Thoughts of Quarantine

I wasn't planning on mentioning the current pandemic thing happening, or the quarantine, or my feelings about any of it, but... I'm kind of grooving on how Mother Nature is using this time to do some repair work.

Tammie and I were talking about it this morning, how we keep reading about those folks who are busy mucking out closets, deep cleaning their houses, evicting every speck of dirt and filth and virus from their domicile. We, on the other hand, have not.

Once we got the master bedroom ready for her mother, we kind of slacked off. We did managed to clear out the storage shed in the back yard, which was a total bonus. We can actually get in there without having to tie a rope around one ankle first.

But other than that, we've not been doing the deep clean. We've been relaxing, doing a little healing of our own.

Ever since we bought the hat shop, we've been busy. I mean, not many breaks at all kind of busy. For the first three years or so, I was working full time at the school, then weekends and summers at the shop. It was exhausting. Then we brought my parents into our home and that dialed things up a notch or two. When they passed in 2017, we thought we'd catch a break, but there were legal things that needed attention: a house in Oregon to clean out and sell, and keep the shop running despite the horrible condition of the building (crappy landlords suck, folks).

What I'm saying is, there was no rest.

We kept going, trying to do it all and exhausting ourselves in the process. Then came the pandemic, Tammie's mom, and the lockdown, pretty much in that order. The shop was closed (in fact, the whole town is closed), and we were forced to stay put.

We looked around at all the boxes that need sorting, carpets that need cleaning, a yard that needs a nuclear bomb, and now a garden that needs tending.

And we've rested. The boxes are still full, the carpets are still funky (Tammie vacuums, but we have pets and we live at the beach, so there will be funk), and a yard filled with goathead stickers and sheep sorrel. The garden is being tended by Tammie, but the beauty of container gardening is the ease of tending. She waters, snacks on young leaves of radish, bok choi, and whatever the hell she has out there, and heals.

I've been trying to do some writing on book 3, beta reading a friend's manuscript, and trying to figure out how to print my manuscript on both sides of the paper (it flat-out refuses, no matter what settings I use).

We art around at the table, making cards to send out. We walk the dogs along the dirt lanes around our home, and revel in the relative silence. It's nature silence, you know? That silence filled with birdsong, the rustling of critters in the underbrush, and the sigh of the ocean.

So I don't feel guilty about not having a pristine house at the end of this, because this rest is doing more for me than a spotless house and manicured lawn ever could.

And I'm writing more, which heals my soul.

Important Things Afoot!

Hey! Did I mention one of the Most Important Things To Happen To Me in my last post? No? Maybe? You're not sure?

Lemme check my notes, brb...

Ah, no. I didn't. To be honest, I'm only slightly surprised, considering all the things that are happening all at once and not just all over my house. I mean, there's a lot going on here, but it's nothing compared to the pandemic, which has been... oh, let's just not go there, m'kay?

Anyway, I was fiddling about with the pile o' crap on my desk (also known as Manuscript Notes, bills that may or may not have been paid, Important Documents that I have no idea what to do with at the moment but I'll figure it out, cancelled checks, cords to things, an old mp3 player (is "old mp3 player" a redundancy? Am I sounding a little scattered to you?), an amulet sent by a dear friend that needs to be re-secured to the top corner of my monitor, a rubber ducky, and a treasure trove of sticky note pads in various sizes)... dammit, where was I... Oh, yeah, fiddling about...

I came across a couple of letters that changed my life.

No, seriously! I kid you not. See, it started when I emailed someone who works for one of my all-time favorite magazines, RubberStampMadness. Folks, I am a stamper. Back in my AOL days, I was part of a very active group called RubberStamp Enthusiasts (and I have that group to thank for helping me remember how to spell enthusiasts). I even had my own business (with my own designs, catalog and everything!) I was in deep, folks, real deep.

Then shit happened. A lot of shit and the stamps and my business kind of fell to the wayside. Actually, they got stuffed into the garage when we moved and I couldn't find them, so I gave up. It was sad, I missed them, I missed stamping, I missed a lot of things about that craft.

But I had children to raise, a job to do, a marriage to attempt to salvage (I failed on that count, but it's for the best, believe me) and then other stuff. However, every time I went to the craft store, I gravitated towards the stamp section, fawning and drooling over the rubber images, papers, inks, and ALL THOSE AMAZING TOOLS!!! (most of which I already had, but couldn't get to because "buried in the garage" is kind of a death sentence for stuff like that).

When I moved to the coast, I took a few stamps with me, but the majority of them, the ones I finally found when I cleared out the garage, a.k.a. the tomb, were donated to a group of new stampers. It was a lot of stamps and the memories that were attached to them. I was ok with my decision, simply because moving to the coast meant I would be taking care of my elderly parents and my hat shop.

One Yule, Tammie gave me a subscription to RubberStampMadness and holy moly, folks, it all came flooding back. I took the next opportunity and pulled the small collection of stamps and supplies out of storage, cleaned them up and fell in love again. There was stamping! Then we hit the craft store and there were more stamps!

Then! THEN!!! We discovered a delightful surprise! Just a few minutes from our house was an honest-to-goodness stamp store! With stamps, and papers, and tools! Everything! The beast was awake and hungry for rubberstamps!

Now that you're up to speed, I'll continue with my story of The Important Thing. I sent a LONG message to the admin of the RSM facebook page, kind of explaining things and gushing my love for the magazine and how good it felt to be back in the rubber room again.

She sent it to the editor of the magazine and folks, THEY PUBLISHED ALL THREE COLUMNS OF MY LETTER!!!

But that wasn't the best part. I got a letter in the mail from the editor ASKING ME IF I'D LIKE TO WRITE FOR THE MAGAZINE!!!

I said I'd think about it.

Then I ran around the room, shrieking and waving the letter. I emailed the editor and said, YES!!!

The best part was I got my assignment almost right away, and when that was finished, I got another one. The magazine is published quarterly, and right now I have a piece in the summer issue (under the Spotlight column) and in the fall I have the Card Shoppe feature. I'm so excited.

Go ahead and get you a copy! If we ever meet face to face, I'll even sign it for you. Yeah! Just try to stop me! :)

Ooh! A Blog Post!

It’s been a spell, hasn’t it? Life has been busy, up until March 2020 when every-damn-thing came to a screeching halt.

To be honest…I’m kind of liking this, but then I have a distinct advantage over a lot of folks caught up in this maelstrom of toilet paper panic. I am an only child, so being somewhat isolated is pretty familiar territory for me.

When the shelter-in-place/lockdown started, I felt this thrill of OH BOY! OH BOY! OH BOY! I’LL FINALLY GET MY MANUSCRIPT DONE!

Yeah. Shut up.

Instead, we did a very hurried clear-out of the master bedroom where my folks had stayed, and got it ready for Tammie’s mom to come stay with us. The day before the travel ban started, we scrambled to meet Tammie’s son (known as Beans on my old blog) at the halfway point. We chatted for a few minutes, walked the dog, and plague-hugged (wagged elbows) at each other before getting into our respective cars and heading in opposite directions.

Once again, we are on familiar ground with a dementia patient and have gotten into a routine of questions and answers, lather, rinse, repeat. Every morning, she comments that the neighbor across the street must still be in bed. “But it’s none of my business,” she’ll say. Just to change things up a bit, I’ve supplied her with information on said neighbor. Tammie laughed when I told her mom that “he only comes out at night.” See? It isn’t all bad.

She brought her dog with her, a small tank of a Chihuahua inappropriately named Teeny. That dog is NOT teeny. Well, she wasn’t, but thanks to some careful ministrations by yours truly, she’s lost about four pounds. She’s got a few more to go, but there is a definite improvement. Now she can galumph down the hallway with the other Chihuahua whereas when she first arrived, there was no galumphing. At all. It’s hard to galumph when you’re twice the weight you’re supposed to be.

Trust me, I know this.

She’s a funny little dog, with some strange quirks, and she recently fell in love with Rocky’s favorite teddy bear, much to Rocky’s dismay. She even fell asleep with it tucked under her chin. I melted, folks, mel-ted.

The cats aren’t exactly thrilled with the new addition, and Miss Bitte has been adamant about who is the alpha critter on campus. Despite Teeny’s weight issues, Miss Bitte still has size, agility, speed, and weight on Teeny and has not hesitated to prove it. It can get a little noisy.

Freya FishWhore has taken up semi-permanent residence in the bedroom, except at night when we finally wrangle the dogs (and lately, Teeny has been sleeping with us because long story that I’m not putting here) so Miss FishWhore retreats to the living room for most of the night, then around 4:00 in the morning, she thinks we’ve been in her space long enough and begins yeowling her displeasure with our reluctance to abandon our warm and comfy (and slightly crowded) bed.

The other night I was staying up late to finish a batch of bread when Frey began bellowing at the bedroom door. Occasionally she changes things up a bit and words come out of her face, and even though I know she’s not doing it on purpose, it sounds so intentional. That night she stood outside that door and said, “Ah, mama!”

Ah, mama, this is gonna be a wild ride.

Just Another Fiasco

Life with Rocky is fine, for the most part. He's settling in nicely and he is turning into a rather sweet buddy that I absolutely adore. He does have some quirks, though. Serious quirks, the biggest of which is coming when called.

He doesn't. I was warned by his last owners that this was a problem, so there is no surprise.

This isn't really a problem in the house, because all I have to do is make food sounds to get his attention. But we recently installed a fence for the yard and now he's all about going outside. All the time. Outside. If you stand up to do ANYTHING, he's up and under foot, in case you're going to head outside. Getting him to come back inside is when shit gets real. You can call him until you're blue in the face and he'll just ignore the hell out of you.

Unfortunately there was a place under the deck where the dogs could go to escape the yard. We knew this and had planned on getting lattice installed as soon as possible, but until then, we had to do double duty when the hounds were out and about. One of us would stand inside the yard keeping them away from the deck, while the other would stand outside the yard to stop them if they decided to try it anyway. Technically, one person could do it, but getting them into the house was where it got tricky.

One morning, Tammie let me sleep in and she took the dogs out by herself. They took full advantage of the lack of coverage, sending her on a wild goof chase (no, that's not a typo). She suddenly found herself on an early morning romp in muck boots and bathrobe, calling for a dog that simply acted like "nope, that's not my name right now" and just kept on running. She caught up to him at the corner and carried him back home. It was a long walk and she was not thrilled. Fortunately, Douglas was a good dog and kept close to home, returning when she did.

Later that day, we installed the lattice under the deck and the escape route was cut off. The yard was secure and the dogs were delighted with their new running area. We are thrilled we don't have to stand guard in inclement weather until they are ready to come back into the house. Rocky loves being outside and icky weather doesn't bother him one bit. Little turd.

So, with the yard secure, I decided I needed to do some work in it while Tammie was running the shop. It was time to start pulling up the goat head stickers so we don't have to pull them out of the dogs' feet. The tools I needed were in the shed, which is located in the back yard. To get there I used the gate. I thought it would be ok. I was wrong.

He shoved past me and bolted.

I've never seen a dog move so fast. He knew exactly what he was doing and that he was in trouble for doing it. He was around the house and headed toward the road with me huffing and chuffing after him. I'm not good with running, especially in my muck boots. Or in any footwear, for that matter. I just don't run. It's been like that all my life. But there's a fairly busy road not too far from us, and I feared he would head right for it, so off I went. Around the house, down the driveway, down the road, chugging along, calling his name. I know he heard me. He turned around and looked at me as he kept trotting along, the breeze ruffling the fur around his ears.

Rocky got to the corner and ducked around the neighbor's hedge where I finally caught up to him. I can't say I surprised him, he MUST have heard my labored breathing. Hell, the deaf guy across the street could hear my asthmatic lungs screaming for air. But he was just standing there, waiting. I called his name, gently, softly, with love.

He looked up at me, and I swear, I SWEAR he smirked then WALKED ACROSS THE STREET. He stood and sniffed a spot long enough for me to get to him, scoop him up, and begin our long painful trek back home. Unfortunately, I'd neglected to close the gate, so I had to lug him up to the porch. The whole way, he was grunting as if HE was doing all the hard work. Oh, poor baby.

Unfortunately, the exertion was more than my creaky old body could handle in one day and I was down for the count. Both shoulders, my hips, my pubic bone (seriously, this body should NEVER run! shit falls apart when I try it) and a possible cracked bone in my left foot were the result. Everything hurt. It was worse the next day. My pedometer (on my phone, which was in my shirt pocket) said I'd run almost half a mile. That's a lie. I'm very jiggly and every step had things bouncing quite a bit. My phone was proud of how far I'd gone and I really didn't want to disappoint it, so I just let it be. Anyway, it felt more like five miles than a half, and I was lugging a dog for half the distance, so I'm good with calling it a half mile.

As for the goat head stickers, we're going a different route. A combination of landscaping cloth, cardboard, and some mulch should do the trick. And the dogs will love it.

Dinner Time for Doggos

We recently acquired a new member of the household, a darling terrier mix named Rocky. He’s a funny little dude, and for the most part, I adore him. There are moments, however, when the adoration is a bit on the thin side. For instance, when we’ve been out on a potty run at night, in the rain and wind, and it takes him forever to find the perfect place to poop. Or we’ve taken a nice long walk and sniffed everything and peed on everything else, and we go home and poop on the carpet.

I’m really not ok with that, but he’s still new to us (he’s three years old) so I’m hoping things will sort themselves out soon.

But one thing is for sure, and that is how picky he is about food. According to his second owner (we're his third family), his first owners fed him people food, table scraps. Not ok. His second family did their best to get him interested in dog food, but he would hold out for steak. They did not give him steak.

Finally, he arrived at our house, which came complete with a dog sibling. Immediately food became something of an even bigger issue.

Doug, our darling Chihuahua, LOVES food and will eat it all day long given the chance. We don’t give him that chance, as he has a weight problem (he takes after me). So, with picky Rocky not finishing his food (or even starting it at times) Doug likes to saunter over and polish off his second meal. This led to us keeping a watch over meal time and putting Rocky’s dish of unfinished food out of Doug’s reach.

But something had to be done to get Rocky to eat and finish his food in a timely manner. I tried scattering his kibble, which sort of worked, but Doug thought it was manna from heaven and joined in the fray. I tried pretending to mix people food in it, but he was not that easily fooled.

I finally found something that will get Rocky to eat, and that is mixing a little soft dog food in with the kibble. He thinks he’s getting people food and he’ll scarf it right down. We had taken Doug off that particular mix due to his weight, but we can’t give it to one without the other knowing, so I just give him less of both and it’s all good. Except he thinks it isn’t enough.

One evening I was watching the kitchen drama. I had to wait to finish preparing the people dinner because I needed to use a noisy appliance and that throws everyone off their feed, which is just not what I wanted to deal with that evening. As I watched, Doug finished his food quickly and stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at Rocky as he daintily picked at his meal.

Every so often, Doug would take a step forward and I would say, “Doug, no. You leave him alone.” Doug would stop and stare for a few minutes, before taking another step forward. “Doug! I said no!” But I said it while giggling.

He turned around and looked at me, then back at Rocky (who was still eating) and he stood for a brief moment before he BARKED! as though someone or some THING was at the back door. Rocky started to go check it out and Doug darted toward the now abandoned dish.

“DOUG! Don’t you dare!”

Rocky went back to his dish with a look that burned off most of Doug’s fur before resuming his dinner. Doug, knowing he was beaten, moved away and sat at the edge of the kitchen, still staring at Rocky.

Finally, the slowest eater in the world finished his food and left the kitchen. Doug, sensing all was well with the universe, headed for the dish.

“Doug, leave it alone. I don’t spit in your dish after you’ve eaten, so you don’t need to lick his.” He stopped, looked at me then turned away. “Doug…” I waited to see what he was going to do. He went for the water dish, then veered off and headed right for Rocky’s bowl. Every step, his ears got lower, then his head, as if he was hiding from me. I couldn’t even yell at him because I was laughing too hard.

So, Rocky finished his dinner, and Doug did the dishes.

Miss Bit’s Quest

Miss Bit is our house panther. She is the eldest of our three kitties. She does not suffer fools lightly. Same with dogs. And pretty much any other living being within her domain. Her days are easy and her worries few.

Until that one time…

Miss Bit: Huh! I sense a problem. The magic square has failed to produce heat. I must notify the staff.

Tammie: Oh, jeeze Bit! Ow! You have pointy feet. Where are you going?

Miss Bit: Your words mean nothing. I must speak with my staff. This table is extra tippy and now I have hot stinky bean juice on my feet. Fortunately, staff is right here. I shall inform them.

Me: Hey! Your feet are pointy and wet. You spilled my coffee, you brat. Oof, get off of me.

M.B.: Staff! Fix the problem! I shall return to the magic square and await your arrival. Oh no! Floor is lava, I must retrace my steps.

Me: Again? What are you doing?

M.B.: Once more I have the bean juice on my feet? Staff should fix this table.

Tammie: Did you just wipe your pointy feet on my shirt?

M.B.: I hear nothing. Now, I shall await staff.

Me (continuing to watch the television) …

M.B.: …  …  … Oh, for Bast’s sake. Staff! STAFF! Dammit.

Tammie: What now?

M.B.: Lalalalala… It’s the tippy table and bean juice. This must be repaired immediately. I shall inform staff again.

Me: Aaah! Get off me, you pointy-toed monster.

M.B.: Staff. The magic square is dead. You must come NOW. Also, fix that table. And the floor is still lava. Now, I will return to the square and await you again. Oh, bean juice!

Tammie: Stop spilling my coffee, cat. Oof!

M.B.: I weep for my magic blue square. Your words do not comfort me.

Me (still watching the tube): …

M.B.: What did I ever do to deserve the likes of you, hmmm? Did I accidently murder the mother of moths? Fine. I shall once again attempt to roust staff.

Tammie: No! Stop it! You’re spilling the coffee again!

M.B.: If I leave some of my fur in your hot bean juice, will that silence you? Here!

Tammie: Noo!!

Me: CAT! Go pester elsewhere.

M.B.: My feet are dry once again, staff, thank you. However, the magic blue thing is still cold. I will meet you at the square. Make haste! You’d better follow me, the floor is still lava. Watch this table. It will splash bean juice on your feet. Also, put some fur in the hot bean juice in the cup it holds. I think it believes it deserves an offering.

Tammie: I JUST got that last cat hair out of my coffee, and here you go again. What is your… oh, wait…I washed the cover for the heating pad. I’ll be right back.

M.B.: The floor is… never mind.

Moments later, Tammie returned with the clean blue cover and the heating pad was once again ready for use.

Tammie: There. Are you happy now?

M.B.: What is this? You also have THE SKILL? You may be staff.

Me: See? She likes you.

A few months later…

Miss Bit: It is time for a nap. The magic blue square must be activated! Staff. Staff! STAFF! Oh, fine. But don’t think that because you have changed where you recline that I cannot reach you, despite the floor continuing to be lava. I shall take the long trail, across the wide seat, this small, but well-placed bird-watching table, then past the strange window you stare at…ooh, is that warm? Hmmm, I shall stand here a moment and ponder.

Me: Bit! Get down! You’re blocking the TV.

M.B.: This is nice, but it is not the magic blue square. I shall continue my quest for staff. This wide window sill is fine for some cats to sit on, but for now, I shall only traverse its length in order to reach the new place where staff hides. Now, we’ve reached the tricky part.

Me: Oh, look out! You’re gonna dump that box right off that chair. Get off of it, it wasn’t meant for climbing, you nitwit.

M.B. Staff calls encouragement to me. That is a good sign. Perhaps this time staff will hasten to do my bidding, unlike last time. The plateau of mess must be crossed with caution or falling debris can cause me to touch the lava floor.

Me: Kitty! Nooo! You’re knocking the mail off my table! Don’t step there, watch out for the remote! Not my coffee! Do NOT step in my coffee!

M.B.: Staff. The magic blue square gives off no heat… Follow me! Careful, the plateau of mess is tricky. From here, you must climb the chair that moved from the dining room and then walk across the sill.

Me: Dammit, kitty!

M.B.: Don’t let the giant warm window distract you, you still have a ways to go. Ah, here we are…Where are you? Why are you still way over there? Do you not understand the urgency? I am middle aged, but I can still make the long journey. I don’t know what your problem is. I will show you.

Me: Oh, not this again. What do you want? Here, have a butt scritch.

M.B.: Staff! Well, all right, this is not bad, and I suppose I can return the favor.

Me: Ow! Ow! Ow! Do NOT dig your claws into me.

M.B.: It is time to go. You must journey to the magic blue square!

Me: Stop walking across the mail! Get away from my coffee!

M.B.: Bean juice! Staff still does not follow. The magic blue square is dead to me.

It only took three trips across the wilds for me to remember to turn on the heating pad. I’m gonna need new slippers, though. That floor was hot.

Lighten Up!

I'm kind of hard on keyboards.

I mean, I don't use them to beat up intruders, zombies, or politicians, nor do I pound senselessly on them in anger. I just use them. A lot. And sometimes I get up before everybody in order to write in peace. Which brings me to the problem of sitting down in the semi-dark of early morning, looking at the computer screen while attempting to write.

Despite years of keyboarding, my hands cannot find the damn home keys without me peering myopically at the damn keyboard. Actually, it's easy when there's light, but in the dark? Nope. Interesting things appear on the screen when I can't see the 'board. Then there's a lot of fumbling and farting around until I finally get settled. Then, of course, I suddenly feel the need for a sip of coffee and there goes the neighborhood again.

I was using a small laptop USB light with some success. Unfortunately it's on a gooseneck which isn't quite strong enough to hold it in position, so it begins to droop and I get to adjust it frequently. Not impossible, just annoying.

Then the keyboard that came with  my computer finally gave up. After years of writing stories, a couple of the keys, important keys, began to fail. It was annoying to not be able to type using the shift key, the space bar, and the letter H.

Enter the ergonomic keyboard that was given to us. You know the kind: it curves and has a bump at the space bar.

Yeah, that was fun.

I tried it, I really did, but it didn't help. It took so much effort to press the keys, that my hands ached more after using the keyboard that was supposed to alleviate such discomfort. Plus, I had to relearn the keyboard. It was still the standard QWERTY style, but the shape was just different enough that I couldn't just watch the words appear on the screen, because those weren't words. I'd have to watch my hands and hope things were going the way I wanted.

Nope.

Then I started reading reviews of mechanical keyboards. 80 million keystroke lifetime (damn, that's a lot, even for me) and they are easier to press. And then there's the amazing clicking sound... I just had to find one to try it.

But they aren't all the same. Some have Cherry switches, others have green ones, and they are different. Of course they are. Why make it simple, when complicating things with options that make people like me whimper is way more fun. Ordering an expensive keyboard and discovering it wasn't for me, isn't high on my list of fun things to do, so I just waited until I could try one out myself.

Luckily, my "local" office supply store had some. I fell in love. The ease of keyboarding, coupled with the delicious click of the keys created a wholly satisfying typing experience that I've not had since my old IBM keyboard back before computer mice were a thing. I loathed the tiny "enter" and backspace keys on it, but the sound and feel were delicious. I missed that.

So, there I was, shopping for keyboards. The guy helping me said his store does price-matching, so I got the same deal I would have if I'd made the purchase online, plus I didn't have to pay tax on it. I figure I saved somewhere in the neighborhood of $50, and I'm ok with that. Ok, I was kind of not stoked about the cost in general, but I had to try. If I was going to keep writing, I was going to have to do something. The less my hands ache from typing, the more I can do and since writing is one thing that makes me truly happy, it's worth it.

Plus, this beast feels super sturdy. Nice and heavy, so it's not going to go skittering all over the keyboard drawer, or creeping away from me until I find myself hunched over like Quasimodo for hours on end.

I was worried that my old computer wouldn't understand what this fancy-schmancy keyboard was trying to say, but after a few restarts and words of fury, I was able to get everything hooked up and working.

At the beginning of this post, I was whinging about the difficulty of typing in the dark. My new keyboard lights up. It LIGHTS UP! In RAINBOW colors.

Actually, I can make it do all kinds of things, like ripple (oh, that was cool until I realized it was making me dizzy), activate (which kept the keyboard dark until I was pressing a key, not exactly helpful for writing in the dark) and about five other lovely tricks that threatened to give me seizures. I've settled on the one that just changes the color, slipping gracefully through the 16 million colors of the rainbow in a gentle flow of joy.

I can find the home keys. Even in the dark!

No more droopy light, no more desk lamp that wakes the dog, who then insists I stop everything and do his bidding, despite being an hour earlier than he ever gets up, and no more groping for the right keys, hitting keystroke combinations that erase vast quantities of work.

And the sound... Not too loud, just nice clicking. FYI, my keyboard has green switches. I'm still not sure what that means, but I like it.