epiphyta

Woke at 7.30 after P. came back in for something after his shower; eventually climb out of bed and put the kettle on. Everything is somewhat sluggish, as I am fighting off a cold -- happily I made muffins the day before and they are easy to reheat and eat. There is not enough tea in the world . . . .

Quiet day of puttering, a relief after all the socialising of the last two weeks. A message from my mother surprises me: my sister-in-law has been having difficulty finding local teaching work that pays adequately, and has a job offer in North Carolina. My brother has long wanted to move there, but it's not so simple as that: as my youngest niece is still at home, would her mother consent to her leaving the state? Would our mother join them, after my gran passes? That would mean no one from my biological family would live in the town where I was born any longer: my sister and I left after graduation to find work, and my father and his wife moved out of the county a few years ago. For all that I have no interest in returning save for visits, it's a strangely unsettling thought. I have memories of going with my grandparents to tend the graves of their parents and grandparents; my grandparents are together (or will be soon) in military cemetaries, so their graves will be cared for . . . .

It's odd what one's thoughts snag on, isn't it?

Lunch is leftover chilli con carne, with mashed avocado and a sharp white cheddar cheese; I keep working through the laundry, pausing at 1 for a yoga class. My therapist made it a homework assignment, part of getting out daily and interacting with other people, but I enjoy it for its own sake. After, my instructor and I sit for a few minutes over tea and bewail the UK general election: she is originally from Cork, and I have friends who've recently bought a home in Monaghan (in addition to everyone else I know and love in the islands), and we admitted to a bit of relief that we could point the curious locals to John Oliver's most recent programme rather than having to try to sum up the omnishambles that is the possible deal with the DUP ourselves.

I come home and tend the garden. P. finishes work at 5, and we walk to the grocer's for a few things, the mile round trip blowing the cobwebs out for both of us; it's threatening rain, and begins to spit as soon as we're home. I put the jacket potatoes in the oven; P. goes on-line for his weekly gaming session with DS and a few friends, so I catch up on the last of my reading until supper's ready. When he's finished, we agree that we're both tired and are amused to find ourselves in bed by 10, ready to sleep!

Saturday was the next-to-last symphony concert for P. and I, and it was splendid! The violin soloist, Pekka Kuusisto, made jokes about National Sauna Day during his encore and came out after the concert to perform three traditional Finnish folk pieces, to a crowd of about 100 in the foyer! There were jokes about everyone just going back into the hall, and someone on one of the upper levels dropped a programme and almost hit him in the head -- not an auspicious start. Kuusisto told us that he'd begun performing as a fiddler before transitioning to Western classical music, and it showed in the music he played, especially when he started strumming his Stradivarius like a ukulele! I thought P. was about to fall over and frothe at the mouth, poor love. :-D

Well, with staying after to listen and sing along, we missed the 10.40 sailing and had to wait for the 11.15: it was just as well, as there was a Mariners game and we lost, so the terminal would have been full of upset fans. We debated a cab when we reached the island, but the walk sounded good after sitting for so long and it was warm enough to be comfortable; we took our time and went up Erickson, which is less steep and easier on P.'s knee. There are few street lights away from Winslow Way, and many people will leave a small light on in a window, but P. did have to pull out a pocket torch in two places to show us the edge of the pavement.

As we approached the flat, I glanced up at something greyish on one of the power lines, wondering if someone's brought-in carrier bag had somehow gotten tangled on it . . . and then realised I was looking at an owl! I managed to get P.'s attention, and we stood for a minute or two watching it; for its part, it was far too intent on the field over the road, and what might present itself for dinner in it, to pay us any mind. Finally we went in, quiet and happy with such a wonderful flourish to the end of the day.

Yesterday was shopping and dropping things at the transfer station in Silverdale. At one point we wound up completely turned around on back roads, well worth it for the views of the Olympic mountains and the water spotted through the trees; we passed a woman driving a trap and nodded politely at one another, and went by the Kitsap Humane Society (it's a no-kill shelter, clean and well staffed, so I only cried a little). I'll spare you the shopping details except to say that it does make me happy to find so many UK skincare products at Target (hi Boots Botanics I missed you!).

Today is threatening rain, my rose appears to have black spot, grrrrr, and where has the morning gone?

. . . to the point that I was exhausted and a bit weepy on Sunday! With only a few dear exceptions I think I have seen everyone I know in the state of Washington since Thursday last, either at the store, the studio, or getting off the ferry. Stopping in the office to pay the rent led to a glad cry of "Epi's here! Now we can have wine!" "Three women drinking a bottle of wine is classier than two women doing so --" "If 'classy' is the goal, should we use something other than Solo red cups?" I was shouted down on this point. Typing a reply to an invitation to a day in Seattle after was a great source of amusement for all parties concerned. :-D

My toenails are currently metal-flake green, which seems summery. The new bag is here, but will require some modifications to be more of use: I'm accustomed to my KAVU "Kicker" bag, which has all sorts of small pockets and clips to make things immediately accessible, while this has only two large internal divisions. Mesh bags and at least two loops to hold my pen and keys, with further adjustments as I use it.

It is also the season of the flushing of the water lines, so doing light coloured laundry is out for the next day or so; manganese build-up is common in water lines in western Washington, and high-pressure cleaning will reduce it -- but there's a brown tint to the water coming out of the taps for a bit. Not appealing, at all.

And yet more social things! An e-mail asking if I'm home, as the co-managers want to use my deck to get a bit of sun, and one of them has fresh salad greens from her garden for me. We talk and laugh and agree that I will come with her and Edie for a walk tomorrow morning, and sometime we will all go to Ladywells together. I call hello to the owner of the yoga studio as I walk past; she calls back "Hello, cutie! Are you coming by today?" She told me after class last week that she had originally founded the studio as a way of creating the community she was missing -- "It was an act of personal selfishness, honestly"; I might have quoted a little Tiffany Aching at her. How does someone reach adulthood without knowing Terry Pratchett was on the planet? -- and that she was happy I was there.

Tonight supper is simple: sausage cut into chunks, sauteed with red bell pepper and a bit of shallot and garlic, tossed with penne in a little olive oil, with some good cheese grated over, and the greens alongside. The sun will disappear again on Thursday, and the rain will return; today it is warm and bright, the bills are paid, and a friend gave me salad.

Grump was walked off and to make sure it stayed away, P. and I made silly amounts of popcorn, curled up together and watched xXx: The Return of Xander Cage last night. It's a Vin Diesel movie, you know what you're getting going in -- P. and I spent a great deal of time wondering how they'd suckered the poor bastard stuck with the writing credit into agreeing to hang his name on this thing -- but the cast was splendidly diverse, most conversations between women passed Bechdel, the wonderful Australian sniper not only reminded me of one of my Pilates instructors (now a performer with Cirque) in attitude, hair colour and aerial ability, but rated an actual cheer during the extras when she said that unlike many women who'd watched the first film and wanted to date Xander, she'd wanted to be him; playing his best friend in this film was close enough.

Today is the first anniversary of moving into our flat; P. and I were sad earlier, missing the cats, and Aslan's humans next door contacting me for vet recommendations didn't help. In the year we've been here we've seen the replacement of a living room window, wiring harnesses on the cooker and HVAC, and of course the bathroom. I wonder what will happen in the next two years!

I found a summer bag that I liked after realising that all three of the bags I own are black . . . yes, this is black and white, but it's progress!

The fic that was devouring my free time at a rate of knots wrapped up Thursday. The final two chapters used the 7/7 bombings as a plot device, which has soured me on the entire thing.

I had very much enjoyed it up until that point; I also spent several bad hours on the day in question trying to learn if a friend had been on the Russell Square train, as that was her regular when she went into London. I am torn between "It has been 12 years" and "No, no, NO, how very dare you".

(The fic also hinted at Snarry in the last chapter, which is another personal "Oh hell to the no what are you doing" point for me, and if I'd known that's where it was headed I wouldn't have started. No, fic writers are not obliged to indulge my preferences, but I do rather feel I have been sold a pup. And reading on the splendid tablet P. bought me as a surprise Mother's Day gift meant I couldn't throw it across the room.)

Grrrrrrrrr going for a walk in the sun to try and rid myself of the grump. It is a lovely day here on my island, I have been nowhere but at home for the last two days as P. has been very unwell -- that he used a sick day yesterday is a sign of how bad it was -- and puttering about on the deck is not sufficient. A few miles should start to sort it. Perhaps a few more library books? I only have 15 at the moment: renovations mean that half the collection needs to be temporarily rehoused through August, and local patrons have been urged to check out up to 100 items if they will commit to looking after them until the work is completed. Room can be made, surely . . . .

Yes, I've been quiet(ish; the commentary over at curiouswombat's during the Eurovision final was anything but!): my grandmother is in hospice -- she's at respite care this week, the nurses having argued sense into my mother, who as a former geriatric nurse herself knows better. There's a tangle of guilt and regret and anger in that bit of my family that I will never be able to unwind.

And this morning I learned of the death of a fixture in a former neighbourhood, the owner of an acoustic musical instrument shop; he sold me strings and sheet music for my Irish harp, and there was always laughter and jamming and terrible coffee to be had there. May his memory be a blessing.

Onward! The Sun is out; yesterday P. and I drove to Tacoma, meeting Dear Friend S. and the children at the Art Museum. Now, the day before there had been something of an uproar with T.: his school had called me, saying that he'd been in a fight with a classmate and needed to be picked up. S. had not updated the pick-up information to allow M., the nanny, to fetch him home other than from after-school care, and they had not been able to reach S. or any of the other contacts.

I explained that S. was in the field near Ellensburg (a good two hours' drive away) and doubtless didn't have mobile reception; the next two contacts were her mother and brother, both in Oregon; and that I was 90 miles away on Bainbridge Island: if he was missing a limb or such, I would be breaking traffic laws to get there, but for a suspension? We agreed that T. could sit supervised and without the amusements he'd have at home, with plenty of time to consider his mother's reaction to a second suspension in two weeks, until one of us managed to get a message to S. so that she could authorize M. bringing him home. Which we did, finally, around 2. I gave her a loving earful about finding some local friends of her own who could do this, woman, geez, and said we clearly needed something fun after the clusterfuckery of the week. Hence, museum!

It does not take long to go around TAM (especially when two wings are closed for installations), but I was introduced to Leroy, and took a photo for Friend P., as Edie is also a redbone coonhound. The Northwest Native print show was something we'd both wanted to walk through; I'm getting better at identifying Haida, Tlingit and Tsimshian styles, and it was fascinating to see how younger artists from other tribes were responding to current events in their own work. In the Northwest art wing, I recognized names from work I've seen at BIMA and Bellevue Art, and S. and I agreed that we were grimly pleased by how many pieces currently on display are by survivors of, or in response to, the Japanese-American internment experience.

More fun was had in the glass wing, especially by P. when he spotted Ma Chihuly's Floats; as someone who's played with raytracing software for decades, the "reflective spheres on a checkerboard surface" aspect of it was too much for him, and he giggled while taking pictures (and explaining why it was funny to T. and J.) for quite some time; S. and I shook our heads and went to look at the rest of the collection in peace. Happily there were smaller Chihuly pieces on display: I'm very familiar with the "Crystal Cascade" installations at Benaroya Hall, but they're each three tons! Of course, when we were finished we had to walk to Union Station and peek in at the Chihuly in the lobby.

The drive home went much more quickly; traffic was dreadful, and we made soft eeeeep noises at the parking lot that was southbound I-5, happy to be on smaller roads and going north. Plenty to be doing at home -- did anyone else get a Delgado/Pertwee vibe from that exchange on Doctor Who? And would someone please tell Peter Capaldi to stop grinning like that? -- as it seems to finally be warm enough at night, today the tomatoes go out. One of the corianders has bolted, and I'm tempted to leave it; how far will it get in setting seed? Short version: I need more planters!

Or at least a flet!

I am amusing myself with this and Jenny Lawson's new book, as I seem to have acquired a cold somewhere in the last day or two. The rain has held off long enough to walk to the store and pick up food for the next few days, as well as a few herbs from the clearance table; P. and I walked back through the first phase and greeted people out working on the raised beds, music streaming through open windows, kids dodging adults with carts full of compost and dogs energetically helping everyone.

Windows are open here; everything that was out of sorts in the bedroom has been put back where it belongs and the entire space cleaned. When workmen show up, I will move things again as needed, but I slept much more easily without heaps of linens, shoe racks and the dirty clothes hamper around the perimeter of my room!

Putting away the Costco run and was stabbed in the thumb, through the bag! It bled in a very lively way, as well -- P. brought the first aid box and helped me bandage it after a scrub, and then encouraged me to sit down for a minute while he played Freezer Tetris and put everything away. Which was very sweet of him.

On Friday morning the mold abatement man signed off on the moisture levels in the bathroom, hooray! With luck and the cooperation of everyone else's schedule, reconstruction will begin on Monday.

To fight against the visual chaos, P. and I sorted through the things that came out of the storage unit -- and dragged more out of the entry closet, because why not? -- put about half in a pile for the neighbourhood classifieds/moved outdoor things back to the patio, and returned what was left to a much roomier locker. P. then broke down some of the cardboard boxes we decided we didn't need to keep while I scrubbed out more of the bulk storage containers for the pantry, and took heaps of recycling downstairs.

The TARDIS, now 18 years old, is going back to the shop on Monday for an oil change and a check of a few areas where fluids are seeping. Today P. and I had a melancholy conversation about what to do if F. comes back to tell us that he can't get replacement parts; after crunching numbers and looking at options, it was a shock to realise that a newer vehicle is possible. As much as both of us enjoy the idea of something new (a Mini?!), we are both sad at the thought of letting go of a car that's been through so much with us.

A little later P. admitted that he'd stopped playing video games in the living room partly because he and Youngest Cat would do that together while curled up on the futon. :-( It doesn't affect me the same way -- I'm typing this under a quilted throw while watching old episodes of Big Dreams, Small Spaces -- but might it be time for a new sofa? We've never had one.

In more cheerful news, Dear Friend S. has found a roommate/childminder, and contracts were signed today: all parties involved are delighted by the arrangement, and while I may still need to drive down to be on hand for a few days at the end of this month, going forward I will rest a bit easier.

It is our 20th wedding anniversary today, and the cabinets are being removed from the master bath so that the rest of the wood will hopefully dry out; everything has come out of those cabinets and is scattered across various surfaces in the bedroom, and I discovered one of my vintage linen table napkins on the shelf of the walk-through closet, crumpled and dirty -- at least there are no grease stains, but it seems someone has used it as a cleaning rag!

The floor of the parking garage is being pressure washed over the next two days: everyone has scrambled for spaces on the street for their vehicles, and while DS was here Sunday, we moved everything out of the storage unit in the garage and into the living room.

Everything that was in the walk-in closet is still crammed into the edges of the bedroom; the glass shower doors are leaning against the wall near my desk in the living room . . . . My lovely neat flat is a mess, and it is vaguely unsettling. I know I shouldn't be so fussed by it, but there it is.

In better news, the new planter for the patio will be here Thursday, with the bulk containers for the pantry to arrive Friday. The sale at Valley Nursery yielded many herbs, including a tiny bay laurel plant, and it was pleasant to go into Central Market after and chat with the cashier about my finds: "Oh, no, is today the last day of the sale? Is there much left?" Yes, there was, including a great many Austin roses in containers! I'm going back for that "Gertrude Jekyll" just as soon as I find something big enough to give the roots a decent chance.

Did I write up Saturday last? P. and I spent the day in Seattle, as we'd booked two concerts for the same day. I much preferred the evening concert: I enjoy Peter Schickele's mucking about with classical music, but I've seen him perform live twice and he wasn't present for this one (West Coast premiere of a PDQ Bach piece commissioned by one of the smaller local orchestras, and possibly his last major work for the character); P. was disappointed, as he'd assumed that Schickele would be there. The Seattle Symphony Orchestra demonstrated later that night that they can, in fact, play Beethoven very well -- they just need to avoid the Ninth.

Between concerts, we wandered up to Pike Place Market and hit the spice stores, finding a salt cellar for DS and a wonderful Moroccan mint tea blend, making lists of things to come back for when better equipped to haul bags around. curiouswombat, one of them was the place that has mace blades: having now been in there myself, I have no idea how P. came away with only one small bag! We also ducked into the Athenian for supper; if you've seen the movie Sleepless in Seattle, it's where the tiramisu conversation happened. (Looking at the map will not only point out silly movie goings-on, such as driving over the Fremont Bridge when headed to Alki Beach, but show you where my island is in relation to Seattle.)

As mentioned elsewhere, the bathroom is being torn out in sections! A leak in the parking garage below us led to a search, and then testing, and various and sundry tradesmen coming in and out (at one point there were eight burly men packed into the bathroom and the walk-through closet!) while arguing over whose fault it was that the leak had happened. The most recent status is that water has reached as far as the cabinets -- the shower pan is completely gone, and the toilet's been removed along with nearly all of the subflooring -- and now there will be a pause while the project manager tries to get the subcontractors who installed them back in to remove them, as the odds are better that at least the countertops can be reinstalled once things are on a path to restoration.

Meanwhile, P. had to deal with reciprocating tools and hammers as background noise for a call with Microsoft, and we spent the weekend away while mold abatement was done on the sections that are dried out. Industrial dehumidifiers and blowers have been running non-stop; we have been told that our utilities are being comped for next month, as well as at least a portion of our rent if not the entire bill.

P.'s attitude throughout has been "No one's dead and we're not paying for it? It's not a big deal, then." The rent discount means I can follow through on my promise to see my massage therapist again in two weeks; C.'s reaction to the state of my muscles two months after the sprain was definitely NSFW. And thanks to the generosity of the management I've had two of the best meals of my life this past weekend -- the noodle bowl at Mossback nearly led to plate licking, and I actually asked the servers at the cafe at the Port Gamble General Store why they didn't have customers kicking at the doors at daybreak. The answer was that in the summer they practically do, with queues nearly down to the shoreline! The almond French toast was glorious, and I had the best cup of tea I have ever drunk in my entire life. (Steven Smith's No. 47 "Bungalow"; ludicrously expensive, and worth every penny of it.)

Today's timeline photo is of several lovely cakes, with the caption "If cake is the only thing missing from your weekend, we can help you fix that! It's a gorgeous day to head to Port Gamble!" As the sun is finally out, they're not wrong about that. It's so good that these places are at least half an hour's drive away, or we would have no money and very happy stomachs.

We had planned to go to Kingston in any event, as an old friend of P.'s heads up a regular blues jam at a local brewery and had invited P. along. They've known one another for 7 years, but only realised that their passport addresses were so close last year at an industry conference. (P. wants to hire J. to develop courses, if he can swing the funding.) Downpour Brewing is a wonderful hole-in-the-wall sort of place, with children and well-behaved dogs welcome, and there were plenty of both last night: one sweet pittie, after suitable introduction, tried to make herself at home in my lap, and several kids asked for my help in liberating board games from the stack beside me. *g* A boating group on a pub crawl joined us for the first half of the jam; as it happened, P. and the organiser had friends in common, and one of the crew grew up not 20 miles from P. and graduated the same year! We exchanged hugs and phone numbers as they left, with pledges to make this a regular event.

After hours of excellent music, several pints and a quick run across the street for food, we decided to make our way home. P. went up during a break to tell J. we were leaving, and he immediately invited us both to the summer jams at his home in Kingston: "We throw a few racks of ribs on the barbecue and just play all night while the kids and the dogs run around. Bring your fiddle and come up!"

Safely home, we scowled at the cold and closed the windows, took pictures of the current level of disassembly, and made some herbal tea. I wound up spending an hour on the phone with Dear Friend S. -- the potential nanny/roommate is a perfect fit, pending background/driving record checks; therapists for the children have at last been found -- and finally crawled into my own bed around 11. Today I am clearing away the dust and airing out the rooms, knowing that more work will be coming at some point but unwilling to breathe in any more of that than necessary.

So, how go things with all of you? :-D