Exclusively at Ann T. Hathaway, You can watch Paint Dry

And if this doesn't mean you dear readers are hanging in, I don't know what does.
But it reflects progress on the Daily Spackle. I am almost done painting the ceiling in my small flat--which I ALSO spackled!!! And the painting shows I did a good job--again, not perfect though.

The last sanding. It's not perfect, but it's close enough.

I just happened to have some primer, I forget why.
No doubt something about unfulfilled intentions.

Can you believe I lived with this? No More.

Primed and ready to paint.

When I finish that, I will start caulking in the kitchen. Then I will put real paint on the kitchen walls after that.
And since you have been so kind as to watch my paint dry, I will put something interesting up next time.

From the Inside Out: The Daily Spackle

Every year in April or May I get the spring cleaning bug. This year I washed windows, as nearly always. I made a curtain and I am doing some house-painting and major scrubbing. I am also looking around at what I have and how I have not taken care of it. I mean, I wash dishes. But I haven't invested in my assets. I haven't had a plan.

I am not a big believer in buying the newest new thing, but I do think there's a point where the old stuff can get in the way. Perhaps this last few months has been about this, from the dentist to the baseboards.  I also think I will never be the best of the householders, but I have always done a hell of a lot better than this.

Anyway, I don't remember when, but the refrigerator I always hated when I bought this flat finally conked out. It was too big: I had to edge past it every time I used the kitchen. I bought a new smaller one, which was perfect: 24 x 24" instead of 30 x 36". I did choose that properly. It is however taller than the old one. Therefore, I had to take a cabinet out.

I did it myself, no sweat. I had to: the delivery guys were coming.

You never saw such a mess as was hidden behind that cabinet. The plaster is fifty years old and broken, and studs were inset into the wall to hold the cabinet. They are exposed. Around them a 1/2" wide, irregular gully ran along the top and bottom of both of those impromptu studs. Just ick.

Home Improvement v. Solitary Confinement
My stronger, less cowardly self would have been onto that like white on rice. I would have been revved because I had the chance to consolidate the gains from the space-making refrigerator. Not this time. It just looked like another crisis. Maybe an ugly wall became a way to punish myself for getting something nice. Now how stupid is that.

Two years (or however long) later, I started spackling the plaster but couldn't sustain the effort. The spackle sat in the kitchen along with the putty knife for months--at least eight of them--because it was on the floor when my sister came to visit in September. Lately, I have returned to the daily spackle. I am almost done--a couple more layers. Then I will paint this offending patch of plaster with primer. I have some other major caulking to do. Then I will paint the whole kitchen.

So, I know I am not the only reluctant handyman on this earth. But I have to wonder, with the sheer number of items like this, WTF have I been thinking?  I figure I am coming out of depression after all. That means it hurts to see how I have let things slide and damaged my life further by letting things go. Just down and down. After down and down, there has to be up and up. Living through the down and down was hard work. Coming through the up and up is a different kind of work.

Re-building
As I fix things, my outlook improves. Last year I was just trying to get out of the house. This year, I had the dental work which meant I had to do that part all over again.  I put off the dental because I knew it would precipitate a crisis, but I didn't avoid a crisis anyway. I do think I was stronger for it this year than I would have been last year.

I also think this decline relates to unresolved grief. I had no plan. All I knew was that I couldn't let go because I hadn't resolved my husband's death. Nothing worked, nothing advanced, and then it started to fall apart.

Therapy works. So does a putty knife. Right now these things are inseparable. Right now I am working on having a place that reflects me and my taste but also my self-respect. A place where people can come in and see what I have to offer. With agoraphobia, I couldn't go outside. The flip side of my agoraphobia was also that no one could come in. Soon that will not be true. I will not have to be ashamed for letting things go. I will live again in an atmosphere of achievement.

It may look like hell, but this is MUCH improved.  I've put two coats on since,
and I think two more are needed. Whatever it takes.

Not pictured: the 3-M sanding sponge I bought last week.
That sponge is making all the difference in the finishing
aspect of this wall!!!

I also rode my bicycle yesterday. But I had to hurry home and do some upkeep, so we were not out long. I have a list of forty things I want to get done. Forty steps toward getting my life back.

Drowned, Surrounded, Derailed, Disintegrated

Dear Everyone,
I am having a tough time. Although it has been worse. Much worse. I am not going to whine to you, which is all I had for awhile. I think maybe I am starting to see better, and I have all this heavy lifting to do.

Zombie News
We almost had Colin Powell for a manager. He stayed six hours the first day and never came back.
I was buried in treasurer stuff. Even with all that (free) work, no one was happy.

Personal Relationships
Dear John, the Baker, accosted me in an elevator and then tried to ply me with chocolate. That was bad. It's a great story though, and I'll write it later.

Yes, I Floss and Always Have
In the space of a week, two of my teeth crumbled like granola in my mouth. I had dental surgery and lost five teeth. I was already down two, so now I am down seven. Ick!  I now have had surgery, four bone grafts, multiple stitches and shunts and stuff. I have not been able to eat or go outside. I do have a temporary denture so that I don't scare small children. Before the year is out no one will ever know that this ever happened to me. However, in the meantime, I feel stuck in Road Construction. I mean Mouth construction.

No Drugs, Thanks
I decided that codeine was great stuff--too great--and pulled myself off of that--one minor addiction problem, probably a real codeine freak would laugh at me for how little of the stuff I took that week. But it did seem temptingly recreational. Advil is the answer--

Then I lost half of another tooth (repaired). One has been replaced and another will be replaced in two weeks. Last week they lasered my mouth. It smelled like a hot iron--Apocalypse Now! The horror!!

I'll be back, but not on the daily. I am behind on everything. I keep trying. Please do not give up on me. I know you probably should, but I keep hoping you won't.

On the plus side, I have new shoes and one new crown. Things are improving . . . . I miss you.  I will be back.

Zombie Soap Operas and Cat Tantrums

Well, these poor cats. They have all the food they want, and plenty of loving attention, a nice clean litter box, and more toys than I can find--
but they want more.

The idea that I would do laundry, fight zombies, disappear for Board Meetings for hours and hours! BoyCat laid himself on the rug in front of the front door, stretched across the entire doorway. He was just like a human chain stopping the Bulldozing of the Old-Growth Forest or the Family Farm.  He has also taking to mewing at the door--poor abandoned baby. I don't know how he stands life as he knows it.

Pets of a Different Sort
I had a near-suicide note from on person who owes us $1033.00 this week. I am stressing her out!! She can not pay her bill. She addressed the letter to Madame Ann H.

Please do not make me pay my bill.  I pay all bills on time. I never have late notices. I obey all rules at the ZombieLand Condominiums. I can not live with this stress. You must understand.

Well, unfortunately for her I do understand. I was mostly afraid she would come Emote over the entire Board last night, driving our meeting into the wee hours. Thankfully, she did not show up. The Board, in true gratitude for her non-attendance, forgave part of her charges. Next!!!

I had ten disputacious accounts to go over last night. I wrote them all up carefully, in consultation with Zombie Assistant. However, this morning I found out we have a burgeoning lawsuit which she forgot to tell me about in time for the meeting. She is very sorry. (Grrrr.)

I handled that today . . . .

I know you Midwestern sufferers of winter will find this amusingly minor, but we had three inches of snow this evening.  Slippery, rainy slush--dirty on impact. Oh, the suffering! I address this letter to the Estimable Groundhog:

Please do not see your shadow on Groundhog Day. I try to conserve energy. I wear many sweaters. I obey all rules at the Zombieland Condominium. I cannot live with this stress. You must understand.

Sorry gang, this is what I have today. I am working up a couple thematic series, but they aren't ready yet. In the meantime, I'm afraid not to let you know what's up, so . . . you get these Soap Operas and Tantrums. Hopefully they will make you laugh. They make me laugh.

Walking in Circles

I had an interesting visit with the shrink today. If I am walking around in shoes that are barely holding together, I am not respecting myself.  Yes, it sounds bizarre.

I was waiting to get new shoes until I had a job. The master repair job on these seven-year-old quality-make shoes only lasted six months, if that. And quality-make shoes are cheaper in the long run, but expensive up front.

I don't know how professional I will look in shoes coming un-stitched for those job interviews.

So I can't wait that long.

On the way back from the appointment, I was offered a job.
(So much for good shoes being a requirement.)

It's for the same company I left because they had an employee theft ring that I exposed, but the thieves started hiding jewelry during my shift to implicate me. I gave two weeks' notice and got the hell out.

So I think maybe I will get new shoes. And a different job than the one I was offered today.
Still, I may be walking out of that circle I've been walking. . . . .

Today I'm Reading

visiting you all . . . so behind!
Ann

Five Days, Four Nights, No Potato Chips

Dear Readers,
Yay! I'm back. Whenever I typed, I had to wait for each word to come up. I thought I would punch holes in the keyboard trying to make it type--word, excel, e-mail, you name it. I was gritting my teeth and giving myself carpal tunnel syndrome. Time to change that scenario--

Naturally I took my computer in on the Friday before a National Holiday. And it took this long to get it back.
I felt like an idiot when I picked it up.

I thought about mentioning potato chip crumbs and decided against it. I don't really like to tell people I eat potato chips. It seems wrong. So I just blame the pets instead.

"Did you vacuum the cat hair out of the keyboard?" I asked.
"No, I lost the attachment to the vacuum."
I thought about mentioning that he'd had my computer for Five Days and Four Nights, but didn't. Still, he must have seen it in my eyes. With a huge sigh, he dug his vacuum out of the box. Sure enough, he had a tiny wand-like attachment, but no hose to hook it to the motor. He used a regular corner attachment. I do that at home all the time. It's not enough. Sometimes I use a Q-tip and rubbing alcohol, with mixed results.

"What about cleaner?" I asked. "What do you use to clean the monitor screen?"
"I'm out of it right now."
"Does it have rubbing alcohol in it?"
He gives me a strange look. "No."
"I've heard you can use Windex."
"Not very much," he said. So now what am I supposed to do?

Did you fix the "e" key?" I asked. "It wobbles."
"No, and don't touch it!!" he said. "I'm afraid it's going to break off."

"Did you fix my memory? I should have 4 gigs of memory, but it's only reading two."
"You're okay on memory," he said. It still only reads 2 gigs.

"Do me a favor when you get it home," he says. "Run the Disk Defragmenter."
"I do run it," I said. "It's on a schedule." Wasn't he going to run it?

"Well, I dumped 9 gigs of temporary files from your hard drive, and you need to run it."
How can I have 9 gigs of temp files on a 4 gig memory? I didn't ask.
"My computer is supposed to run a temp-file dump automatically, too."
He checks. Yes, it is on a schedule. He says, "Huh." He looks at me.
"Just run it."
"Okay."  It took hours for the hard drive to defragment, so I guess it was necessary.

And I had to order a new battery. It's not in yet. They don't know when it will come in. They have no idea. Either two days or nine, or something like that. They did know when I had to pay, though: in advance.

But, I will say, this poor laptop is running MUCH better. He used the upholstery brush to clean the keyboard. Cat hair went everywhere. No potato chip crumbs were found.

now experiencing technical difficulty

I think the Zombies have finally infected my Laptop. I'm still here, but this computer is Un-Happy.
be back soon. Miss you all already--

In Which I Traded Out Granny's Necklace.

Well, I went to the Epiphany party last night, from 6:30 to about 8:30. And I indeed traded out grandmother's necklace.

In its place, I have a cheap plastic Menorah with nine brand-new light bulbs, of which six work.
I put it on my bed stand. For now, it is sitting next to the cheap red plastic Santeria Buddha I bought in Juarez in 1995.

Every Year

Every year I keep a journal. Not a diary, because I can't fit a day in a tiny page.
Some days need no writing; other days pages and pages.

This year I kept it on-line, on a closed site. When I was at my worst, and couldn't go on-line, I couldn't use my journal either. Lessons learned.

Every year I buy one poetry book from one living poet. We love the poems tested by time, but we need to keep this craft going. I realize my one poetry book is not going to keep this going, but it's a start.

Every year I have black-eyed peas for New Year's Day. One of my concessions to good luck aggregation. And it's painless-what's not to like?
I also have a horseshoe over my door.

Every year I make a list of resolutions. Oh, who am I kidding? Every other day I make a list of resolutions.
Time to get cracking--I've got an hour or so left.

Upcoming Posts & Traditions
I have been working on some posts for January. I don't know if sixteen months and 535 posts allows me to qualify for tradition, but I think maybe so. (I started this gig in September 2009. The posts for August 2009 are all back-dated.)

Every month the Ann T. Hathaway blog remembers the sacrifices of law enforcement officers here. The post for December will go up January 2, 2011. I'm going to keep doing this throughout 2011.

During National Fire Week, the Ann T. Hathaway blog noted the sacrifices of the fire and EMS services. And again next year.

Every year the Ann T. Hathaway blog mentions the sacrifices of our military personnel over the past year.
Those posts will be going up on Sundays in January (the 9th and 16th so far)  until this blog has noted them all--not every fear or pain or triumph--of course not--but a complete record of the fallen.

Continuing Series
Judging by the numbers, my gang pages are used and looked at. I'm going to try to fill in some interesting things on that over the next year.

The "Cities Crime and Economics Series" will get more posts. It is not as well-read as the gang pages, but I think useful from time to time for my readers. It also keeps me sharp.

This coming year, I want to take more photographs. But, I want to get brave and take street-side portraits. You'll see if I meet that goal.

And the Personal
Plus, I am sure there will be more on the Condo Board. There will be more poetry from the living and the dead. I want to include more passages from books on strategy, more memories, more street-side stories.

My biggest Ann T. resolution is to include advances in the present-day, non electronic world--maybe even some fiction published here and there. Thanks to my readers for cheering me on this year.

Come see your achievements--your good influence--because you have been. Thanks for everything you've done. Thanks for my advances, however uneven my performance at times, in 2010. Thanks for everything. I mean that.

Have a great day!

Every year I keep a journal . . . .

The Poetry Bus: That Bad Gift

I nearly passed on this Poetry Bus, hosted by The Muse Swings. Because, you know: ingratitude and all that. But then I got an idea and started laughing. It's also perfectly true.

The Dregs of the Heirlooms

The gift that arrived in the mail
Was a heirloom from grandmother�s stash
And though dear granny had plenty of dough,
She never had very much class.
The necklace was orange with blue plastic discs;
It clashed with my sister�s attire.
O horrid necklace, o necklace so bad
What a tacky piece of crap that you are, you are
What a tacky piece of crap that you are!

The note that came on this Christmas gift
Said: This reminds me of you!
And with the wrapping unwrapped, and truth unveiled
My sister didn�t know what to do.
Stepmom doesn�t know me, or she doesn�t care
And how will I fake Christmas glee?
Oh horrid gift note, oh gift note so bad,
What a snarky little note that you be, you be,
What a snarky little fake pleasantry!

But now sister�s so pleased: she�s sending the thing
To the home of wise-cracking Ann T.
I�ll exchange it for some other horrid re-gift
At a party on Epiphany.
With luck, someone tacky will draw it in lots--
Or else we will laugh while they cringe!
Oh horrid necklace, o necklace so bad,
My sister will get her revenge, her revenge,
My sister will get her revenge.

Zapped but Zippy

When people are angry with me, I have this desire to assure them that I am not having fun either. When they are mad, this is at least partially true and usually Mostly True. But it can also lead to false martyrdom. I learned false martyrdom somewhere, (but I'm not pointing fingers, mind you) and I've been trying to unlearn it since about 1980. Before that, not so much, but it was a drag to us all.  LOL.

So, I went to a party tonight. It was so much fun! I wore a suit my sister gave me years ago. It has a velvet collar and cuffs, all black. She'd bought it for herself, some $200 suit for $15.50, and never worn it. I pulled the tags off. I put on a scarf with border collies on it (not that you could tell, the way it was all scrunched up), a top hat, and my clodhopper oxfords. I looked good, especially considering I am not a spring chicken. I am an early-fall chicken. 

And when I am a winter chicken, I expect I'll still wear clunky shoes (but not beige ones) and sometimes that hat.

Anyway, a person who has been trying to be a friend to me for over a year had her birthday party. We ate Italian food and I met a couple who helps put on a jazz fest every year in my city.  That just can't be bad. I just can't be unhappy about this. She's a very nice lady with very nice friends.

Then I came home and worked on condo stuff. But you know, I feel like that may be coming along. Not that I'm near done, b/c I'm not. It is piling up like an avalanche ready to drop.

I'm still catching up with everybody. I still have tons of letters to write. I'm still on my way back. Talk to you soon.

A Little Trivia about Kevlar

The inventor of Kevlar was the chemist Stephanie Kwolek, working for duPont Chemical in 1966.

Kevlar is five times stronger than the same weight of steel. It is a polymer--an important class of compounds starting with the polyester in your socks and ending with the materials that repair arteries.

Kevlar does not rust or corrode. It is used as bullet-resistant shielding, from vests to windows. There might also be Kevlar in your brake cables, your skis, and in the materials for your building.

Ms. Kwolek invented many other polymers we use today. She was born in 1923, and worked for 40 years at DuPont. Twenty-eight patents are held by her in that 40 years. She was inducted into the Inventor's Hall of Fame in 1995 (heck, what took them so long?)  I learned about her right after I learned about pop-up books, right there at the Smithsonian.

She was originally planning to be a doctor. She's saved a lot of lives out there without medical school. Nowadays she's semi-retired, serving on a lot of Science Foundation boards.

Some people just never give up.

Wikipedia has an article about her here.

In Which Ms. Frivolous Tosses Dear John, the Baker

Just now I got off the elevator with a six-foot, three-hundred pound man who lives on my floor of my building. He has a crew-cut,  looks like a retired football player and he works out at Gold's. He also bakes a lot of cookies.

A long time ago we had two dates, within the space of a week. After the first one, I was talking on the phone in front of my window and he was watching me from the window in the hall, where the building makes a 90 degree angle. It didn't last very long, but I noted it. Still I didn't pay enough attention. After the second date (I should tell you these were coffee dates or walk dates), I hugged him good-bye and said I hoped he'd call me again.

That Big Chocolate Chip on His Shoulder 
I got a blistering e-mail about how men have to do all the work to get dates. That he had already bought two cups of coffee and it was my turn to ask to go for a walk. That he didn't appreciate the tack I had taken, my tone of voice, and so forth.

I added this up with the themes of his conversation. At the time, he was looking for a job. He told me that he had cursed out the hiring supervisor at a company he hoped to work at, because she didn't process his application fast enough. He also told me about his divorced wife not allowing him to be alone with his daughter because he would spank her and she was fourteen, which is not too old to be spanked, according to him. (Like all ex-wives), she was a bitch. And then on the way home from this second date, he told me about going into a gay bar (which he wasn't, or some permutation thereof, I hadn't figured that one out yet) and being in the men's restroom and almost choking a guy to death for hitting on him.

Maybe it was supposed to illustrate his straightness. But that was enough for me. I figure if you're a guy in a declasse gay bar, you should expect to get hit on in the bathroom. I mean, you're there. And I've been in that bar. It is a hit-on-ya bar.

Somewhere in there he left me a phone message that he then asked me not to listen to, because he was so angry. He was very charming about it, but this is Ann T. you're talking to. I listened to it.

In Which John, the Baker becomes Dear John, the Baker
So I sent him a dear-John e-mail. It was about how my life was busier than I thought it was, and that I wouldn't have time for a new relationship. I got a vituperous letter back about being a bitch, dishonest, and insinuating in the bargain--not to mention those cups of coffee that I had sponged off him. I spent a serious hour thinking about giving him a five-dollar bill.

About a week after that, I was leaving the building and he was coming in. He turned around and started yelling at me. He followed me down half a block, yelling that I was a bitch and so forth. I don't run from stuff like this: absolutely fatal to run.  I turned around and told him he was done following me. And he turned away.

At the local store, I was friends with a police officer who moonlighted in security. I told him what had happened. I asked him what I should do. "Call the cops," he said.

Well, it wasn't going to be Officer Securidad that got called, you know. So I wasn't going to take that advice.

When I came back to the building, my dear John, the Baker was waiting at the back door with a toothpick in his mouth, and he was not done. He had more to say, and I was going to listen. I faced him off again and went inside. I should tell you it was pitch dark out there, and he was still fit to be tied.

I shook for two and a half hours in my apartment. And finally the word harassment came to me. So I did call the police and said it was not an emergency. Well, they sent two cars. We have really responsive police in my neighborhood. It was one a.m. You could say I over-reacted. On the other hand, I don't like being blocked access to my building in the dark.

I met them outside my building. I mean, they were fast.
"Look, thanks for coming, I'm afraid it's really stupid," I said. "But this is what happened, and this is the kind of mail he's sending."
One of them read it.
"Aw, he just doesn't want to break up with you."

Well, hell. I do not consider myself to be a frivolous caller of the police, but there it was.

"Well, if you don't think it's worth pursuing, then I think that's okay. Generally I handle things. I think it's dumb that I called you."
"Nah, we'll go up and talk to him."

So they did. I have been getting dirty looks from this man for years. He still lives down the hall. I used to listen behind the door before I went outside, to be sure I didn't run into him.

Out of the Deep Freeze
But about two years after the incidents described above, we started saying hello again. Recently he brought me cookies. I find that to be odd, but also maybe it was just a bad time. Still I had no plans to date this guy.

So he wanted to know tonight why I would call the cops on him. He prefers direct communication. But also he wanted to apologize. I accepted his apology and said that I was also sorry it happened. Then he wanted to know why. Because he just wants to know why I did it.

I reviewed. He said he guessed he could understand it, that he's a big guy and all that. But still. And this went on for awhile. Then finally I said this:

"You escalated very quickly," I told him. "You wanted me to talk a certain way, and to act a certain way, and you said whatever you wanted when I didn't talk or act as you wanted. Many of your stories were about hurting people. And then you followed me down the street yelling at me."

"It was only half a block."
"It's a long block. It's even longer when someone's screaming at you that you're a bitch as you walk down it."

I was honest. I went through it with him, I don't know how many times. By the end he was arguing with me. He thinks I didn't like him because he was unemployed. And that's when I got mad.

Somehow again, by the end of the apology, I am at fault for bringing in a third party. He never wanted to date; he never waited for me. Well, he doesn't like it when I'm straight with him, and he doesn't like it when I give him a vague brush-off.  All I can do is what I can do.

"I got you back, you know," he just told me. "I told them you were off your meds and crazy."
"I don't take meds."  (You'll notice I didn't say I wasn't crazy though.)

"I know, I just had to get you back. I'm on a report somewhere because of you."

He is just one step on my road to agoraphobic tendencies. Not the biggest one. Not the most important one. Not by a hell of a sight.
But damn it.

Fast and Efficient: Opera

Friday I switched my condo board mailbox from clunky-cluttered-slow Internet Explorer to Opera. I like it. It was an easy download and is lightning quick. I could add my old mailbox to it, no trouble, no change of address. I've been searching and checking mail on it since then with no troubles.

I am still using Google Chrome for blogging. I like it too, and I'm not switching. I think it has more of the fun stuff that I'm used to, a little easier to customize. But for business, I think the Opera set-up is really good.

Probably all of you are wondering why the heck it took me so long to leave Explorer, and have had a good platform quicker. Well . . . . I'm chicken.

Hello.

I hardly know how to come back. I guess first I will say I am okay.

I fell down a rabbit hole. I think it is the fault of that damn closet--so close to perfect, with other things not so much, and I got tired. The only thing that got me out was that my sister was coming for a week's vacation, and I knew I had to be presentable.  So of course the week before she came I could hardly talk. And not blog either.

You could say her coming also tripped me down that damned hole, even though I wanted to see her very much.

I knew I was presentable, but I didn't believe I was (if you get that, I think you will). And the house needs work.  Although really it's an attitude adjustment. You know.

So instead of adjusting the house or my attitude,  I wrote a Western novel, and I thought about Momma Fargo and Bob G. the whole time I was writing it. I finished it the weeks after my sister left. 65,000 words--set in Arizona Territory--I think it's good.

Still haven't sent it out.

I wanted to send it to you guys, and see if it was any good. I thought about it for weeks.  I thought about peedee all through October because I was going to visit her in Sunny Florida, but I couldn't even answer the phone. Every time I fixed lunch I thought it would be a better meal if I was hanging out with Mrs. Fuzz and every time I saw a cute dress I wanted The Bug and Gia to see it too. But I had to get through a week of close familial scrutiny first.

It was good my sister came. She thought I looked wow, and everybody who saw us thought I was the younger one (not true, and I don't know why she asks people this, because somebody always has to suffer over the answer). But I love her dearly, my very good sister, who lived through thick and thin with me, back in the day when we had no power. There aren't any words for how I feel about her.

We talked a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot. And she was fairly cheerful to rest on the bed instead of the sofa I am supposed to have but don't (the cats scratched it to hell, you understand).  And I even managed to fix a huge dinner for her and my b-i-l. We ate it on the roof deck, and it was pretty grand. Big salad, chicken, you know--nothing extraordinary. Just the first dinner I've fixed for anyone in seven years or maybe more.  We went to all the Memorials, the museum, we walked and I scandalized her by treating taxicabs as reliable transportation (although we mostly took public transit). We wore ourselves out by day, and I was insomniac by night, but it was good she came and we had fun.

I knew my pre-arranged National Firefighter's Week stuff came out, and I thought about Joe Schmoe. I thought about Sandra and Raindog and Christopher, I thought about Slam, and everyone really. I was angry at myself on September 30 and October 31, not keeping up with the memorial posts I do. I will do those later, and put them into the blog. Because even though I didn't write, I didn't forget.

So. I was coming back, a lot sooner than this. And you know, it is hard to write this post, because I know I haven't been a good friend.   I want to say I'm sorry. I haven't even read your letters yet; haven't read the comments; don't know how much I've failed everyone. I've been afraid to do it. This post is what you call the first step.

So, I was coming back, a lot sooner than this. But since November started, there has been Zombie War for sure, and they opened a second front of attack. Suffice it to say there is a warrant out for one of our Zombies, and he is still at large. (No, he didn't kill anyone--later. Later.)

I'm going to read your letters--then I'll be back. I missed you all terribly. I'll be writing people back over the next few days, and catching up on your blogs. It's going to take me awhile.

I have missed you all so much. I'll be writing soon.

Living Proof

Well, you might remember I had an appointment to go through the twisted four years of estate planning, taxes, and medical emergencies--the paper relics that I couldn't quite deal with. Two and a half hours, four boxes, one grocery bag later . . . . Dan and I had made four and 3/4 boxes for the trash, plus half of a trash can.

Before that, I had the closet mostly worked out. I cleaned the small closet, too. I cleared on my desk and my chairs, other parts of the house as necessary to reorganize how this was going to work.

I need two boxes, one small, one medium, both for memorabilia. That will be fun. I'm basically done.

I found more letters. Dan found them, actually. He said, "Did you donate books to the library?"
I had to think about it. I said, "Yeah, the Resident's lounge, I took them my husband's professional books. They didn't have any."

There were a couple of other thank-you letters.

He said, "You did all the right things. You don't need these any more." He threw the letters away.

Two hours later, I got nervous and went down to the trash room to find them. I couldn't. I am just going to have to trust that I will remember. I did the right things. And when I had the proof, I couldn't find it anyway. Had I found it, it would have meant nothing to anyone except me.

The meaning has to be inside. Living proof.

Zoomin' Everywhere!

I know I'm posting a lot of photos lately, but I am also working STILL on the closet. The desk. The other closet. You know. No improvement is unrelated to any other improvement--I think there's a Russian parable about this, but I don't need it. This train is going forward with or without a story.

In the meantime, Happy Birthday to Bob!  I took this picture and stupidly did not figure out what sort of car it was. But it looks muscular to me! I hope you enjoy!

Get Well Soon, peedee! I still worry about your shoulder. And congratulations on whatever change--here's a phone booth for you to morph into Superwoman. I have a feeling all that rocket fuel you've had lately is going to work out!

Congratulations, Ms. Bunker! No more Boa Constrictor! Time to get that boa, lady.

And to The Observer's BoyCat--Get Well Soon! Quit scaring Mom.

Best Cat Toy Ever.

Happy Sunday! Back to the salt mine!

Tuckered Out

You know how I have been working on my closet?? Still in work, but almost under control.

In the meantime, BoyCat and GirlCat have been quite manic. I think they are interested and excited to see the environment change. They love novelty--But--what if Mama throws out the cats with the stuff? This could be bad!!

So I have distracted them from standing in the way of progress, calmed them down, and increased their fun through BRIBERY. They have been playing with a filmy spangled scarf I planned to throw away. My mom sent it to me for Halloween one year--for what character, I don't know. If you drape it over a cat, they can see through it and yet they are deliciously hidden at the same time! Oh, my gosh! They have been pouncing on each other and running around, all because of this scarf.

The other layer of junk on top of this flat file is a long, crackly piece of packing paper and an Ace Hardware bag. Same thing--hide and seek, tearing, wrinkling, crackling, and finally, after a hard day's play:

The bag and crackly paper will wear out by the end of this weekend. I think the scarf is now a permanent cat toy.
My superstars. LOL.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

An URL to Remember

hey, Fb users--free to do, helps police officers everywhere!!

I don't have an account and I'm not ready for one--yet--sorry, peedee! I think I have to gear up on all the other things I'm not doing first.

But for those of you on Facebook, would you go

  here, 

read up if you want to, and hit "like"?

This is for Jeff Shannon at Police Mental Health blog. He's now on Facebook and trying to get his message to more people. His FaceBook  URL  is too long for those that need to access him easily.

If he gets enough hits, they'll give him an URL to remember.