment every time I arrive at my parents' house and know he's not there, and not just because he's out running errands. And I cry with guilt every time I drive back to Baltimore because I'm leaving my parents alone. But... nobody really cares about that anymore. The rest of the world has moved on and spares little time or thoughts or sympathy for those of us still in mourning. So there's little point in sharing the grief-- nobody's asking or listening anyway.
In my misguided attempt to give myself something to swim FOR, I registered for PurpleSwim Baltimore, an open water swim in the Bay. It's... a little sooner than I'd like, especially because I'm nowhere near my best swimming shape. And I managed to thoroughly burn my back this weekend when I went out to the bay to spend some time in the open water-- despite liberally applying SPF 30 water resistant sunblock multiple times. So my back is an angry shade of magenta bordering on fuchsia, noticeably swollen, and unspeakably painful. Even my limbs are slightly swollen. I've used most of a 12oz bottle of aloe gel in the past 48 hours, on top of cold compresses, ibuprofen, and giving vinegar the old college try-- to minimal avail. I sucked it up and got a bathing suit on tonight (no such luck yesterday), but moving my arms in the water caused too much pain. So... now I'm in danger of falling behind on training thanks to sunblock failure. I did order a rashguard today to minimize this issue in the future, but still. OW. STUPID STUPID STUPID.
Sigh. Let's see if the NFL can give me some good news... oh wait. DAMMIT, HINES. DAMMIT, OWNERS.
Sorry, blog-- mamma's going to have to cut this little reunion short get herself a drink. It's just one of them summer.
Long time, no write. What can I say, it's turning into a hectic summer. Which probably isn't the worst thing in the world, because that means a little less time to ruminate and cry, but it's also not leaving me much time for myself. Or things like laundry and litterboxes.
The hollowness from losing my brother is cementing itself pretty well in place. It's just this massive brother-shaped gap that I'm learning to manage around. It's like I've lost a limb, but there won't ever be a prosthetic that can help me manage. I experience this moment of sinking disappointment every time I arrive at my parents' house and know he's not there, and not just because he's out running errands. And I cry with guilt every time I drive back to Baltimore because I'm leaving my parents alone. But... nobody really cares about that anymore. The rest of the world has moved on and spares little time or thoughts or sympathy for those of us still in mourning. So there's little point in sharing the grief-- nobody's asking or listening anyway.
In my misguided attempt to give myself something to swim FOR, I registered for PurpleSwim Baltimore, an open water swim in the Bay. It's... a little sooner than I'd like, especially because I'm nowhere near my best swimming shape. And I managed to thoroughly burn my back this weekend when I went out to the bay to spend some time in the open water-- despite liberally applying SPF 30 water resistant sunblock multiple times. So my back is an angry shade of magenta bordering on fuchsia, noticeably swollen, and unspeakably painful. Even my limbs are slightly swollen. I've used most of a 12oz bottle of aloe gel in the past 48 hours, on top of cold compresses, ibuprofen, and giving vinegar the old college try-- to minimal avail. I sucked it up and got a bathing suit on tonight (no such luck yesterday), but moving my arms in the water caused too much pain. So... now I'm in danger of falling behind on training thanks to sunblock failure. I did order a rashguard today to minimize this issue in the future, but still. OW. STUPID STUPID STUPID.
Sigh. Let's see if the NFL can give me some good news... oh wait. DAMMIT, HINES. DAMMIT, OWNERS.
Sorry, blog-- mamma's going to have to cut this little reunion short get herself a drink. It's just one of them summer.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Last bits
It's funny how the most mundane activities can trigger strong reactions. Yesterday, I changed the bag in my sweeper-- and it occurred to me that this bag was in my sweeper when I did the final cleaning of my old apartment. The dust and pollen and miscellaneous floor dirt were Pittsburgh in origin. The cat fur in the bottom was shed in Pittsburgh. This new bag will be filled with dust and pollen and miscellaneous floor dirt and cat fur that are all Baltimorean in origin. It's a weird milestone. And this weekend, I saw my first movie in Baltimore (I deserved a break after having my weekend plans ruined, though "break" is a bit of a stretch when Deathly Hallows had me in tears practically every ten minutes). Funny how time flies.
Speaking of which, I forgot to mark my Peteversary. So it's my third Peteversary plus one month-- and I happen to have taken this picture one month after taking him in to foster, so it all works out. Look at how bald and skinny he was-- and that was after a month of healing, fur regrowth, and fattening (Z also put on a few pounds from all the extra treats, funny enough). God, it still makes me so angry when I think about what kind of owner could neglect him that much.
In other news, (yeast-risen) oatmeal bread with molasses is a success. I added a bit of cardamom, which added a subtle something or other that complimented the molasses. Alas, as usual? This wan an unplanned experiment and I didn't take notes. Impulsive breadmaking, then I was inspired to quickly zap oats and water to make oatmeal to add in, then saw the remaining third cup of molasses and thought it would be a good changeup from the honey I usually put in oat bread... you know how it goes. We'll see if I can recreate it some time.
Speaking of which, I forgot to mark my Peteversary. So it's my third Peteversary plus one month-- and I happen to have taken this picture one month after taking him in to foster, so it all works out. Look at how bald and skinny he was-- and that was after a month of healing, fur regrowth, and fattening (Z also put on a few pounds from all the extra treats, funny enough). God, it still makes me so angry when I think about what kind of owner could neglect him that much.
In other news, (yeast-risen) oatmeal bread with molasses is a success. I added a bit of cardamom, which added a subtle something or other that complimented the molasses. Alas, as usual? This wan an unplanned experiment and I didn't take notes. Impulsive breadmaking, then I was inspired to quickly zap oats and water to make oatmeal to add in, then saw the remaining third cup of molasses and thought it would be a good changeup from the honey I usually put in oat bread... you know how it goes. We'll see if I can recreate it some time.
Friday, August 20, 2010
tomorrow's just an excuse away
There's something vaguely ominous about this week being my last full week of 30. In seven days I am really, truly, irrevocably In My Thirties. While I'm hardly ashamed of my age-- no perma-29 for me, unlike my mother-- my response has been to be generally immature all week. Nothing major, just doing things like blasting Smashing Pumpkins while driving around aimlessly and eating breakfast for dinner.
(That really is a fantastic song)
I think part of the nagging unsettled feeling is the sadness that I'm officially closing out my apartment. My little piece of Pittsburgh will cease to be mine and become just another memory to gather dust and cobwebs. No going back now, no olly-olly-ox-in-free. No more studio that I mockingly called the penthouse and still imagine it waiting there (as it was months ago), waiting for me to come home (even as I sit on the same couch here in Baltimore). Now I don't even have a bed at my parents' (that now resides in my guest bedroom for when they visit). Believe you me, there's nothing that makes you feel more like you don't belong than having to sleep on a godforsakenly uncomfortable couch without even a pillow at "home."
But. Closing one chapter means truly starting the next. Now that I won't be driving to Pittsburgh practically every weekend (I swear, I know 70 & the PA turnpike as well as my route to work anymore), I can focus on developing a life in Baltimore.
If only I knew what to do with myself.
(That really is a fantastic song)
I think part of the nagging unsettled feeling is the sadness that I'm officially closing out my apartment. My little piece of Pittsburgh will cease to be mine and become just another memory to gather dust and cobwebs. No going back now, no olly-olly-ox-in-free. No more studio that I mockingly called the penthouse and still imagine it waiting there (as it was months ago), waiting for me to come home (even as I sit on the same couch here in Baltimore). Now I don't even have a bed at my parents' (that now resides in my guest bedroom for when they visit). Believe you me, there's nothing that makes you feel more like you don't belong than having to sleep on a godforsakenly uncomfortable couch without even a pillow at "home."
But. Closing one chapter means truly starting the next. Now that I won't be driving to Pittsburgh practically every weekend (I swear, I know 70 & the PA turnpike as well as my route to work anymore), I can focus on developing a life in Baltimore.
If only I knew what to do with myself.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I like to be there when I can
A little more than a month on, and I'm adjusting to Baltimore. Slowly. I still need to figure out where I can get my hair cut, what dentist to see, those kinds of things. At least I can find the Ulta. And dyed my hair blonde-blonde. As in, I finally found dye that has me more-or-less at my natural color. For reals this time. It's weird to look in the mirror and still not quite see myself, even though this is the closest to natural I've looked for so long. Amazing how much identity is tied to hair.
I didn't realize how homesick I was until I crossed back into Pennsylvania and was surrounded by other vehicles bearing Steelers emblems. It's preseason, but it's Steelers football on TV in front of me. A-freaking-men. The off-season lasts forever.
My old place feels like an empty shell and an anchor around my neck and not at all like my former sanctum. Got to finish cleaning and patching and everything-- even though I know it's going to be (slightly) remodeled anyway. Frustrating, that. At this point, I kind of just want to hire a cleaning service so I don't have to worry about it anymore.
Now if you'll excuse me, the black and gold and a certain black and (white with) gold (eyes) cat that would like my attention.
I didn't realize how homesick I was until I crossed back into Pennsylvania and was surrounded by other vehicles bearing Steelers emblems. It's preseason, but it's Steelers football on TV in front of me. A-freaking-men. The off-season lasts forever.
My old place feels like an empty shell and an anchor around my neck and not at all like my former sanctum. Got to finish cleaning and patching and everything-- even though I know it's going to be (slightly) remodeled anyway. Frustrating, that. At this point, I kind of just want to hire a cleaning service so I don't have to worry about it anymore.
Now if you'll excuse me, the black and gold and a certain black and (white with) gold (eyes) cat that would like my attention.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
the best laid plans..
I had a quiet weekend planned, involving quality time with the cats and getting my apartment finally settled. Then god said ha and I had to drive right from work to Pittsburgh, with a ten minute pee/ feed and water the cats/ grab some clothes stop.
We lost Biscuit. Life really sucks sometimes. He had a reasonably long life and a consistently happy life, but that doesn't really help at this point. I don't like the vets and I'm insisting that my family stop using them, between what I felt was overpriced but far from adequate care for Biscuit and their go-to diagnosis of pancreatitis for everything. But that also doesn't really help. While I'm horribly sad and had to pull myself together at work, it's nothing compared to le frère.
I'll never forget the first time he saw the ocean. He had to taste the beach-- the sand, the water, the flotsam, and the jellyfish. I just barely managed to keep him away from the latter.
He was always hamming it up. Most of the time, he just about posed for his picture.
God, this house seems empty. He almost always slept by the couch where I slept, making his gross little noises and nosing over for some ear scratching so I could never sleep. Now it's far, far too quiet. Once more, "home" feels a little less like home.
We lost Biscuit. Life really sucks sometimes. He had a reasonably long life and a consistently happy life, but that doesn't really help at this point. I don't like the vets and I'm insisting that my family stop using them, between what I felt was overpriced but far from adequate care for Biscuit and their go-to diagnosis of pancreatitis for everything. But that also doesn't really help. While I'm horribly sad and had to pull myself together at work, it's nothing compared to le frère.
I'll never forget the first time he saw the ocean. He had to taste the beach-- the sand, the water, the flotsam, and the jellyfish. I just barely managed to keep him away from the latter.
He was always hamming it up. Most of the time, he just about posed for his picture.
God, this house seems empty. He almost always slept by the couch where I slept, making his gross little noises and nosing over for some ear scratching so I could never sleep. Now it's far, far too quiet. Once more, "home" feels a little less like home.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Biscuit the WunderCorgi is still pretty sick. I dogsat the patient this afternoon. Never have I seen so much wonderment over dog poo (even though it was decidedly unhealthy, its mere existence is something) and the original garbage disposal of a dog eating just a tablespoon of food-- actually, not even the entire tablespoon.
Poor puppy. It's really sad, because The Queen is on, and there's random bits where there's a gaggle of corgis around, acting like, well, corgis. Not terribly bright, but energetic and friendly and bossy. The way the WunderCorgi usually is.
Pete has yet to forgive me for returning with the scent of dog.
Poor puppy. It's really sad, because The Queen is on, and there's random bits where there's a gaggle of corgis around, acting like, well, corgis. Not terribly bright, but energetic and friendly and bossy. The way the WunderCorgi usually is.
Pete has yet to forgive me for returning with the scent of dog.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Saturday, and the living's easy
I believe that there is a sun in the sky once more and I am forcing myself to not dwell on things beyond my control. In honor of the reappearance of the sky fire ball, I was up at the crack of dawn (or more precisely, my approximation of the crack of dawn which involves neither cracking nor dawn) and down the strip to pick up staples.
I haven't been down in a while thanks to the weather and the jeep's bad behavior, so I almost forgot that there's little like a visit down the strip on a day when everyone is in a generally good mood to cultivate affection for this city. Even the pretentious woman who wanted everyone behind her to know she needed the perfect cheese for her "cab tasting" was bearable (though mostly because the cheese runners are awesome). The people stopping to stare at these amazing things we call honeydews were also moderately annoying instead of inspiring fantasies of smashing their heads into the melons (it's not that I'm a violent person, I just can't tolerate acting like a idiot over common produce). The gentleman at the counter at Reyna? He remembers me from buying salsa and guac for my family every time I'm down and making fun of Ohioans with him (no offense to Ohioans-- they just need their own day to go down and to stop getting their panties in a bunch over the prevalence of Pittsburgh Steelers merchandise in Pittsburgh). I had an amazing lemon-polenta-almond bar for breakfast, got everything I needed plus a few things for la famille, spent some time contemplating a pasta roller and other fine kitchen gadgets that I can't live without (but must), got Primanti's to go for lunch, and was gone by 11. And I even managed to get a parking space within two blocks of my apartment.
Now some cleaning, some feline attention, some writing, some sewing, and then some Alice in Wonderland.
I haven't been down in a while thanks to the weather and the jeep's bad behavior, so I almost forgot that there's little like a visit down the strip on a day when everyone is in a generally good mood to cultivate affection for this city. Even the pretentious woman who wanted everyone behind her to know she needed the perfect cheese for her "cab tasting" was bearable (though mostly because the cheese runners are awesome). The people stopping to stare at these amazing things we call honeydews were also moderately annoying instead of inspiring fantasies of smashing their heads into the melons (it's not that I'm a violent person, I just can't tolerate acting like a idiot over common produce). The gentleman at the counter at Reyna? He remembers me from buying salsa and guac for my family every time I'm down and making fun of Ohioans with him (no offense to Ohioans-- they just need their own day to go down and to stop getting their panties in a bunch over the prevalence of Pittsburgh Steelers merchandise in Pittsburgh). I had an amazing lemon-polenta-almond bar for breakfast, got everything I needed plus a few things for la famille, spent some time contemplating a pasta roller and other fine kitchen gadgets that I can't live without (but must), got Primanti's to go for lunch, and was gone by 11. And I even managed to get a parking space within two blocks of my apartment.
Now some cleaning, some feline attention, some writing, some sewing, and then some Alice in Wonderland.
Friday, March 5, 2010
channeling
Bring crafty is therapeutic. I've made two pairs of earrings, two necklaces, and a bracelet in the past 48 hours. I think I need to redo the one necklace-- the beads are too light and too transparent for the bright silver chain-- but I'm slowly improving my wireworking, even though it's hell on my hands and nails. Here's my latest pair of earrings.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Rollercoaster! Of fluuuuuuuu! (say what?) Rollercoaster! Of fluu-uuu-uuuu
I felt better-- not great, by any stretch of the imagination, but better-- yesterday. Today? Down again. Major chest congestion. Disgusting.
Happy St. Nicholas day. I miss my best St. Nicholas present ever, my LucyCat. In a pretty awful coincidence I've been bombarded by the most painful commercial ever three times so far this morning. The Sarah McLaughlin ASPCA commercial that can leave me a sobbing mess on a good day? Not the thing I needed to see.
On the plus side, my meager Christmas shopping is half done. Maybe a little more. Dad's birthday present also made it here just in the nick of time. Thank god for the intertubes. I wish my family was a little easier to shop for, or that I had a little more money to get them what they really want, what they really need, or something really great. Someday maybe. I was in the grocery store yesterday, and even in my neighborhood, they were playing Christmas songs. I'm apparently 6, because the Muppet version of the 12 Days of Christmas made me smile like an idiot and linger to the end while perusing cat treats.
Happy St. Nicholas day. I miss my best St. Nicholas present ever, my LucyCat. In a pretty awful coincidence I've been bombarded by the most painful commercial ever three times so far this morning. The Sarah McLaughlin ASPCA commercial that can leave me a sobbing mess on a good day? Not the thing I needed to see.
On the plus side, my meager Christmas shopping is half done. Maybe a little more. Dad's birthday present also made it here just in the nick of time. Thank god for the intertubes. I wish my family was a little easier to shop for, or that I had a little more money to get them what they really want, what they really need, or something really great. Someday maybe. I was in the grocery store yesterday, and even in my neighborhood, they were playing Christmas songs. I'm apparently 6, because the Muppet version of the 12 Days of Christmas made me smile like an idiot and linger to the end while perusing cat treats.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Saturdays are for planting
The plants from Tasteful Garden arrived this week. They seem to be mostly okay, but rather tall and leggy-- the tomatoes already need cages tall. There were a few substitutions-- a regular Italian eggplant for the Bianca di Rosa eggplant, and Carmen, Lipstick, and ruffled red peppers instead of the Italian yellow bell, Mini red bell, and Italian red bell peppers. The tomatoes came as expected (San Marzano Redorta, Classica Roma, Italian Sweet Beefsteak heirlooms and sweet million hybrid), as did the itty bitty basil and large horseradish. Some of the plants already had flowers, like the eggplant:
All of the flowers were removed shortly after planting to encourage root growth, of course. There was also a RED strawberry already.
I sowed cilantro seeds, and... I think we're about done with the planting for now. The spinach and lettuce have been the only real disappointment so far, and that's more due to slow growth than anything else. So here we are...
In other news, it's weird being at my parents' house. When I did live there and maintained the current garden as an herb garden, Lucy would sun herself in the mulch while I worked and rolled around on top of the catnip and any plants unfortunate enough to be nearby. I'm not sure what to do with her cremains. I don't know what part of my parents' yard is not going to be dug up at some point in the near future, and it's not really "my" house anyway.
All of the flowers were removed shortly after planting to encourage root growth, of course. There was also a RED strawberry already.
I sowed cilantro seeds, and... I think we're about done with the planting for now. The spinach and lettuce have been the only real disappointment so far, and that's more due to slow growth than anything else. So here we are...
In other news, it's weird being at my parents' house. When I did live there and maintained the current garden as an herb garden, Lucy would sun herself in the mulch while I worked and rolled around on top of the catnip and any plants unfortunate enough to be nearby. I'm not sure what to do with her cremains. I don't know what part of my parents' yard is not going to be dug up at some point in the near future, and it's not really "my" house anyway.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
trying to find the beat again
It's a little hard to write at the moment. I know that life goes on, but everything just seems so trivial right now. Meh. I don't want to do my laundry, especially the sweater I was wearing the last night that still has some of her fur on it. It's as if once I wash it, she'll really be gone instead of me just pretending she's at my parents'. I know there are those who would say it's just a cat, get over it. But I grew up with pets as part of the family, and you don't just get over losing something-- someone-- that was a part of the family for twelve and a half years overnight. Not if you have a heart, anyway.
Pete & Zizi are probably ready to be rid of me for all of the extra attention they've been getting (though I doubt they mind the extra treats). But in about 48 hours I return to working full-time for the first time in almost a year. How strange. School is work, but I can do homework on the couch and fight Pete for my highlighter cap. And I can sit around in my pajamas doing it (much like I did for certain marathon writing sessions...).
We did have a frost advisory last night, so there was a quick moving of the container plants indoors and hurried instructions to cover the garden. Hopefully everything cam through okay. That's spring in Pittsburgh for you-- it can hit into the 80s and bump up against 90, but there's still a good chance that a late frost will catch you off guard.
Pete & Zizi are probably ready to be rid of me for all of the extra attention they've been getting (though I doubt they mind the extra treats). But in about 48 hours I return to working full-time for the first time in almost a year. How strange. School is work, but I can do homework on the couch and fight Pete for my highlighter cap. And I can sit around in my pajamas doing it (much like I did for certain marathon writing sessions...).
We did have a frost advisory last night, so there was a quick moving of the container plants indoors and hurried instructions to cover the garden. Hopefully everything cam through okay. That's spring in Pittsburgh for you-- it can hit into the 80s and bump up against 90, but there's still a good chance that a late frost will catch you off guard.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
in mourning
I had to let my Lucy go last night. She was the dowager empress of the house for twelve and a half years, demanding and mercurial but intensely affectionate. I don't know what happened, but she went from fine to gravely ill very suddenly, and from 80% chance of recovery to failing in a few hours. She was so full of personality that my parents' house now feels somewhat empty, colder, less welcoming now.
I miss my little fluffy ornery cuddly loving Lucy-loo. I had to make the decision to put her to sleep. She probably wouldn't have lasted the night and I really wanted to just take her home so she could be in familiar surroundings. But she was in so much pain. It hurt her just to have her in my lap. It was probably the right decision and exactly what I would have told anyone else to do, but I feel so wretched. Guilty on top of missing her so very much.
I miss my little fluffy ornery cuddly loving Lucy-loo. I had to make the decision to put her to sleep. She probably wouldn't have lasted the night and I really wanted to just take her home so she could be in familiar surroundings. But she was in so much pain. It hurt her just to have her in my lap. It was probably the right decision and exactly what I would have told anyone else to do, but I feel so wretched. Guilty on top of missing her so very much.
Friday, May 8, 2009
LucyFur
My LucyCat is very sick. She's my cat, but she lives with my parents while DamnCat and EmoCat live with me. She's managed to train my parents to attend to her whims. She's definitely the Queen of the house, smacking the other cats-- and the dog-- usually on top of the head (claws velveted)-- when they annoy her. Think good thoughts for her.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
heavy day
Today was a rather emotional day in Oakland, with a memorial service for three Pittsburgh officers killed on Saturday attended by thousands of police from all over the country and Canada. There were literally miles of vehicles lined up.
The whole thing was incredibly emotional, but the saddest part was when the hearses arrived. The families were riding in limos and charter buses and vans behind them. One of the vans had two children riding in the back, whom I presume were a niece and nephew of one of the officers. The little girl waved at all of the people who had gathered, while the little boy wore a police cap and saluted back at the saluting cops.
Like I said, a very heavy, very emotional day.
In less heavy news, my windowbox spinach sprouted. Hopefully it'll be warm enough to put it back outside again soon.
The whole thing was incredibly emotional, but the saddest part was when the hearses arrived. The families were riding in limos and charter buses and vans behind them. One of the vans had two children riding in the back, whom I presume were a niece and nephew of one of the officers. The little girl waved at all of the people who had gathered, while the little boy wore a police cap and saluted back at the saluting cops.
Like I said, a very heavy, very emotional day.
In less heavy news, my windowbox spinach sprouted. Hopefully it'll be warm enough to put it back outside again soon.
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