The Rhinovirus Moveth Forward...

I was up quite a bit last night--at 2 to take more sudaphedrine (stuffy nose), at 4 to do the Zicam gel up the nose, and at 5:30 to go get a throat lozenge. But I do feel a little better this morning, as though things are progressing rapidly, presumably toward eventual recovery.

I was shocked to hear my voice when I spoke to Echo this morning (yes, I talk to the dog, so sue me). I do believe I could be a bona fide baritone today.

Having watched more television yesterday than I have in a month, I got bored and made more pickle relish last night. Now I have a sink full of big, dirty dishes to deal with (colanders, food processor bowls, stockpots) this morning, but 10 pints of joy to feel proud about. At least I accomplished something besides filling up a wastebasket with tissues.

For those who enjoyed my observations on electoral politics yesterday (thank you for your comments, it helped my cold symptoms fade into the background), here's an amusing website, courtesy of my funny brother: www.getdrunkandvote4McCain.com . Jere was quick to call and tell me that he's absolutely thrilled with McCain's choice, is planning on holding house parties in his very, very, blue state Washington, and is making another enthusiastic effort on behalf of the gubernatorial candidate Dino Rossi, whom he worked for in 2004. It's nice to know that idealism lives, backed up by action, even in 50-somethings. I also must make this editorial correction: When brother said "no way" to Sarah Palin two weeks ago, he meant that he didn't think McCain would make such an out-of-the-box, inspired choice. Sorry for misinterpreting your remarks, bro, I was just feeling a rare, older-sister "gotcha" on my very smart, very savvy younger brother.

Husband Bill often says that my brother is the smartest guy he knows. I concur. Jerry is a unique combination of extraordinary talents, superior education, and down-to-earth analytical thinking. He's intensely interested in complex issues and problems, and is always trying new business ventures, in addition to being a full-time, big important guy at Boeing. I've tried many times to understand what his day job is, but ashamed to admit that I don't comprehend what he does, no matter how many times he explains it. It may have something to do with his three Master's Degrees--or it could be that I just zone out with my short attention span. What I do know is that he's a devoted husband and father, a genuine fighter pilot war hero, and just majorly fun to be around. I am looking forward to spending some time with him and his family, when I go out west in early November, before daughter Juli's wedding.

So I guess today will be spent on the continuing saga of my cold. I still can't believe I got sick, even if it does appear to be moving along with alacrity.

Politics & Kleenex

I am so annoyed this morning! I am coming down with a cold. I've got the fever, chills, nose-drip, sneezes, sore throat--the whole kit and kaboodle. I take eleventy-billion vitamins everyday and I hardly ever go anywhere. How can I be getting sick?

The only thing I can come up with is that the carpet cleaning released some long-dormant virus that found its way up my nose. OOOOOOH! I could just kick something (if I didn't feel so weak and crappy).

In the meantime, Lowes called with bad news about my impending refrigerator and freezer delivery. The freezer arrived damaged, but that is moot--it didn't feature a left-hand door, the only reason I purchased it, and they don't make that model anymore. So, it's back to Morristown on Wednesday to start all over again, shopping for the right combo!

The only good news is that my pick for McCain's VP became reality yesterday! While the press was running around asking "who is she?" I am feeling mighty smug about deciding back in May that Sarah Palin was exactly what the Republicans needed to re-brand themselves. I love being right. I had an argument with my brother two weeks ago, asserting that she should be the VP candidate. He said "no way." Now I wish I had bet him some real money on it. Whatever your political bent, the election this year continues to fascinate, horrify and break rules. It's the wackiest political free-for-all I've ever seen.

I was a reporter at the 1980 Democratic Convention, back in the days before wireless, internet, laptops and other taken-for-granted technologies today. The basement of Madison Square Garden was full of tables of typewriters, where you could go and pound out your written stories. I carried a portable cassette recorder (which weighed about 5 pounds) to tape delegates' comments, and when the cassettes were full, I'd blast uptown on the subway to our dumpy hotel room, where a group of about 7 of us had a honking-big TEAC reel-to-reel tape deck to splice our pre-recorded interviews together. We'd then unscrew the room's phone mouthpiece to hook up a wire patch from the TEAC, for feeds to radio stations back in California. Now I just marvel at the instantaneous flow of information, so effortless, so portable. And no subway travel required. Amazing!

In 2000, I was completely glued to the couch, watching in horrified fascination as the drama of Florida's hanging chads unfolded. Sometime in early December, I realized that Christmas was 3 weeks away and I hadn't been anywhere or done anything in more than a month. So, I guess I'm somewhat of a politics-watching junkie every four years. The rest of the time, I just let things slide and ignore most of it. But what a spectacle this year!

I guess it's back to the couch for me for the next few days with this obnoxious cold coming on. At least there will be some interesting TV to watch while I work my way through it.

Dr. Mark to the rescue...again!

Once again, Dr. Mark has saved my bacon. I emailed him about my UVA dilemma, (since he was the doc who recommended and referred me to Dr. Brenin originally), and we talked on the phone last night about what my post-cancer care ideally should look like.

Being a primary care physician himself, Mark believes that eternal vigilance is key, but agrees that continuing my follow up at UVA is inconvenient and perhaps not in my best interest in the long term.

When I was diagnosed last year, I didn't know anyone locally. I had no frame of reference, no names of local doctors, no established relationships. A year later, that has changed. If the cancer did come back, I would not want to be driving back and forth to Charlottesville, VA for care in any case. Our conclusion was that I should get a referral from my oncologist to a local breast surgeon here, so that I have the redundancy of care that would reassure me in the short term and be a backup if anything recurred. Problem solved.

On the other front, who knew that getting my carpet cleaned would change my life? It's like having a new rug! It's fluffy. It smells nice. It forced me to clean up our messy habits! I am so happy. Now I just have to be judicious in putting things back.

Back to life in progress...I'm off to Laundromat Land this morning.

Exclamations!

EMPTY! It's unbelievable, but the living room is CLEAR (except for the monster sofas, they're not going anywhere). The room has not been this devoid of stuff since we moved in, almost 3 years ago. I am all ready for Carpet-Cleaning Man to do his magic this morning, both of Ray's houses are rented as of yesterday afternoon, and I actually have two minutes to rub together again. Of course, the laundry has been piling up while I've been getting everything else done, the clean-up uncovered a ton of detritus that needs to find a home, and so a whole new list of chores will have to be compiled today.

RAIN! It rained all day yesterday, a gentle and steady downpour. The news last night said that Rogersville got about 1.5" which won't cure the drought, but maybe the fish in the puddle (formerly: pond) will start to be a little happier.

AUTUMN! When I returned home from the lease-signing yesterday at 3:45 pm, the poplar tree leaves had turned yellow and started falling off in my absence. It happened that fast, in the space of about two hours. Fall has started. Makes me want to put on some camo and go shoot something. Well, not really, but if Bill were home, he'd be cleaning guns today.

ECHO, STOP SCRATCHING! She's also kicked into autumn mode, scratching herself constantly. In the fall, I can't keep a collar on her because the jingle of the tags keeps me awake at night while she worries her skin to death. I got out the steroids and started her on her fall medicine regimen. Maybe this means she'll stop shedding. Hope springs eternal.

THINGS TO LOOK FORWARD TO! Refrigerator and freezer delivery (when? I need to call today), then the long-anticipated bathroom renovation in mid-late September. I have been flirting with the idea of not putting in a tub, going with a double, walk-in shower instead. Bill complains that every house in America has a tub, but I remain stubbornly (what else is new?) resistant. There isn't enough room for both, and I find tubs dangerous and annoying to get in and out of. For the rare times that we'd need a tub, (washing kids, washing dog), we could put a kiddie pool on the floor of the shower, couldn't we? Or a hot tub in the back yard? Shall we do an informal poll? Post your comments and let me know what you think: would you buy a house that didn't have a bathtub?

Cui Bono?

I have been mildly fretting about September's upcoming doctor appointments. I am due to see my oncologist on the 10th, the plastic surgeon on the 16th, and then the torturous trek up to UVA to see the surgical team on the 29th.

Since it will have been a year since my mammogram, ultrasound, MRI, and subsequent diagnosis, I assumed that some kind of detailed screening or tests would be done at this juncture. Not so. When I emailed UVA and asked that whatever tests they wanted be scheduled tightly so I wouldn't have to make any extra trips, I got this reply from the surgeon's nurse:

"Because you had bi-lateral mastectomies, no further testing is needed. See you in September."

So why exactly am I driving 600 miles to see them in September? Just to say hi-howdy? After pondering this for awhile, I am slowly coming to the conclusion that the appointment is for their benefit, not mine. Because of the state of medicine, they are covering themselves against any legal action by being diligent about patient follow-up. But if they aren't going to do anything except talk to me, look at me, and reassure themselves that I'm doing fine (which I am), write that they saw me in my chart, and train their residents-students using me as a human guinea pig, how does this appointment benefit me?

Apart from the legal issues, there's the other obvious benefit to them, the money for the "office visit," which is not insignificant. Each contact with a cancer-related doctor bills out at about $300, which even with insurance is about $60 a pop out-of-pocket for me. Plus the money-hoovering that will occur at the gas pump getting there and back.

But the other factor that keeps niggling at me is that someone should be taking care of me, making sure the cancer is still gone, that nothing untoward is going on in whatever tissue is left in my chest, and that nothing is percolating in my bones, my lungs, or my brain.

My first line of defense is my local oncologist. If I found a lump or bump, if I suspected there was a problem, he is the first doc I would go to. He checks me now every three months, feeling for swollen lymph nodes, looking for any problems and keeping track of my progress. I have a call into his triage nurse, asking if he is going to want any testing at my one-year milestone. I'm told by other patients of his that he has at least a chest x-ray done yearly. This would reassure me that someone is paying attention.

It's such a weird, gray area, this post-cancer limbo. You're fine, but you always wonder if something is lurking, getting ready to pounce when your guard is down. I hesitate to cancel an appointment they insist I need to keep, but no one can tell me why I need to be there, other than a vague imprecation that "you need to be checked." But they can't tell me how I am going to be "checked," other than being "seen" by my original surgeon.

I don't want to be a rebellious patient, but I'm having a hard time seeing how going to UVA is supporting my care in any tangible way.

Pickle Joy!

There is something so primal, so satisfying to me about canning. To have a pantry full of sparkling glass jars, full of good things to eat when summer is long gone, is my security blanket. Last night, I made our year's supply of bread & butter pickles:

It's hot work, what with a steaming canning kettle and one of simmering vinegar solution, plus a pan with lids and rings bubbling away on the back burner. But immensely satisfying, as if I alone have the power to feed my family despite any impending future famine.

I made my first jam in 1973, when visiting my college roommate in Oregon. It was plum, and I was fascinated and hooked. I threw myself into it with abandon when I got home, without adequate research, I'm ashamed to admit. I canned lamb stew in a water bath around 1976, not realizing that meats and vegetables required pressure canning. Luckily my mother called me when the jar I had given her started oozing and smelling bad, and I narrowly avoided fatally poisoning anyone. After that debacle, I was off to the library and agriculture extension office, and I learned how to do it properly.

For a long time, I canned everything from our big garden--tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans (pickled, to avoid the pressure canning), zucchini. I made salsa and spaghetti sauce, crab apple jelly, applesauce, even mango chutney when I found a box on sale. Then sometime in the late 1990s, I started to calm down. The pantry was bursting at the seams, I realized that a #10 can of tomatoes cost about $2 (as opposed to my quart jars of tomatoes, which probably cost about $5 apiece), the kids were growing up and didn't eat applesauce at every meal anymore, and I had jars of jelly in the closet that were 10 years old and turning brown. The whole point of preserving food was to avoid waste, and here I was, wasting food, the ultimate sin.

Like all things Pam, I had taken the bit and gone totally overboard. Bill made the rule at that point--preserve no more than we can eat in a year. It's a good rule. So now with our two-person family, 6 quarts of pickles seems like just enough.

And as I sat knitting after removing the jars from the stockpot last night, listening for the "tink-pop" of the lids sealing down as they cooled, I felt...smug.

Zesty & Crunchy Bread & Butter Pickles

5 Quarts Cucumbers, cut into 1/2 inch chunks

4 Medium Onions, sliced thinly

1/2 cup Kosher salt

In a large bowl, sprinkle cut cucumbers and onions with salt, cover with ice cubes, let sit for 2-3 hours. Drain and rinse thoroughly. Pack tightly into hot, washed, quart jars.

In a large pot, combine and simmer:

6 cups Cider Vinegar

4 cups sugar

4 teaspoons each: celery seed, mustard seed, and prepared horseradish

2 teaspoons each: turmeric, ground ginger and whole black peppercorns

Pour into jars, release any air bubbles, adjust caps, and process in water bath for 15 minutes.

Let sit in a cool, dark place for at least 6 weeks before opening.

Knitting Stories

I really enjoy the easy comraderie of sitting around the tables and knitting together in a group. Everyone shares their joys and frustrations with THE YARN, of course. But also, I gather information about the town I now live in by listening to the waves of conversation about people I don't know, picking up bits and pieces of family history, who lives or lived in what house (and who they are related to), and letting it all wash over me without consciously trying to remember it. Everyone is connected here, by blood, by marriage, by church. I am the orphan-outsider, but strangely, it does not bother me like it did in New York. I belong only by virtue of the people I choose to associate with, and the ins and outs, the feuds and family do not touch me personally. I guess I've gotten to the point where I "belong" just enough to keep from turning into a total mountain-dwelling hermit. I am so happy to have found such a diverse and congenial group that puts up with me and my drive-by knitting, odd sense of humor and outlander accent. And they are all such interesting women, so it keeps me listening instead of just running my mouth, as I tend to do in group situations, (usually without my brain engaged).

I made my Summer Fruit Claffouti last night, [recipe here] and took it to knitting to share. Andrea called while I was wrestling the cake out of the oven with the news that her scanner said there was a fire on Devil's Nose Road, was I all right? "How did you know I was baking?" I asked her. She laughed, but I never did smell any smoke from the reported fire, so it must have been small or the wind was blowing the other way.

There was also good news at group today: We have been given permission to meet at the church on Monday nights as well as Friday mornings, so our members who have to work during the day can also join in the fun! While husbands are glued to Monday Night Football, we will be doing group therapy in the form of knitting. The rumor is that it is to be a sock-knitting class. This frightens me, but then everything in this class has been a real intellectual and physical coordination challenge, so what else is new? Socks? Sure, I can learn how to do socks. I may swear through the whole class (silently, because we are, after all, venued in a church), but sign me up for that kind of fun.

After class, I ventured over to the Farmer's Market and bought a canteloupe, a handful of okra, and every cucumber they had. These cukes will augment my garden stash, and tonight, let the pickling begin!

I lead such an exciting life.

The ultimate clean up

A week from today, Mr. Carpet-Cleaning Man is coming to steam clean the downstairs rug. I was looking around the living area last night, and decided I had better get started on removing all the stuff on the floor that has to go away before he can do that. It's going to take a full week of decluttering, and I had better get started.

Our problem is that we never really "moved in" to this place. We transported all the boxes, unpacked what we needed as we needed it, and just started living in it. And then added to it. There are boxes in the basement that haven't been unpacked since we moved, almost 3 years ago. Which leads to the very interesting question: If we haven't needed it in 3 years, what is the point of keeping it? Should I just auction off these unopened boxes as Mystery Items? Should I just take them to the dump? Something has to be done with all this "stuff."

I'm sure it's good stuff. If I started unpacking, I'm sure find treasures galore, remembered items of delight. But I would have no place to put them. If I did, these boxes would already be unpacked and the items placed in service, or residing in the perfect spot.

In the meantime, the immediate problem is finding a place for everything in the living area that needs to be cleared for cleaning. I think I shall use this as an opportunity to completely reorganize our space, putting back only the things that really belong, and simplifying our life and our environment.

I've got the time, I've got the deadline and motivation, now all I need is the get-up-and-do-it energy.

My Left Foot

Boo-hoo for me. I removed what I thought was a splinter from the side of my foot two days ago, but apparently it was some kind of stinger left by a toxic insect. Yesterday, my foot, ankle and lower leg were swollen to twice normal size:

Okay, this is not a major tragedy. It is ugly and painful, but not untreatable. I've been popping Benadryl by the handful, but as a result, I've been spending most of my time falling asleep on the couch to the drone of the Olympics. And here it is Tuesday...where did the time go?

It's better today, I can even see some ankle bones again this morning. And yes, those are paint speckles, from the times that I actually did some work instead of snoozing in the vapor of antihistamines. I should be finished with the painting today.

I have always been highly sensitive to bug bites of any kind. An ordinary mosquito bite for me is a major swelling exercise. Same for spider bites, bee stings, wasps, etc. My immune system goes into hyperdrive, and I become Ms. Puffiness. I do practice some forms of prevention. My signature eau de cologne during the summer is anything with 27% or more DEET. I wear a silly beekeeper-type hat outside to avoid getting bit in the face. But you'd think I would have learned by now not to go barefoot when there are bities and stingies about. Some lessons just have to be learned over and over again.

Shoes, Pam. Shoes could have prevented this.

Losing Hannah's Daddy

I returned home last night to find messages all over the place. Doc McConnell, father of my new friend Hannah, passed away yesterday. My heart is so sore for her and her family.

No matter how grown up we think we are, the death of a parent reduces us to children again. Children left alone in the dark. I was completely shut down, emotionally numb, for what felt like a good number of years after my dad died in 1996. I still miss him everyday. Yes, it's part of life and living, but it's just so hard, unbearable in its immediacy. With the passage of time, the memories begin to comfort instead of sting, but that takes the rest of your life.

I didn't get to meet Doc, but since knowing Hannah, I had heard of his remarkable talent as a renowned storyteller. His last show, a week ago, was a triumph--a standing ovation by all who saw him on stage, spinning his yarns and telling his tall tales. I know the family is grateful that he had the chance for one last big show. He went out with a "bang."

But what they cherished is the non-public person; the father, the grandfather. No matter what the accomplishments listed in an obituary, the loss is entirely personal when it's your dad. Like all traumatic losses, you never really get over it, you just get through it, and hopefully you find some way to keep going in spite of it.

Rest in peace, Doc. We'll take care of Hannah and her family from here, as best we can.

Running...and I can't keep up

It's either feast or famine here in the activity department. I feel like I haven't even been home at all this week (it looks it, too). Echo is suffering from attention deprivation, the garden is sprinting rampant across its borders and I miss being here on my mountain.

But work, paid work, calls. I've been painting, painting, cleaning and painting. I've been showing the houses, schmoozing and screening prospective tenants, driving to Walmart for supplies, and driving back again to replace all the wrong things I got. So this is what it's like to have a job. Sheesh. It's a wonder anyone has time for it.

I took the morning off. Echo and I went for a walk. The blackberries are almost gone, it's hardly worth the time to pick them for the amount I'm getting. The beans are finally starting to dry up, but the summer squash is coming on big time, and even the okra is showing signs of producing some pods in the near future. I'll bet I could even grow yams and peanuts here, if I were so inclined; the growing season is long enough.

But now, it's back to work. I'm showing one house at 11, and then it's off to the other to paint the bathrooms today. Then, one more bedroom and the utility room, and I'm done.

Then I can get back to my real life, unemcumbered by annoying things like working for a living.

Puddles under the fridge

My refrigerator has a bladder control problem. I've been researching it half-heartedly on the 'net, trying to figure out why there's a pool of water on the kitchen floor each morning, creeping out from under the detested fridge. But the truth is, I want this appliance to just expire quietly.

So, I will paint again this morning (does this qualify as aerobic exercise?), come home and shower, and then trek to Morristown to see Stacy at Lowes about a new fridge, with an eye to its imminent arrival. I thought I knew what I wanted last week, but now that a decision actually has to be made (and backed up with real dollars), I want to be sure I'm choosing the correct one. I can barely contain my glee.

Painting went well yesterday. I managed to cut-in the living room, hallway and one bedroom, and roll on the living room top coat, before I decided to call it quits. Ray sent me to Walmart with the checkbook, and I shopped for lightbulbs, toilet seats, doorknobs and shower curtains. I think you have to be pretty desperate tenants to steal those things when you leave a place, but there it is. I see why Bill says he never wants to be a landlord. The good news is that I think we have both places rented, hopefully with non-light-fingered tenants, with move-ins within the next 2-3 weeks. This is huge.

Today, I will paint trim, or clean the kitchen walls, or do whatever needs to be done for a few hours and then head out for some rampant consumer spending. Whoo-ha!

Getting my life back

Matt and Bree (actually spelled "Bri" I found out), left for Arkansas yesterday, and I have started to get the sense of balance that has been missing since Bill left a week ago on Tuesday. When I live alone, I find I need little rituals and routines along with my unfettered freedom. Not having to consult Bill on activities, mealtimes, and bedtimes, I start to keep weird hours and forget what day it is. So having my schedule somewhat organized each day helps to give me a sense of rhythm to the days, keeps me sane. When he left so suddenly, and then house guests with wildly different hours came, I was a bit of a crank.

Today, I am to be a painter. I am off to another of Ray's rentals, to cut-in and roll, as Ray moves ahead of me, cleaning and prepping the walls. The two of us should be able to knock this out in a few days, certainly by the weekend. And then, pretty soon it will be time for Ray to go back to his life in California.

I like to paint. There are all the elements of a satisfying activity: a little stretching and physical activity, the attention to detail, a constant visual measure of how much you have done and how much there is to go, and the pleasure at seeing a job accomplished. I don't have the staying power I used to, I have to chop jobs up into smaller chunks and rest between, but I still find painting to be enjoyable. Certainly more enjoyable than cleaning.

I have a sense that this is it. I am at the end. Anniversaries of significant dates will come and go and remind me of what happened last year, but for all of my whining, what I am now is pretty much what I'm going to live with from now on. I will have my checkups, and the time period between them will lengthen; I will have some bad, uncomfortable days, but for the most part I will have good days. The horrors and fears have already started to fade, just a bit. This is not something you ever forget, but maybe it's something I can live with.

Autumn in the air

The last two days have been wonderful--relatively dry, not so hot, a nip in the air in the mornings. I notice also that the days are getting just a little bit shorter--each morning the sun rises a little later than the day before (6 minutes later to be exact, if you are interested in that sort of thing). I've been able to shut off the A/C and open the windows to get some fresh air circulating through the house, and it's comfortable!

I am slowly getting back into a routine of sorts. Exercising on the elliptical, lifting weights, walking the dog, eating right. Back to selling retired items on eBay, doing small home projects and sleeping well for a change. I'm feeling good.

The spruce lignin the nutritionist recommended seems to be having a salubrious effect on my hot flashes and night sweats. I'm only getting up once a night now, instead of 4 or 5 times, and the daytime heat waves seem less frequent. Blessed relief!

Snapping out of Lethargy

The imminent arrival of house guests finally did the trick. Matthew Hoffman and friend Bree are on a "See America" tour, on their way to the west coast. The fact that they would need a clean place to sleep and un-dog-haired surfaces to walk on got me moving on getting the house in shape at last.

I love a clean house--I just don't want to be the one to do the cleaning! Bill and I are both packrats and clutter-hounds, and when he is home for a long stretch, every horizontal surface is covered with books, papers, old mail, hobbies, tools, packets of hardware, hats, glasses, pens, business cards, lists of things to do (CLEAN HOUSE! is always on the list), etc.

I've been on an organizational kick for the past year, buying bins and storage containers, trying to put things in a logical place after use, but Bill doesn't even make an effort to keep track of his stuff, he just sifts through piles and asks me if I've seen such-and-such. At 5 am on the morning he left, he climbed into the car and asked "Have you seen my Cabela's hat and my little CD wallet?" Neither made it with him on the plane, and I didn't see them yesterday when I swamped out either. They have apparently fallen into the abyss.

When I do clean up while he's home, I watch my efforts constantly destroyed. The vast space of empty on the coffee table (here) that took me three days, fills back up with astonishing speed. The de-cluttered bar top gets dusted and polished and then becomes buried under detritus in the blink of an eye. So I've just stopped worrying about it while he's home. When he leaves, I eventually get things to a moderately uncluttered state (sometimes just by throwing all of Bill's stuff in his closet and shutting the door) and then try to live like that until he comes home again. Sometimes it even works.

So yesterday was the day to clear off kitchen counters, vacuum and make up guest beds. Matt and Bree made a few wrong turns in the dark and ended up in Morristown before I caught them by cell phone, got them turned around and headed back to Rogersville around 11 pm. And being kids, they didn't even notice I had cleaned up. But I knew, and I was pleased.

********
Update on past stuff: Mr. Turtle is now happily living under my summer squash, and helping himself to an occasional tomato. The rain barrels are working! I watered the garden with stored rain water yesterday while I picked beans (again!). Bean beetles have finally discovered my patch, so perhaps the tyranny of the beans is almost at an end. The tyranny of the blackberries continues however, and I am running out of freezer space. It might be time to consider making jam.

There is a curious snap in the air this morning, as if summer might be hinting that it's starting to wind down. Summer is not my favorite time of year here. It's too hot and humid and buggy, and I only exist within a very narrow temperature range, being from California. But two months of oppressive heat is a small price to pay for 10 months of otherwise glorious weather the rest of the year.

Matt and Bree are going to the Smokies today, and that bastion of retailism, Sevierville, Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg (see prior discussion here). I don't know what their plans are after that, but I'm thankful their arrival finally got me off my duff, and made me get my house in order.

Laziness

There are plenty of things that need to be done, and guess again--I'm not doing any of them. Bill and I had such a good time together this past spring and summer, I'm finding it difficult to get motivated into this solitary lifestyle again.

I have yet to hear from said husband via email--my perception is that he's plenty busy dealing with shipboard stuff to get started on the once-daily uplinks that give me a structure to my day. He is exactly 12 hours ahead of me, and I could usually count on his emails written before he went to bed arriving on my computer just about the time I was getting up in the morning. But so far, nada.

In the meantime, the chores are piling up, and I'm sitting on the couch, watching TV and knitting. Not exactly a productive use of my time.

I'll have to do something about that. Maybe tomorrow.

Mr. Turtle's Big Adventure

Wow, it was stiflingly HOT yesterday! I went out around noon to show the rental houses, but before I could drive out, I had to remove this little fellow from the driveway:

Maybe his mama forget to tell him that he's an amphibian, subject to fatal overheating in the eleventy-billion-degree noonday sun in August! And that if you wander around on a concrete driveway, you run the risk of getting run over by a car! He pulled his head in as I approached, making a neat little package, so I picked him up by his shell and moved him over to the grass in the shade. The things we have to put up with living in the wilds!

Bill arrived safely in the Orient and is ensconced on his ship. There is a current kerfluffle about the sudden departure of the Chief Engineer, so if a replacement is not found in time to sail, Bill may get a 3-step promotion out of necessity. He has the license to be the Chief, but not the confidence, even though he's been on this ship many times. The Chief's job isn't just the engineering, but also the LAN administrator, not Bill's forte, and mountains of paperwork, not Bill's favorite occupation. But he's decided to tell them that he'll be happy to do any job, from 3rd Engineer to Chief, as long as he gets off the ship in time for his daughter's wedding.

I am off to Morristown today, to look at refrigerators. Yes, the appliances are in revolt as is usual when Bill leaves. The hated side-by-side that came with the house is making odd noises (hopefully fatal this time), and if Bill's going to be making a Chief's salary, this may be the right time to replace it.

I was thinking yesterday about how far I've come since the last time Bill left, right before Christmas. Then, I was about 6 weeks out from the surgery, still unable to drive more than 50 miles by myself, unable to lift anything, open a jar or can, or do much of anything except whine about how miserable I was. Now, eight months later, there's almost a sense of normalcy in my physical strength, and a huge difference in mental attitude. I am not so afraid. I am not so sad. I still despair a bit when I catch sight of myself naked in a mirror, but I close off that picture mentally and move on. Yes, it is an outrage, what was done to my body, but it had to be done--it saved my life. The things I have to put up with--the occasional pain, the constant artificial feel, the stomach clench at the sheer ugliness of it--are minor, so minor, compared to the gift of time.

I don't sweat a lot of the little stuff anymore. I try to laugh everyday, no matter what the day brings. And I never forget how precious each new morning is. I lucked out, and I'm determined to be happy about that.

Unsettled

Maybe it was the sudden nature of Bill's departure (15 hours notice is short, even for this business), but I just couldn't seem to focus yesterday. I'd sit down to knit, then leap up to pick something off the floor. I'd wander into the kitchen for something, then forget what I came for. I couldn't do much but putter around, cruising for something that needed to be done.

Midnight came and went, and I still wasn't sleepy. I watched a really interesting series on DVD called The Book of Daniel and knitted. This short-lived series (7 episodes filmed, pulled from the network after the first 4 aired), was well-written, with intriguing characters and bright humor. But the subject, an Episcopalian priest with problems and a quirky family, was controversial and offensive to many, apparently. But still, no sleepiness.

I finally gave up and went to bed anyway at 2 am. I don't sleep well when Bill first goes, but I guess staying up that late did the trick--I slept through until just after 8.

Today, I'll start my living-alone routine. I'll exercise before I'm fully awake (if you can sleep through the first part of a workout, it seems shorter), shower, walk dog, get on with the chores of the day. Bill left a veritable mountain of detritus in the wake of his frantic departure, and that needs to be cleaned up. I have house guests from NY coming this weekend, the son of old friends, and his traveling companion, so some major swamping out needs to occur, sheets washed and clutter abated.

Today is day two. Only 118 left to go.

Sleepless but departed...

I don't think Bill slept at all last night. Every time he tried to lie down, he was up 15 minutes later. And every time he got up, I awoke as well. It was actually a relief to just get up and go get a cup of coffee at 3:50 am, and get on with it.

Our drive over to Tri-Cities was pleasant and uneventful. The check-in was a breeze, due to a helpful gate agent and a non-frustrating computer that allowed Bill to slide his passport through the thingy, and confirm his identity and eligibility to travel overseas. My paranoid children insist that the only recourse to the "outrage" of having identification documents micro-encoded, is to repeatedly swipe a magnet over the coding strip, thus foiling the evil intentions of the government to keep track of them. Sigh. The next time they try to swipe their passports through the reader, they shall not have such an easy time of it as we did this morning.

So now Bill is probably sleeping soundly (snoring, if his seat mate is unlucky) in the air, winging halfway around the world. I expect I will hear from him, either by phone or email, tomorrow.
It will be 12 hours later to him in his local time, which is more weirdness than I can comprehend. Does that mean he's talking to me in the past? Am I talking to him as he will be in the future? Yes, here we go again with my inability to fully understand the intricacies of the International Date Line.

As we say in this house, the only thing worse than going back to work is having no work to go back to. So we will both do our appointed tasks and meet up again in December, probably on the West Coast. We'll marry off the daughter, (Bill asks: "How can I give her away?--she ran away from us years ago!"), celebrate Christmas with the family and then find our way home to Tennessee in early winter. Or at least, that's the plan right now.

In the meantime, I will have plenty of projects to keep me busy here at home. But it will be strange to be spending all of autumn without the tromp of hunting boots, guns lying all over the house, and piles of camouflage clothing to wash in unscented detergent. I guess I shall have to begin some autumn traditions of my own.

Surprise, surprise...

Right before our lunch date, we got "The Call" on the cell phone. Bill is to get on a plane tomorrow morning and head for the Orient. He wanted to go sooner than later, and I guess he got his wish. Now all he has to do is go to work and hope that he will be relieved in early December for daughter Juli's wedding in Seattle on the 21st.

All through lunch, he was fussing and worrying. Where was the ship? What problems are awaiting him? Why is the Chief Engineer not coming back? Finally at Home Depot, I had to threaten to smack him with a roll of fiberglass screening. What's the sense of worrying, when you have no control over anything anyway? (Last year sure taught me that one, big time)!

We zipped through his eye appointment, picked out new glasses (that I will have to send to his FPO address), and came on home to do laundry, clean up tools, finish the gutter project, do the haircut that we didn't get to this morning, and settle down to the hardcore serious "Night-Before-Leaving Worrying," complemented by "Throwing-Clothes-Frantically-Into-A-Seabag."

Sigh. We've been doing this for 20+ years, so I know of what I speak. My beloved is inertial, in the pure physical science sense: When he is at rest, he tends to stay at rest. When The Call comes, motion is introduced and the activity begins in hyper-speed continuing until he gets on the plane, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, and bags over-stuffed, ready to explode when TSA opens them to inspect (his tickets are always one-way, so he always gets the full screening).

All I have to do is get through the next twelve hours without yelling at him to stop buzzing around and fretting. It wouldn't do any good anyway.

I can cable!

When MaryAnn told me "you can do this!" I was skeptical. But I took a moment yesterday afternoon to rip out the boring stockinette scarf I was working on, got out the instructions for cabling and buckled down to learn it.

Hooray! She was right! I can cable!

It's like a whole new world in knitting. A pattern that is easy enough to do in the car, but interesting enough to keep me going. Yes, I have to drag around 3 needles instead of just two, but it's a small inconvenience compared to the results. This is so cool! (And you were right, MaryAnn, thank you!)

Today is a busy Monday. I need to give Bill his back-to-work haircut. Then we are off to Johnson City to get his TB test read. Then a lunch date at Carraba's (I have one of their cookbooks, entitled Ciao, Y'all, so I assume it's Italian cuisine, Southern-style). Then an eye appointment for Bill, and picking out new glasses. We need to find some mosquito netting for the rain barrels. Then home to do the final walk-through with Ray's tenants.

It's going to be another one of those days. But since Bill will be driving and I have a new project, I will be happily cabling without complaint. Bring it on, busy Monday.

Who knew I could get so excited about rain gutters?

One of the biggest problems we have had with this wreck of a house has been water damage. We took the plunge and bought a new roof a year and a half ago, but the issue of water pouring off that roof has gone unsolved until now. Bill is nearly done with his masterpiece, rain gutters on this thirty-sided polygon, complete with custom-designed and fabricated brackets attached to the new fascia boards:

Who knew that when I brought home 2 rain barrels from Pennsylvania (Thank you, Ron's Barrels!) that it would provide the impetus to finish this project? We now have rain gutters to catch the rain, downspouts to collect water for the garden hoses when we have drought, and overflow hoses to divert the excess when it does rain. Amazing!

Eventually, all that water-wrecked decking will be replaced and the railings will be all painted and nice. It is truly a wonder, and all due to Bill's hard work. There, doesn't he look happy?

(As I look at this picture, it occurs to me that the 4 x 4 post to the right is definitely OFF! One more thing to fix, oh joy...)

My afternoon was almost as productive, if not as impressive as Bill's construction genius:

I grated the gigantor zucchini and made sweet-spicy hot dog relish. Ten half-pints, with one extra oddball that didn't seal--that one will go into the fridge and start being consumed immediately.

Tomorrow, the tyranny of the green beans continues. It seems like I'm picking at least a pound (sometimes 6 pounds!) every three days. These little monsters are just cranking out the beans like it was the end of the world:

I like green beans, I really do. But this is getting ridiculous. I only planted four 10-ft. rows in a tiny corner of the front yard. I feel like sending the seeds of these particularly prolific plants to the ends of the earth wherever people are starving. Here, have some of these seeds. Place them on the hardpan clay, and cover them with an inch of mulch. Ignore them. Two months later, you'll have more beans than you know what to do with. The more you pick them, the more they produce. Yes, they are indeed magic beans. I feel like maybe I need to go find a gullible boy with a cow and trade with him.

Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum.

Knitting, Canning, Painting

Apparently while I was away, the last official knitting class was held. Now we have become a knitting group, rather than a class, although rumor has it that we are going to be taught "cabling" today. This is the fancy and scary-complicated technique of crossing over while knitting, making the classic fisherman's sweater type of stitching.

Bill told me that the concept of the fisherman's sweater comes from Iceland, where each village had its own specific pattern. Then when there was a tragic accident or a ship lost at sea, the wearer of the sweater could be identified when his body washed ashore. That Bill. So cheerful! I haven't checked out this apocryphal story, but I'm sure MaryAnn will research it for me, if she doesn't find it too macabre.

Andrea called last night, and we talked about canning. I know, our lives are just too exciting! During the course of our conversation, it occurred to me that I can indeed do something with the gigantor zucchini that Bill let get out of hand while I was in Ohio. I can make zucchini relish!

I remember making this condiment almost every year back in New York, courtesy of a recipe from Sue Miller, who also had squash over-abundance problems. She used to grate the zucchini and throw it in the freezer for future canning and zucchini bread making. I can do this. I just forgot about it completely until now.

I spent a half day painting yesterday--small things like closets, doors, baseboards, mouldings and shelves. What this means is that I finally have the use of my arms back! And even after all that stretching and reaching, I woke up without pain this morning (although my core temperature was something resembling the surface of the sun, that hasn't changed). So 9 months after surgery, I'm beginning to see an end to some of the physical disabilities that have been a major source of my anger and frustration.

So today should be good. A little of this and that. First-of-the-month household chores like changing furnace filters, cleaning drains, dosing Echo, septic maintenance and water-softener check. And a knitting group gathering for fun. It doesn't get much better than this!