Wit, Wisdom & Wonder

With the schizoid barometer doing its dance between warm and mild, then cold and misting. Yesterday I managed to get a sunburn walking back and forth to my car. Today, its likely to be cloudy all day. And knowing my photo-sensitive skin, I will somehow still manage to get a a sunburn.

Worse yet, this barometric crap is killing my knees. Alleve isn't quite cutting it, but its what I can use.

This morning, I watched Libby take a nap under the white Rhododendron. At some point, a small white butterfly or moth decided her nose would be a great place to rest. A slow, leisurely romp ensued. Those who cannot do, watch with fascination and a little bit of envy.

Those are my favorite parts of the day.

I've been so incredibly busy since coming home, I can only liken it to rampaging. Catching up with friends, running errands, taking care of the critters and coordinating the projects around here. Friday I was literally bouncing back and forth between Tiger's house and mine, where I had two crews working on the yards.

But for now, its quiet. The Bassets are napping on the sofa. Gracie is piled up on the pillows across from me. I'm willing myself to ignore the state of the house, which is horrid - there's still messes from madcap packing, the house is a dusty mess. I haven't even dealt with the brooder, which has been sitting in the meditation room filled with shavings and poop. And I have to fix the vacuum. Ugh.

Generally speaking, I'd be getting around for work on a Sunday but the boss has finally called it quits. I'm going to go in and help her set up her Amazon account to sell the store inventory online. I'm hoping to buy some bookcases and possibly, a few chairs. If I can get the chairs, that horrid 3-seater sofa is going away.

After many talks with my mother, I've the thought to sell off and give away as much of our furniture as possible before the move. Get to Florida (or a point on the East coast) and start over. Nothing we have is really appropriate for a Southeastern house. The dining room set is fine, possibly a few other pieces, but frankly so little is worth taking. Our house is a crazy amalgam of Freecycle, inexpensively purchased stuff and the cast off the odds and ends that a military community seems to attract.

Kevin is heading to New Orleans to visit family for he and his brother's birthdays. We have shopped ourselves silly putting together a light weight wardrobe, including a pair of shoes, for the trip. He's thinking a dump run should be done before he heads out, so I'm in waiting mode to hear back as to whether he needs the big pickup. If he does, I'll likely go with him to return the favor. If not, we have plans to watch a Netflix DVD.

My Mother asked about my "inner life" this visit, something she's never done before. Frankly, I haven't time for much of one I admitted to her. She admitted she's in much the same situation. We both laughed with exasperation at ourselves. Here we are two educated, brilliant Feminist women and we're too tired to develop ourselves at present. I need to get back up on my stride around here, Mom has visitors coming up to the Dorset house every weekend this Summer and likely through the Fall. This weekend, its Aunt Betty from Colorado. Whom we will all see at her son's wedding in August.

Which reminds me, I'll be in the Littleton/Denver area for a week in August. Generally family events are too chaotic and booked for meeting up with friends but synapsepi is there and I do plan to make time in any way to hang out with her.

Mike Russo is one of my favorite customers and not just because he's from NYC originally. He comes in nearly every Monday and a few days in between, to chat and pickup books. He's a great reader and you just know anything we special order for him is bound to be fantastic. I can't wait to see his new book come in "Frank: The Voice".

Mostly I adore Mike's stories: Mike fought in WWII for the 87th Infantry, stationed in Germany at the end of the war and was part of that whole mess. The stories from that time period are shocking if you don't know how Russia, America and Great Britain conducted themselves (poorly and with much corruption), but funny when you do. Mike met Frank Sinatra at a family reunion. Not his own, but his gf's and was convinced Frank was trying to steal his girl away. He seems to have dated half the startlets of the era, I love listening to who he thought was the best of the pinups of that time.

He also saw the Hindenberg on its last trip, as it circled Manhattan for 4 hours trying to wait out the storm that may have killed it. He wasn't present at the crash/immolation, but he did live through its aftermath. I'd mentioned that I had a gorgeous coffee table-photo book on the Hindenberg and its place in the history of airships, which he asked to borrow. Mike is the kind of customer you'd happily loan a $75 coffee table book to, because you know its coming back in perfect condition and I look forward to more stories from him after he'd read it.

I narrowly avoided the Union 76 crash, as I was supposed to be on it and refused at the last moment when my roommate couldn't come with us. I'd only been dating the pilot for a few weeks and back in my twenties, I felt more comfortable dating in couples, so I declined. Good thing. The more folks you put on a plane, the lower the odds for anyone surviving. Same with airships, though our records of their crashing aren't as intense as the FAA/NTSB investigation on the Union 76.

He's also about the only local with whom I can swap off-color Jewish jokes. He has a ton of them and I'm memorizing them as fast as I can. We share a few new Yiddish words with each other and have a marvelous time, talking and laughing. One of these days, I'm going to invite him out to dinner with us.

Mike's the last of a dying breed, really. The gentle, talkative guys from WWII are growing rarer and rarer these days. He's in good health, very social and quite the flirt. We rarely discuss anything personal, though he has met my husband and asked him about the Navy "these days". I'm not sure what Mike does with his days, but I have a feeling I've seen him at the Seaplane Museum up on the base. Whether he works or volunteers or just visits, I do not know. But I like thinking of Mike out and around, all that wealth of experience and perception, chatting up bored retail clerks like me.

First off, fixed the toner issue on the new printer. *sigh* Shouldn't these things just work right out of the box, is that too much to ask? For those who missed my psychic cursing, the silly thing was printing black lines along the entirety of the page. Seems there was a bit of black toner on the wire. Fine. Cleaned it, working good, still pretty happy with the purchase. I've got it set up in the living room as I've not yet decided what to do with the old HP 4Plus Laserjet (aka Death Star). Running out of closets to stick it in.

Given my new work schedule, I now have Sundays free. Hubby and I drove down Island to join the Whidbey Island Unitarian Universalists for their Summer Children's Program. Lovely, met some great folks. Service included the book Enemy Pie, lots of singing in the round and a game of Cat's Cradle. Husband has not only never attended UU, but never played Cat's Cradle. I grew up sitting on stoops and playing Cat's Cradle with friends using a Chinese Jump rope. For those who've never had the pleasure - you used to find them in general stores and toy shops. It's a flexible, rubber, string-wrapped length - nowadays you sometimes see them at the grocery store tacked up along the aisles, sold as a band to hold a liner or garbage bag to your garbage bin. Worked great. The UU was using cheap synthetic yarn, really just about the worst thing to use as it's so abrasive and tightens up while playing.

After that, we headed back north up the Island to Greenbank Farms to enjoy the Loganberry Festival. Had a marvelous time walking about, bought ourselves new straw hats for sun protection and even met a great dog up for adoption. (Yes, Ruth, I know I'm nuts) Brought home some Loganberry jam, too!

Now we're settled in at home, Josh and Kevin are out in the motorcycle shed working on pulling apart the engine. They're looking for which O-ring (there are several types) blew so they can replace it. Figures it wouldn't be one of the easy ones. Nope, seems to be the ones near the bottom of the engine under the headers. *snort* Speaking of which, Scarlett is having a marvelous time now that she's retired from egg laying. So far today, she's done a successful "Death from Above" maneuver on a poor innocent Sandy (Buff Cochin hen), jumped up on the front porch to screech at me to bring her cat food treat and even sat on my knee while we watched the boys work on the bike.

And joy of joys, blew out the butt seam on my 2nd favorite pair of jeans. Poor old thing just couldn't take another day. I'm thinking braided denim rug, I'm fairly sure I have a few more pairs for the cause.

Meanwhile, I'm reading The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. On page 36 and I still have no idea what the book is about or who the main characters are, but I'm engrossed.

I've always been a bit uncertain as to identity, it seems so fluid to me. I was adopted by my stepfather at 6 months, and so he raised me. When someone asks my cultural identity, I somehow feel I need to preface that. The story I give of my heritage is his family's, because I too, am his family. My mother married two men who look alike, I joke that the APB would net both of them. And so, oddly enough, I look like his family. There is great comfort in that. Most of his family has forgotten I'm not genetically related to them and there's yet to be a reunion where someone hasn't remarked how much I look like my Dad. *WEG* This used to give me apoplexy, now Dad and I just share a sideways glance and grin like Mad Hatters.

My mother's family was Irish and German, the Jewish coming from my grandmother. And so, though we weren't raised with any religion in the home (unless one counts Calvinism, we were very much Calvanists without the trappings of Lutheran on top), my mother has always identified as Jewish and identified her children as Jewish. I am visibly recognizable by other Jews as Jewish, especially when I take off my glasses and show a profile. My glasses have always hid the ridge, once exposed it just seems so obvious to others Jews and a few gentiles, too. Even here on Whidbey Island, women grab my arm and whisper that question that has followed me wherever I go "mishpaka (Family)?" Yes, I am family by whatever definition you prefer.

And so, my dearly dears, are you.

We're a very small group in the Psychology program, myself and five others. Four of us are women, the fifth is a man probably about my age but possibly older. His years have worn him harder than mine.

The youngest is in her early twenties, Catholic and very young (in every way). She's the most vocal, the most rambling and so painfully young in her responses. She's very much bleeding through emotionally from a bad marriage. She has no idea she's broadcasting what she is. The rest of us do, including the professors.

The oldest (I'm guessing) is a mother of four. She's almost 6 feet tall and built like a Valkyrie, though she's all laughter and grins. She works with teens involved in the juvenile system and those she'd like to keep out of it. From my days as a student teacher for emotionally disturbed teens, I can say with all certainty - we recognized each other at first meeting.

The next youngest to me is an African-American woman from the South, former Navy. She and I are the talkers, though I make it on time to class and she runs perpetually 1/2 hour behind. To say she brings light to the program is an understatement. Which isn't to say she's not bright, she's quick on her feet and with her wits. I look forward to seeing her sitting next to me.

The next youngest still is a young woman who is called to forensics and research. She is the "Queen of the Write In" and the professors have responded by adding a line under the multiple choice questions for her. She's a bit quieter, more introspective and as often as not, when she does speak it's profound.

The man is obviously former military. His haircut and bearing hasn't changed since retirement, he's so out of place in civilian clothes. He's the most conservative, having made the point to us early on. He sits just a bit apart from us. He's suffering through his values right now, fighting the counseling requirement to be open minded and non-judgmental. The rest of us are gently guiding him through this, we're holding firm while he squirms. At one point, he admitted he'd have trouble shaking hands with a gay man, given his background. My stern response was that there is never a righteous defense to dehumanizing another. He's been thinking since then, but when we meet gazes, he does smile in return. He's doing the work and we're there for him.

It's a good group and I'm privileged to be among them.

Woke up to a light sprinkling of snow, at just a smidge under 40F. Nothing hung around as it's sunny out, but for a few minutes there was that marvelous sense of displacement and awe of the improbable. There's something wonderful about those moments, even the dogs seem to feel it - they refused to head outside while it lasted.

Today I meet the new therapist and see if she's appropriate to both tasks: 1) treating my OCD and 2) being my mentor through graduate school. It feels so insanely presumptuous to ask a stranger to do this, it's a very intimate process. Granted, it's industry standard, but I'm just introverted enough that this is making me squirm and slightly nauseous.

Woke up to a dark, sprinkling day which generally does not bode well for the rest of the day. Sure enough, by the time I headed out for work, it was pouring rain. I had to pull over several times during my commute for emergency vehicles and I've heard them out on Route 20 during my shift.

As I look out the front windows, the fog is below tree line and sinking on the water. A drenched Bald Eagle is perched on a tree near the shore, I can't think he's hunting for fish given the opacity of the water. Perhaps he's keeping an eye out for field mice in the fields along the shore, perhaps he's waiting for a distracted driver to run over a pigeon or seagull. He looks so miserable, hunched up with his head just peeking out from the curve of his wings.

The afternoon has been busier for the bookstore, thankfully. I'm hoping the trend continues, especially on a hard rain day like today. Meanwhile, the odd requests continue via phone and I'm struggling to search for these mismatched titles and authors.

Another day, another bucket of rain.

The Rhodies are making a complete mess in the shed. Ewwww!

I need to get the Minion to put up the holiday lights before hubby gets home.

I've found two new buyers for our duck eggs, yay!

If Josh throws away another faucet insulator next summer, I'm going to kill him!

Woot-woot, plans for Yule finally made.

It's been announced - Barack Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize!

For those curious, the other U.S. Presidents to win were Theodore Roosevelt (1906) and Woodrow Wilson (1919) and Jimmy Carter (2002). And, of course, perhaps America's most treasured award winner - Martin Luther King Jr. in 1964.

Today, I think of my paternal great-grandfather bringing his wife and three young children here from Northern Ireland fleeing poverty and starvation. And I think of my maternal great-grandfather bringing his family here from Germany, just in time to escape the Holocaust.



I am greatly humbled.