Trying to help Jane in the garden in the early, early morning while it’s cool—I can’t spend all day parked in a chair, and I figure it will help my concentration to get a little stretch.
The Night Terror is such an odd duck…our half-Bengal. Cross him and he’ll slap you, and he’s a handful when he makes up his mind he wants to sit on your lap and you want to use the computer—he’ll hiss and slap and lash his tail—bad kitteh! Pet him wrong and he’ll nip and slap.
But at times he’ll surprise you with cooperation. He likes being outside if we’re there. He liked the cage for a while, but it’s boring and there are things he can’t get to. Like us. But…we got that figure 8 harness.
So this morning, on my way out, bleary-eyed with cuppa coffee, to help Jane, I found Shu at the door, doing his cheek-rub on the door frame, so positioned that he’ll be outa that door the instant it opens. So I get his harness, and the rascal purrs while I put it on, flops over to relax (cats’ chest areas are real hard to get to relax) so it’ll snap easily, and on with the harness with no fuss. Won’t walk out on his own…wants to be assured it’s safe. So I park the coffee cup and help him out. But once he spots Jane, he’s happy.
We got a bit done, and Shu just wandered around, trailing a long red (and soaked and dirty) leash that always advised us where he was. He’d generally prowl near us, but loved getting under the peonies, or investigating the smells of this and that. Absolutely happy to walk the paths near us. Time to go in, I carry him in, set him down, he stands while I unclip the one snap, and he’s happy as a clam at high tide.
Never had a cat take so happily to a leash. And this is the guy from the Reservation, in the woods. Weird cat, our Shu. But fun in his weird way.
THis is one where I know where it goes. Trying to keep up with exercise, stick to the diet, maintain pond and yard, and be brilliant when I hit the keyboard.
Not only am I behind deadline, the next deadline (due to a change in production schedule (absolutely nothing to do with me and nothing anybody can do anything about) and my desire to keep that April slot) means I have a turn-in date way short of the usual. So I am going to be one jump short of crazy for the rest of this year. Thank God for Jane.
Officially a bit past deadline, but working.
As in—at least I’ve been able to do some maintenance around the place. I think I’ve found the issue with the front fountain, and it’s simpler than I thought, maybe. I need to trench over to the faucet so we can lay some new connection, and bury it. Just have to get a way to connect pipe to a very short hose, which has to have a screw end. Ideally they’ll have a hose barb that’s got a screw end that I could use to make a thing that takes a regular hose screw-on now take a piece of plain hose that I can splice in. They do not make garden hoses in 6 inch lengths with connectors at both ends. But that’s what I need, so I’ll have to make it.
I’m past deadline on the current book but making good progress, and Jane’s backing me up and keeping me going. It’s also good that I’m not breaking concentration for a convention right now—but I do miss being there.
We have our own excellent place for brisk walking, right in front of our house, up five lots, and U turn, do 2-3 laps, and we figure that’s good for the back—not far, but just doggedly getting out and doing it, and being careful about chairs and such—and long sitting, so periodic turns about the garden. It’s a good thing we *didn’t* go, because conventions being what they are, you end up pushing yourself, because —good time!—or —I can do this!—and then you go back to your room and admit your back’s killing you. So she’s being sensible, measured activity, activity, then rest, and not climbing stairs and carrying things.
We’re ok. And we will definitely be at Miscon next year. We’re missing a Scotch-tasting party tomorrow. Sigh. But we’ll be in much better shape for Jane having sat this one out.
Thanks for all the good wishes.
This is Miscon, a convention we very much love and look forward to. But unhappily, Jane’s back went out. She’s limping about in pain, the con starts tomorrow, and we just gave up our hotel room (beautiful hotel, with a creek just outside the windows) —because the thought of a 4 hour drive tomorrow plus all the walking and standing just wasn’t going to cut it. And if I went, I’d spend all my time missing Jane. So heck, it’s just not our year to do this. I released our lovely hotel room, which we spoke for a year ago, so somebody late will get a really nice room.
Sigh. I think the drive actually do will not be the several hours to Missoula, but an hour down to Pullman to the chiropractor to get this fixed, tomorrow if she is still in this much pain. Right now she cannot even take a step easily.
Things just didn’t add up to have the party we planned—just too crazy right now. But we WILL have one. Just not on the day.
So I’ve gotten at least a dinner rez. And we’ll hope that wedding cake we saved is still edible.
I waked with something making a racket at the window screen. Wasn’t sure but what I ought to get Ol’ Betsy and check it out, but the tops of the bush outside my window were tossing wildly in the wind, and the joint-ache that had plagued me all evening was gone.
Yep, that was a front barreling through. With rain. Quite a lot of it. I am still sneezing my head off. The yellow pollen dust (it’s the first time I’ve seen dust rimming puddles on the ground, and coating lawn furniture like some alien plague fallen from space—that was yesterday morning. This morning things are rain-washed, and the day’s jobs—water the front yard plants with fertilizer and pull and clean the pond filters—are in doubt.
I really, really need to get the pond filters done, because when they back up, the emergency drain can lower the pond level and generally mess up the chemistry.
This is where a rain suit can come in handy—top and bottom. Rubber clogs, pants, coat hood of impermeable cloth: and pretty warm. That may be the order of the day, to get that filter cleaned out. Yesterday I tackled the waterfall filter and backflushed it into a hose that wasn’t clamped down enough…and it needed a flush badly: smelled of hydrogen sulfide, which is not a friendly situation. Wasn’t too bad a condition yet, just a hint of it, but I still got it right in the face and soaked my clothes. So I fixed the clamp (new drain hose) and then went for my second shower of the day.
Today—at least it’s not that filter. I just have to pull 8 filter pads that weigh a ton when full and hose them down over the ivy bed until they’re light again.
The hawthorne is in full bloom. Every branch is pink half-inch rosettes on all sides. Maxfield Parrish, I tell you.
I gripe, but if not for the garden I’d sit in my chair working all day, which is not good for a body.
And a fast check of the weather forecast shows rain as far as the forecast goes. A lot of it. So I think I’d better put on the rain suit and get that filter changed. The fertilizer-job I think will get skipped this week.