Crime

Thursday, August 17th, 2017 08:27 pm
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There was a Front Lawn Library laid out yesterday in front of the house with the swing (old-fashioned kind: board and two ropes hung from a tree-branch: hence, family with kids.) I passed on the cookbooks and passed a shade regretfully on the YA. I couldn't get into Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe when I had it from the library so I left it for someone of the appropriate age group. But I was having a cortisone shot today at the hospital, meaning much hanging about in waiting rooms, and thought I should bring something light in case the Ghosh-on-the-go proved too heavy, and there was a copy of Jamaica Inn and I've never read any du Maurier so....

And indeed I was in no mood for Ghosh as I sat in Diagnostic Imaging, so I rustled out the du Maurier and found- the first forty pages had a 2 by 3" hole in them, the sort one secretes knives in for prisoners except not nearly big or deep enough. Découpage, I thought in my innocent fashion. But the people at work- who all claimed to have watched too much CSI: Crime Scene Investigation- said no no no, must be smuggling something in to an imprisoned friend. Which I doubt because- smuggler books don't get put out on front lawns, just for a start. And anyway- 2 inches by 3 by1/2 an inch? Wouldn't even fit a cigarette pack.

Cell phone, said a younger assistant. Not supposed to have or have at school or whatever and smuggled in in a book. Which makes sense. But smuggler hasn't watched enough CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, because you're supposed to hollow out the *middle* of the book.

Meanwhile, if Environment Canada says 30% chance of showers, that usually means sun and some clouds. We've had Alert: Severe Thunderstorm Watches that resulted only in heat and big white clouds and wind. But in this most 2008ish of summers, 30% chance of showers means monsoon downpour. And so today proved- luckily, /after/ I got back from the hospital.
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"August continues to be August, I hope you are well."

Last finished?
Peter Dickinson, Skeleton-in-waiting
-- sort of sequel to King and Joker. Lacks the dislocating feeling of K&J, now that one has the alt-history and new Royals straight. Not as focussed in plot, which all happened in one place in the first book, and the denouement was a bit too Dickinson for my total satisfaction. I like Poirotesque 'unmask the villain and untangle the plot' in a grand finale of detective fireworks. This one has after the fact deduction, which is nowhere near as fun. Does however have the alt-Royals in the 80s still having to deal with the constant bogey of Mrs.T.

Hugh Greene ed, The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes
-- cads, cracksmen, and confidence men. Baroness Orczy's stories are the standout, with actual detection in them.

I.N.J. Culbard, The King in Yellow
-- mangaization of Chambers' stories. Truly, why bother?

On the go?
Still with the mysterious Mr. Quin, pleasant bed- and mealtime reading.

Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight
-- later Pratchett, sometimes heavily sincere; but still, Pratchett and Tiffany.

Possibly I shall finish the Sandman prequel, though online sources say Do Not Start Here. But I doubt very much that I'm starting anything.

Next?
Erm. I have The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: the omnibus edition, which, it turns out, may not contain anything I haven't read.

I could go back to my perennials, or go on with the third volume of the Rivals of Sherlock Holmes. What I thought would be my next book- Sherry Thomas' A Study in Scarlet Women, was abandoned ten pages in. Dull dull dull.

Picky

Tuesday, August 15th, 2017 08:18 pm
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I have the feeling Agatha Christie never took a boat to Canada or a train to Alberta. When I was five I sailed from Quebec City to Le Havre and it took a week. These days it's three days travelling time from Quebec City to Banff not counting waits and inevitable train delays, and I fancy that ninety years ago the trains were a lot slower. Certainly in 1974 it took me three days just to get to Saskatoon.

So if in the 1920s you have three weeks to track down a witness in Banff before a man is hanged for murder, and you're leaving from London and travelling by boat and train, I *really* don't think you're going to make it.

Otherwheres

Sunday, August 13th, 2017 07:59 pm
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Evening with the Older Girls last night, watching Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince. Were those things subtitled when they came out? because I swear, they might as well have been speaking French for all I could make out. Words here and there, 90% lost in mumbles. Except, of course, the older stage-trained actors- Michael Gambon, Maggie Smith and but naturally Alan Rickman and his e-nun-ci-a-tion. Though I generally loathe Harry and all his works, I will admit that the movies- when I can see what's happening in them- have a kind of magical far-awayness to them.

Reading graphic novels to see what the genre is about, and have fallen into what I think is a Sandman prequel? Certainly it grabs, and Gaiman's dialogue is miles better than anyone else's I've read; but since it was written twenty years after the original series, why are these anthropomorphic personifications all white people?
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I slept till past noon, in spite of waking and turning off the AC at 8 or so. Never go back for 'just a little lie-down in the warmth.'

Why I went looking into the crowded and jumbled back of the bathroom cupboard I can't think, but there discovered that something sticky had oozed out of one of the unsatisfactory bath oil bottles. Except it had no scent, just foamed when I washed it off everything else in the cupboard. So I cleaned the cupboard with the two cloths also found back there and banished anything not of use/ requiring extreme washing into the study, and left it all to dry while I went to spend an evening with the Formerly Little Girls watching The Half-blood Prince. Tomorrow there will be much decanting of bottles into plastic bags for the garbage, and tossing of emptied bottles into the recycle. But tomorrow is another- and happily cooler- day.
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The great advantage to being pulled out of sweet slumber to come be someone who forgot they had a shift is that you don't read Facebook until the evening, and can believe for eight hours that the world is still a rational place. The drawback is that, though you have your travelling meds in your bag and eventually get to take them after you've had a cracker or so at snack, you don't have the stomach coaters that precede the breakfast you didn't get, so insides are unhappy with the meds you take full doses of throughout this achey day- because of course you don't get to do your mandatory stretch and strengthen exercises either. Or not till the afternoon, when there's finally space and quiet enough to lie down on the floor. But alas again- crawling infants find supine adults irresistible and come looming above your face with a Watcha doin'? drooly smile. Clearly you're here to provide a climbing structure or cruising bar, and your extremities will be used for precisely that.

This after an evening's babysit, or rather girlsit, to midnight; to be followed by same tomorrow night. If I'm MIA, that is why.

(no subject)

Thursday, August 10th, 2017 10:30 pm
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Hmmm. So can I still cross post to LJ?
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Went to put in my one-a-day lens this morning and it wouldn't stick. Slid all over and blurred my vision. Eventually took it out and then realized I was seeing in focus. This means I either a) somehow put it in this morning without noticing I was doing so or b) didn't take it out last night and slept in it without it drying up and coming off. Both of these are worrying as indicating old age forgetfulness, the more so as a) seems the likelier- because I distinctly remember being fuzzy-visioned while getting breakfast. I only just realized option c)- that the factory accidentally put two lenses in one packet.

What would happen if I stopped indulging in nostalgia/ saudade? I can't imagine me doing it because the past is so intrinsically woven into my present that frequently the past is all I see. Certainly in the worn-out everyday, the past is what gives flavour to the present: as today, dropping in at the Avenue Rd Second Cup, still filled with the flavour of reading Yomogi there in November 2000. Of course I must have been there since, but the most recent memory still belongs to 2003, back in what memory incorrectly insists was a golden age of fandom.
Wednesday meme )

Consolation

Tuesday, August 8th, 2017 09:54 pm
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The moon is orange.

We don't see the eclipse here, but a full orange moon isn't bad.

Holiday

Monday, August 7th, 2017 08:47 pm
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1. If I set out to do housekeeping, thinking 'I really must clean this room', it doesn't get done since I am not the boss of me. But if I'm loose-ending in the afternoon, waiting for an acupuncture appointment at the new place and worrying it will rain, well look, the vacuum's already here, just a once-over; and at the end I've moved the futon platform and taken out the drawers and sucked up 1.5 canisters' worth of dust elephants. I'm sure I haven't done that any time this year, but there was actually surprisingly little dust for a year's neglect. And for once my back didn't ache and hips didn't twinge doing it, so yay my intermittent yoga stretching.

2. My local is closed so I went to Starbucks up the street for a chai latte. They really shouldn't put calorie counts on things: A slice of lemon loaf is 90 calories less than an egg-cheese muffin, so guess which one I had? Starbucks was pleasantly empty for a holiday Monday: enough people to be cheerful but tables and chairs for the asking. Weekends leave me contact-deprived anyway and long weekends throw in a Monday, so it was nice to have people around me for a change. Especially since one of them was a guy in one of the armchairs, cradling a very few weeks' old scrap of humanity in a pink sleeper against his chest with one hand and drinking coffee with the other.

3. One of the old studio's acupuncturists works Mondays at a place just south of the grossly misnamed Chinatown Centre. Back in 2000- which I can now scarce recall- it was a busy enough place, when I went there to shell out $25Can for a single Saiyuuki tank at Kikiwai. But for the last ten years it's been going downhill. Now a good third of the store spaces are empty and the rest all sell identical tat- shoes, hats, garish fancy dresses for little girls. The bootleg DVD stores are gone, as are almost all the anime guzu ones: the one place with anime keychains (among other kinds) was still Dragonball and One Piece and Naruto. Sic transit and all. A bit sad, because this weekend is the 17th anniversary of my induction into Saiyuuki fandom (celebrated: it was actually a gradual process) and I heave a nostalgic sigh for those halcyon days.

4. The new-to-me acupuncture studio is in an old factory building, which gives you high ceilings and windows, even if they only look out on a cinder block wall. It too has comfy chairs but they aren't as comfy as my old studio's. But still, I must be grateful that it exists at all, so I will be. And as ever, being in some place totally new makes the world feel larger. If I could only travel again, I think half my megrims would vanish.
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Blissful to sleep last night with windows open and no fans at all. This is not likely to be repeated soon, because though the forecast mid-teen lows are respectable, they come after muggy August mid-20 highs that feel much warmer than they are.

Friday I got down to the library for a bunch of graphic novels and to the liquor store for mickeys of gin and rye and rum. Then came home moments before a thunderstorm and slashing rain descended. Today I read The Best American Comic 2008, chosen by Lynda Barry. Conclude I really don't like American comics and, actually, never have. Manga are prettier and bandes dessinées (or the ones I read in the 80s) not as nightmarish. Maybe I should look at the volume edited by Alison Bechdel, to see if she's picked people who draw like *her*.

Have gained five pounds in a week, much of which is water weight because I can see that it is. Some may be due to indulgence but I suspect the rest is because of no acupuncture for two weeks. Acupuncture does drain you that way. Thus I have booked an appointment tomorrow down Spadina and hope it doesn't rain as much as it's forecast to.

I lost my sunglasses, the ones I'd put my name on, so bought another two pairs. Broke one of them last week and now have misplaced the other. Must bring the same extreme concentrated mindfulness to bear on where I put my sunglasses down as I do on whether I take my meds in the morning. True, dollar store sunglasses cost a quarter of Loblaws sunglasses but even so, one doesn't want to run through them like water.

A happy reread of A Hat Full of Sky soothes me. Alas, I don't like Wintersmith as much: might just skip on to I Shall Wear Midnight instead.

Gomi

Thursday, August 3rd, 2017 08:59 pm
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There was rather more rumbling than I would have expected, at rather too late an hour, for people to be putting their recycle bins out this morning. When I went down to check, it was halloo hallay the city delivering the new (theoretically) raccoon-proof green bins- the ones I'd seen in other parts of the city and wondered when they'd show up here. Well, they have. And now I wonder why I didn't notice how jagnormous they are- three times the size of the current ones.

No doubt this will be a boon for any size of family. Two doors up regularly asks to deposit their watermelon remains in my compost bin during the summer, because watermelon for six runs to a lot of rinds. But for months I've added my one small bag to my bro's two small bags and still had space left over. Christmas is the only time their bin gets even close to full. (Dinner for ten+ will do that.) And now there's yet another plastic bin taking up space on the porch, leaving little room for the furniture. I may just stick it in the back yard- where, yanno, I have the compost bin that takes most of the kitchen waste from my semi-vegetarian lifestyle.
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My acupuncture studio had its third major leak in its four year tenure last week, and has decided to close for good. Apparently they were going to do it anyway when the lease was up early next year because Fearless Leader #2 has been offered an opportunity out in Scarborough, but the landlord's refusal to repair his building forced their hand. So that's it. It was bad enough when Fearless Leader #1 left two years ago, and I was sad when the studio moved in 2013, but I always hoped to have the community care. Ah well. There are community studios still, one down at Spadina and Dundas which is a much easier transit than to Dufferin and College (and feels closer because it's closer to work, even if technically Dufferin is nearer to me.) But still... Ash and Daryl cured my neck fubars and kept my knees from crippling me completely, and I shall miss them.

Also I suppose a leak in the roof is better than a fire next time.
Wednesday )

Stuck memories

Tuesday, August 1st, 2017 08:26 pm
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Instead of a list of books read- since summer reading is usually not all that and this July was no exception- I should make a list of Notable Happenings, or rather, Days That Stick in the Mind. Not that there were many of those either.

Two successive dinners at Thai Ginger, Monday 3 and Tuesday 4.
Rainy cool morning at College Starbucks reading Case Histories after getting my crown replaced, Thurs 13
All the toddlers playing in the monsoon rain a week later.
Catching the end of the Porch View dances in the park, crowds swaying together to rather nice music on Wed 19: and never seeing the whole show because of rain and thunder all the other days
A cool dry grey no-season day, down to the AGO for the O'Keeffe exhibit, up to Bakka for Black Mould, fannish happiness, Wed 26.

And a dream last night of Japan, going back to my dorm to pick up the stuff I left there so many years ago. This is a recurring topos: usually it's an apartment from the 70s where I leave my possessions, usually forgetting I had them in the first place. My dorm is now a long darkish wooden hall where people have curtained off spaces or just beds- everyone has their separate space but there are no walls dividing them, and many of the people are old or bedridden or a bit gaga. Go far enough down the hall and you find a store on the right, or rather a space that sells things for the residents. Down there, on the left, you also find shelves of books and piles of stuff abandoned by previous tenants, and I start going through them thinking they should be thrown out as well- the books' paper crumbling, the clothes bundled up. But these leftover books are from before WW1, they must be valuable, what to do- they take up space but you can't get rid of them.

That season

Monday, July 31st, 2017 09:16 pm
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1. Elmtree who lives down the street is a toddler at my centre. Today I'd gone round to mooch lunch there, and since I will work for food, was helping the tods get into dry clothes after their splashy hot morning in the sprinklers. Elmtree was bumpy with mosquito bites. In some concern I asked E's mother at pick-up time if they'd been out of town this weekend. In the woods, yes, several hours north of the city; and E had refused to come inside from sun-up to sundown, seemingly unresponsive to the critters drinking their blood. Nice for some people. I've been itchy lately, and discovered the cause to be mosquito bites under the bra line and at the panty line, where even Afterbite is powerless to prevent the scratch urge.

2. No, I will not ditch my landline though my landline has just ditched me. Tech will be out Wednesday morning to try to reconnect me. Meanwhile I must carry my cell with me everywhere, and thus intercept those mystery calls from Columbus Ohio which always hang up after one ring. Think it's a numeric dyslexic turning a local call- 614 area code- into an international one: Toronto's 416. Just as many people, including me on occasion, think my 543 street address is 534. But truly, no, carrying a cell phone everywhere and *especially* from room to room is a complete nuisance.
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So, as I wandered directionless away from the Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit, I came upon the Canadiana galleries. Once past the puce-wall-papered Victoriana room, where oils crowd in three and four tiers to recall the Academy's favoured display method, we revert to the more breathable 'spacious white walls with one or two paintings only' mode. An Emily Carr, a Group of Seven, and on the right-hand wall Norval Morrisseau's eye-drawing Man Changing into Thunderbird.

And I followed Morrisseau's six panels along towards the entry to the next room- turned my head a fraction to the right and jumped: my god there's a wolf in the middle of the room!! Not, of course: it's the outline of a wolf in metal, but definitely not what one expects. I went round the corner to look at it closer and MY GOD there's ANOTHER wolf!! staring at the first wolf from fifteen feet away. Those two distinct starts of surprise don't happen on a second visit, but they were definitely a highlight of the first.

It's John McEwen's The Distinctive Line Between One Subject and Another. I noted the name this afternoon at the AGO, assuming I wasn't allowed to take photographs, then googled on my phone. It turns out there aren't many photos of it online. Maybe it has an alternative title somewhere? But luckily one of my fave bloggers, Walking Woman, whom I fell out of touch with a while ago, devotes a whole entry to that room, including the Rita Letendre painting I wouldn't mind owning. (Letendre is also having a retrospective at the AGO, also with paintings not available online, most of which to me look like highways to somewhere or shores of some lake.) Iceland Penny seems to be a docent or something at the AGO; maybe I shall run into her there.

ETA: no, actually. She lives in Vancouver now, is prob why I stopped reading her blog.
Yes, I went back )
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My local will be closed for a week starting Monday, so I suppose I should get a last latte there tomorrow. But I'd sort of wanted to get back to the AGO and perhaps use my membership to dine in their overpriced but fancy restaurant. OTOH it's a Sunday and the last day of the O'Keeffe exhibition, and even on a Tuesday in January the restaurant smugly announced itself full in spite of empty tables. Also there's a limit these days to expendable money and calories. So another time, I suppose.

Managed some chores my passive-aggressive foot-dragging self was passively refusing to do, like pumping tires, retrieving green bin (draining after Thursday's rain), adding another round of Critter Ridder to next door's deck, washing dishes after a mere two days!, and cleaning dead veg from the fridge and freezer to dump in the compost. This involved eating or at least prepping a lot of the surviving veg, so yay for health. Didn't manage vacuuming the upstairs on the grounds that it stirs up dust and triggers allergies. Well, maybe.

Got a book from Doug Miller's looney bin, Amitav Ghosh's The Shadow Lines. Reason it was only a dollar is the extensive mark-up of the text, random words circled and illegible notations made in the margin. I actually like this sort of thing. It gives some direction to following a text which naive reader me would take at face value, assigning equal weight to everything. (This is what happens when you read genre: what you see is so overwhelmingly often what you get that one forgets the tricks of lit-fic.) The present notations aren't actually any help in following Ghosh's narrative that constantly twists about in time and space, so that I have to keep going back to check who's talking to whom when, and trying to figure just when are we now? Possibly the point is that these recollections inside recollections are supposed to go back and forth this way, and that it's always a kind of narrative meta-now.

My confusion was not helped by the fact that I thought someone was his father and spent half an hour trying to figure how he could only be twenty-eight when his daughter's husband was featured digging a bomb shelter. And I had to make a family tree to understand just how the Indian family is related to each other, because 1) they seem to follow a quasi-Chinese system whereby people of the same generation are treated more or less as siblings and 2) names change at whim and without explanation, so the same person will be called X's husband or by his position's title or by a nickname or by his relation to the narrator at different points in the narration.

Meteorological

Friday, July 28th, 2017 10:43 pm
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Started tracking the rain this month apropos of my recollection of it either raining or looking like rain or forecast to rain, and the Local Playwright thinking it rained all spring but stopped in July. Rained every Sunday this month- not much, but all day heavy lowering clouds and mug; it monsooned three Thursdays out of four, and the one that didn't was followed by a Friday that did.

Today by contrast was perfect: dry, sunny, cool; and feels like the first such day in weeks.

Not always good stuff

Thursday, July 27th, 2017 10:30 am
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Why does it always rain on garbage day Thursdays? Specifically, why does it rain the Thursdays for garden waste, with rows of menhir-sized paper bags dissolving in the downpour?

Said prematurely to the s-i-l that I hadn't seen any raccoons in the cherry tree this year. Turns out they're on my s-i-l's 2nd floor balcony, as I discovered about midnight last night with bumps and squeaks and two doors up shining flashlights to locate them. Family of five or six who were first holed up on two doors' up front porch, where Mrs.Prof nearly stepped on them. Next door having decided to go to the cottage, they put their garbage out early- the fools- and the first bump I heard was the raccoons going through their green bin. Is why I was scooping up coffee grounds in the rain at midnight. Also why I was splashing ammonia on next door's balcony and spraying Critter Ridder on the trellising leading down. While I dislike getting up early to unhook the necessary bungie cords and put the green bins out, it is, on balance, better than rebagging rotting garbage in the dark or inviting raccoons to feast in the first place.

Government in its wisdom has reduced my income supplement by 180 a month, which is sad. Of course last year it increased it by 280 so I'm still better off than in 2016. Still can't understand their math because the announcement said my annual income is a third of what my tax return said and half what the rebate guys said. Ah well. Gov gives and gov takes away... Wish the gov would get around to giving us the bandit-proof grren bins other neighbourhoods already have.
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Not a day off- had to go in for an hour this morning which but-of-course screwed up my sleeping. But after that I took myself down to the Art Gallery and caught the Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit after buying myself a membership which will pay for itself in four visits.

It was a tad too crowded for comfortable viewing: nothing like the terracotta warriors, but those guys were up on plinths and nobody much was trying to read the plaques on the other stuff. This crowd was elderly with canes and wheelchairs, or middle-aged with avoirdupois, so I didn't get to see as much information as I might. Not that it matters. I like houses in my art and when O'Keeffe did those they were very nearly abstract, like that famous patio door which in the paintings hangs above the ground like a black window to nowhere.

So I'm left with flowers that look sexual to me if not to her, and landscapes that relate to nothing I know. Except that her hills look like meat, or liver, or like that dead thing in Dali's Persistence of Memory. Intriguing but disquieting.
Still Wednesday )
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Have been hoping for the last five years that Kate Griffin would do something that came up to the mark of the Midnight Mayor series, but she hasn't, either before (Horace Lyle) or since (Stray Souls). Kitty Peck is also something very different and, either because it's July or just because, I found it too Hannibal-ish Grand Guignol for my taste. Someone on someone else's FL said her sticking point was violence against women and rape, and I think I agree. Is why I can't read that staple of the mystery genre, the serial killer of young women. Yes it happens; no it is not entertaining.

(Jack the Ripper has much to answer for. Before that, I seem to recall that mysterious mass murders were of families. But that lacks the necessary sexual thrill.)

Which said, I might have gone on to volume two if the library had it in anything but e-form on its clunky incomprehensible e-form platform. Even with a tablet or (unlikely) an e-reader I can't see me going for it. Pity because it does have its points.

Otherwise, my acupuncture studio has had another flood that will close it down, hopefully *not* for a month as in 2015, because at the end of that month I was a cripple with ramifications that went on for the next two years. With exquisite timing, I rescheduled Thursday's cortisone shot/ knee assessment for two weeks from now, thinking I wouldn't be sufficiently recovered from the current internal shenanigans to make it. Ah well, keep exercising and stretching...

July seeps away

Sunday, July 23rd, 2017 09:52 pm
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Layabout weekend. Succeeded only in changing the shower curtain liner and vacuuming the downstairs, but that will do for a start.

I love avocadoes so am eternally grateful to whoever told me the apple trick. Take quantum sufficit of rock hard avocadoes. Put them in a paper bag with an apple- variety unimportant, I am given to understand, but I feel red is better than green. They will not be soft the next day, as I was promised, but they'll be perfect the day after, and then you can put them in the fridge to prevent rotten ripeness.
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Dropping in to BMV the other day (*which* other day is now lost in the mists of July) a cauldron of unholy lusts sang about my ears...* Well actually no, the siren song was muted this time: I think I've finally come to the realization that time is, after all, finite and an endless future of somedays does not in fact extend before me.

Nonetheless they had reissues of some of Zora Neale Hurston's works, so I bought the one about voudoun which I was sorry not to have finished last year. Tempted and fell, also bought Rudyard Kipling's Tales of Horror and Fantasy, another doorstopper. Kipling is an impeccable short story writer and I maybe don't appreciate his stories as much as I should just because they are so impeccable. Not counting the Puck and Mowgli stories of course, which are much more on my level. But English soldiers going spla in India doesn't rivet me the way it did someone who'd watch them go spla. Good riddance, I tend to think.

* a singing *cauldron*, Gus? Cauldrons don't sing. Choruses, yes; tea kettles, yes; but I suppose 'a tea kettle of unholy loves sang about my ears' sounds silly. Supposing Carthaginians had tea kettles to begin with.

Otherwise have decided Daisy Dalrymple is not for me- much too pip pip and toodle-oo, which style works only when Wodehouse does it and tires quickly even when Wodehouse does it. Happily returned two vols to the library, a load off the conscience.

My suspicion that AC defeats malaise seems to have been correct. Slept like a baby and awoke feeling fresh. Did not /stay/ fresh because the day is as muggy-humid as one might expect, interrupted only by glaring sun. Is now set to rain all tomorrow and my shoulder aches again. This summer doesn't deluge the way other rainy summers have, but five days out of every seven are forecast to rain or look as if they'll rain or do rain, and in the end it's simply *wet*. (Like, I don't remember April and May being especially wet, but the Islands flooded all the same.)

Malaisey

Friday, July 21st, 2017 09:02 pm
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I never used to have malaise, I grumble, but then I remember I had muscle-knot migraines instead. Not sure which is preferable. Malaise has no boundaries or definition so you never know when it will end; migraines have a definite progression and symptoms but are much more debilitating. The malaise might go away if I turn on the AC (we are such wimps here: it's only 25C) or it might be caused by cool air blowing over me at night (from window fans, meaning muggy dirty air.) It might be allergies; it might be a subluxed vertebra; it might be the humidity; it might be all of the above.

But whatever, is the weekend and I can be as malaisey as I want until Wednesday.

Shall note that I have three months worth of one-a-day lenses, which are unconscionable in terms of packaging but oh! so kind to dry summer eyes.

Ah, lassitude

Wednesday, July 19th, 2017 10:59 pm
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Verging on hot (ie 30C/ 86F) so I succeeded only in picking up my disposable lenses, and finding a case for my foreign cell phone. Made in China universal size (meaning I can't recharge with it in) and probably a rip-off: when people say the price is 20 bucks flat with no mention of sales tax, well...

What I wanted was a stylus because my last one came unscrewed, leaving only the rubber end stuck in the phone. Got two more from the box at Factory Direct, clerk took them and went rooting through box again, then said 'I'm sorry, all these are broken.' Somehow all the rubber tips had vanished from the ends. If I'd been thinking I'd have realized that was exactly what I wanted, but thinking is an activity unknown in July. So, well...
Wednesday )

Household hint

Monday, July 17th, 2017 09:47 pm
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Never cared for facecloths. They get sopping wet, they rarely dry out properly, they go moldy in every season but winter and sometimes then, and they don't exfoliate. Scratchy Japanese bathcloths are far preferable, if you get the 'haado' version, but even the soft ones do the reverse of facecloths. (Periodically I remind myself to throw them in the laundry to get rid of Toronto's hard water deposits but that's the extent of the care.) Nonetheless the best purchase I've made recently was a bunch of violently coloured facecloths from the dollar store- because I treat them essentially as one use.

Come home sweaty from work. Don't want to undress and shower and dress again, so I remove damp tshirt, wipe down exposed skin with cool facecloth, and acquire dry top. Facecloth goes over railing in upper hallway. Later I undress, have shower, rinse out bra (a necessity in summer), towel dry and into sleep shirt: and then fetch still damp facecloth and wipe down tub walls and sink, which accumulate shocking amounts of dust and grunge on a daily basis. Put to dry over rail again, throw in laundry basket next day, wash with whatever else requires the dryer. So there you are: half washcloth and half duster, and the better part of both.

Mouse problems

Sunday, July 16th, 2017 09:11 pm
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Computer, not domestic. Mouse gets hyper in summer and double-clicks everything, so I can't check boxes or back-click to my last page or insert the cursor inside a word without highlighting everything. Have taken to clicking with my middle finger which evidently doesn't twitch the way my index does.

100 Demons is indeed ideal summer reading, as several people noted on the last post, but Judge Dee is even better, being written in my own language. Block's burglar books go down easily- finished two this weekend- but lack the same heft and oomph. In spite of protag's lesbian best friend and her string of girlfriends, more than the protag has. I'd thought from the first book it'd be the other way round.

Everybody has a hungry house dep't:
Friday evening I went to put my Birks on but couldn't find them. Not in the hallway, not by carpet where I drop them when I go to sit on the couch, not in the mudroom ('did I go out to the back yard?'). Couldn't think where I might have put them when I came home. Rousted out old pair, the ill-balanced ones that twinge my tendons, started out and found Birks by the front door. Where I left them when I'd decided to wear my walking shoes against the forecast downpour.

Then that night my knee was twitching so decided to wear a brace to bed. I have two of them and wore both during the day but could find them nowhere at night. Not on the couch (best bet) nor in the sideroom (second best) nor the bedroom nor the kitchen table. Rousted out an old narrow knee brace and used that instead, wondering why my house had become a devouring monster. Saturday, quite by chance, found them atop the printer by my computer table. Now if only my phone stylus and phone case would reappear from the Dungeon Dimensions they dropped into so many months ago...
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...though it's barely half past July. It's not just the cherries: I observe certain trees going yellowy and Florence's copper maple down the street dropping its leaves in clumps as it usually does when sulking. (Florence planted it some 40 years ago; she just moved into assisted living last month, but was assiduously gardening up to the end.)

Not surprising if the trees are confused. Had the AC on for the last two nights because yesterday's high of 27 happened at 10 pm and its low of 16 at nine this morning: since which the temps have barely budged and we've revelled in (if you're me) or suffered through (if you're everyone else) a grey October day. Back to 28 on Saturday, with thunderstorms, again.

I was awake at 5:30 this morning, unnecessarily and unwillingly, and have been sleep-stunned and eye-achey all day. Partly due to the stress of losing a gold crown on my molar last night and having to get it replaced mid-day, but at least it got recemented where it belongs. Would happily go to bed early and forget clocks, but I have acupuncture tomorrow morning and must be up at an uncivilized 10 am. Never mind being invisible or able to breathe underwater, the superpower I want is to be able to fall asleep whenever I want and wake precisely when I tell myself I will.

A Lack of Definition

Wednesday, July 12th, 2017 09:54 pm
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Weather this warm induces a pleasant mental fog that reminds me of that 100 Demons summer story where Ritsu, drowsing in the heat, sees a visitor coming to the house looking for his grandfather, and recalls that she came ten years ago on a similar hot day. At that time Ritsu's grandfather put her off for a decade, and the story goes on in ways I forget. But at the end Ritsu realizes that even ten years ago his grandfather was already dead and couldn't have been nogotiating contracts with youkai or ghosts or whatever the woman is. Or couldn't except he's Ritsu's grandfather and does. But as in that story, if you start reading a book in this heat its reality slops out of the covers and takes over your own for a bit. Not a bad thing, depending on what your reality is like currently and what the reality that replaces it is.
Wednesday meme )

Not Just Me

Monday, July 10th, 2017 09:10 pm
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It was a grey blowy day, sprinkling from time to time. Not hot at all, but damp and muggy, yes. A staff who's at least a dozen years my junior, and considerably slimmer than I, was all "Oh. My. God. My legs are killing me- and my shoulders- and my knees- and my arms..." I was much the same but fortified by anti-inflammatories and codeine.

My cherry tree's leaves are turning yellow and dropping, now when it should be the fruit that does it. One year it shed all its leaves in September, but July is just a mite early. However the tree two doors down, which has its own micro-climate- blooming and fruiting on a different schedule from mine- is also yellowing autumnally. Some blight, or the very wet summer we're having, though I'd think a dry summer more likely to produce dead leaves.

Achiness requiring gin, I dined at By the Way, a restaurant I frequented regularly from the late 80s until... three or four years ago? It feels very early and mid-oughties to me now, belonging to a time when when I was another (Japanese reading and speaking) person. It's not like I haven't eaten on Bloor the last few years, but mind refuses to remember where. Pauper's, I suppose, and the vanished Pump, and the much lamented Butler's Pantry, and a couple of sushi places I still go to, all fairly undistinguished.
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Hey! I finished a book! In a single day!

Bernie Rhodenbarr, as the title says, is a burglar who finds himself in dire straits after a job goes wrong in an unexpected way. This was published in 1977 and ohh does it show. In 1977 New York the WTC still stands and an honest cop is one who stays bought. (All cops can be bought but not all stay bought: Know Your Bribable Cop, friends.) People are listed in the phone book if you want their addresses and getting information requires many long distance telephone calls. Answering machines, it is generally agreed, are an abomination: self-respecting people have services. And there are many old and dilapidated office buildings which, I am fairly sure, have now been turned into towering steel and glass monstrosities. Watergate is a recent memory and Reagan hasn't happened, hence there's still a middle-class, a dearth of billionaires, and actors who can afford to live in the Village.

One wouldn't want it back, I suppose (the sexual attitudes alone are hair-raising) but there's something terribly innocent about this pre-80s world, where Trump was only worth 2 million dollars (his words and 1977 values, of course.)

Observations

Saturday, July 8th, 2017 09:05 pm
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1. Moths are as stupid as flies about getting themselves in and not being able to get themselves out, but they're easier to take. Flies buzz stupidly; moths just sit there in placid contemplation. Which said, coming into my side bedroom and finding three moths sitting on the wall is not a happy-making experience. If they'd just perch low enough, I could glass-and-paper them out the window, which trust me, you cannot do with flies. Then they'd probably come back in again. But why, when the room is in darkness and the lovely sun is shining through that slice of open window, do they not fly out to the light?

2. Am not sure what criteria were at work in assembling The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes because out of six stories so far, one stars a detective and five star various criminals, thieves, conmen, and grifters.

3. If I have PTSD it's from the blackout of 2003. Any morning outage that lasts longer than five minutes makes me anxious and unhappy, especially when Hydro's 'report outages here' link turns out to be broken. This is why one makes friends with one's neighbours: shared problems are lighter problems, and someone else on the block obviously got through to Hydro and rousted the trucks out. But this might be last straw that gets me to either buy a tablet for easier web browsing, or go halfsies with my bro on getting a generator for this place.

4. A quarter past July and I have yet to finish a book, though I've abandoned three. First for the month will probably be Gaiman, unwillingly, because this collection of stories is him in 'far too clever for his own good' mode.

5. There's a new 100 Demons out at the end of August and the new Peter Grant and Craft novels at the end of September. They all should have come out *this* month, says the traditionalist, but I'll take what I can get.
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Today's gratitude is being clean and dry at last. Sweat, not rain: just the usual July thing. But how lovely to shower the usual July thing off.

Up at 6 to get to 8:15 appointment at a clinic that doesn't open till 8:30. Last time I did this (a cold May day) I didn't fall asleep for three hours after coming home; it might have been the antihistamine I took earlier, might have been something trying to develop, might just have been summer. I'm yawning now at 10:30 with a Pepsi in me.

Given my low opinion of Pepys, I wonder why I so enjoy reading the online version of his diary. Not for Sam himself, I fancy, but for the annotations/ bickering of the regular commentators in the notes.

Contentment

Wednesday, July 5th, 2017 09:11 pm
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Partly due to half an ativan taken as corrective to a late afternoon Pepsi and the need to be up at Silly a.m. to get a cortisone shot tomorrow. But partly due to superb summer weather: warm in the day with fresh breezes, and dry and cool at night.

The summer poses problems for the philodendron in the east-facing study. Curtains, shutters, shoji, and sheers must all be moved about to exclude the brite painful morning sun and the brite painful mid-day heat. So Phil gets no light at all, and pines. This year I've moved him to the front porch, on the table shielded by the spindly evergreen bushes and the low-hanging linden branches. He seems to flourish well enough there, but if he looks wan again I'll move him back inside to the study and stick another philodendron outside.

The new tile in the hallway may stick up a little in the places it was jig-saw puzzled into the little spaces between the banister's uprights, but I've been able to remove the winter's runners from the hall and can now walk on cool smoothness down to the bathroom. Well, lately I haven't been able to walk at all with my puffy knees, but that's what the cortisone is for.
Wednesdays come closer together lately )

Reflections

Monday, July 3rd, 2017 08:54 pm
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I have missed the world's largest rubber duckie, which has now been deflated and, I suppose, packed away for its next appearance. I think it ought to be navigable and sailed to the next port of call, or whatever it is. Though I suppose there's no water link between us and Georgian Bay.

I have also missed the Georgia O'Keefe show at the AGO, at least for today. Occurred to me that maybe other people took Monday off instead of Saturday, and possible some Americans might faire le pont between the weekend and the Tuesday holiday, and a regular weekday would be the best bet for avoiding crowds.

Instead I accomplished, by hacking great swathes off the linden with the pole-mounted branch cutter; succeeded in visiting my aunt, which weather and aches had prevented on the weekend; and ate out at an upscale Thai restaurant. Thus an excellent day off.

But this adulting thing... I've gotten good about washing dishes, because I only do them every two or three days, depending how much I eat in. I can always manage laundry, even when I dislike descending to the basement. I even succeed in vacuuming at least every other week, a vast improvement on the oughties' 'every six months or so.' Best of all, I do my exercises twice a day for a minimum fifteen minutes and occasionally for thirty.

But I can't get me to brush my teeth without a fight. Or I could, if brushing were all that was involved. But it's not, by a very long shot.
Cut for the tooth regime )
I hate it, I really really do. Must apply mindfulness to this, because neglected teeth are expensive teeth, which is hard to remember when all I want to do is take out my lenses and go to bed.

Yawning Sunday

Sunday, July 2nd, 2017 08:58 pm
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We are forecast to have an unprecedented three days in a row with no rain, starting tomorrow. This would be nice, because I'm getting tired of the dark clouds rolling in whenever I propose to go anywhere. They've been rolling in and out all evening, most dramatic and Maxfield Parrish, but the rain seems to have got itself over with earlier in the day. Touch wood, of course.

Donald Thomas is a prolific writer of Holmes pastiche. Alas, he really is deadly dull. Sherlock Holmes and the King's Evil should have been fun, even though I was unaware that the first story was riffing off of Wilde's Lord Arthur Savile's Crime. But no. Too many notes, Herr Thomas: or rather, too much information about making ink from oak gall and the like. Shall go read Gaiman instead.

(no subject)

Saturday, July 1st, 2017 10:50 pm
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The other day I woke up remembering scenes from Spirited Away and text from Claudine in Paris. This is so much more pleasant than waking up remembering that Donald Trump is president. I must try to program my falling asleep brain to do it more often.

(It's been fifty years since I first read the Claudine books. Ah, the summer of 1967. Expo. Pre-university. Everybody kept on playing Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club band. That's also when Markham Village first opened up, with Memory Lane where my comic-obsessed sister regularly hung out. All those buildings are closed and shuttered now, and chain-link fences cut off the entire street, both sides.)

Oddities

Friday, June 30th, 2017 08:19 pm
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There's a black horny bug-type insect that flies. I have no idea what it's called but it flies into my side bedroom on a regular basis and buzzes about the light. I stun it and drop it back out the window, and next night either it comes back again or one of its friends does.

I have lost my fuchsia bra. For a time I thought it was just masquerading as a pair of underpants, as the turquoise one was: or rather, tonight I washed the underpants instead of the bra; but I've been through the laundry basket and my chest of drawers and no. Not there. Granted, if one person living alone can lose two dozen single socks, I suppose she can lose a bra. But it's irksome nonetheless. Not as irksome as it might be: having shelled out for postage and price to get those things from China, I happened to compare them to the pink bra I bought at the dollar store several years back. Exactly the same.

One reason for wishing for a sig.oth is trying to apply Afterbite to those itchy mosquito bites in mid-back. Afterbite doesn't work as well as it did: I suspect the absence of 90% ammonia. Try ammonia instead and it works.

Three day weekend with rain forecast at least one of those days- tomorrow, the actual holiday. I have the three-vol compendium of The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes and another book of Holmes pastiche. We shall see if I succeed, ever, in my much-dreamed-of pastime of 'sit on sofa and read.'

Horticultural

Wednesday, June 28th, 2017 09:39 pm
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The jasmine or honeysuckle or whatever it is that grows round the concrete post at Audrey and Margot's place (they're the kids; their parents' names have of course slipped my discriminating memory) is blooming and scenting the air. Now I see there's the same sweet flowers growing up the post between the Rainbow Flag couple (straight, who shovel my walk in winter) and Signora Who Gardens. This is good. One cannot have too many sweet climbing plants to offset the sickly-smelling lindens and mock orange of June.

In an access of virtue tonight, I vacuumed both upstairs and down (garbage night, so the dust elephants go straight into a bag) bundled up the dead branches and twigs from the hedge, and swept the cherries to date from the back yard path. Bag of hedge clippings is now sitting atop rubber garbage bin of creepers and cherry pits and may not disintegrate in the rain that way.
Wednesday )
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And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
      Not shaking the grass

Ezra Pound
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Walking and biking around the 'hood, I see the orange mark of death on various trees I'm fond of, like the one in the Greek Gardener's side yard or the one at the corner of the Palmerston Gardens house I lived in in the mid-80s. (Two and a half years that somehow felt like four or more. Ah, youth!) This is because the trees are dead themselves, or dying, and likely to come down on wires and the unwary. Still makes me sad.

The rainy spring has caused mold smells to begin in the basement a good month ahead of time. Can no longer hang clothes there, and must leave door closed. This may also account for the chronic sore throat and general malaise, but my acupuncturist has it too, so it might be universal allergies.

Copped a translation of the Lais of Marie de France from the Wee Free across the street. Shall probably give it The Decameron in return. The translation of both books is uninspired, but I've had it with Boccaccio's dweeby lovers and am ready for something nobler.

(no subject)

Monday, June 26th, 2017 09:11 pm
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Unsettled weather: sudden cloudbursts and thunder, then sun and wind, then cloud again. The saving grace is that it's cool still. This would be unbearable in mug, and there's still a not-quite-headache hovering behind my right eye. Yesterday saw me back from acupuncture (the storm having happened while I was floating pleasantly in the comfy chair there) and suddenly falling asleep for several hours, which I never do unless drugged on anti-histamines or muscle relaxants and not often then.

Have been reading various people talking about Fates and Furies, and what so many of them say is that marriage is *difficult*. It takes *work*. It requires constant attention. And I wonder-- at a conservative estimate, 75% of the world is married in one way or another. Do they really have to work so hard to stay in that state? I wouldn't have thought 75% of the human race had that amount of energy.
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Nice day, nice weather, sun and wind, great cumulus clouds from a Baroque painting at evening. Tell you, Pride weekends are different than in my youth: though the crowds downtown probably sizzled in the sun, it was a low 70sF sun, not 95 in the shade.

Walked to coffeehouse and supermarket without excessive twinges. Ate an ice cream cone. Read a Gaiman-edited anthology.

Last night ate a Juicy Burger at an Annex institution, By the Way, still there after 40 years though the service is at least faster these days. Their Cosmopolitans are larger and cheaper than at my raucous regular, their burgers no more expensive and chips better, and their decor is infinitely preferable to Pauper's patterned carpet and booths and spots TV. By the Way redecorated recently and no longer have the dark wooden tables and chairs that hold some of my happier 90s and oughties memories- as seen here if you click enough- but the mural remains, with its portraits of bygone Toronto celebrities, seen to better advantage here. Afterwards I went and bought Holmes pastiche and Conan Doyle weird tales at BMV and it was all very time-travely to an early part of the decade that we are somehow in the last years of: and when did that happen?

Solved

Thursday, June 22nd, 2017 09:25 pm
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Just as LJ occasionally logs one out for no reason, so it arbitrarily ticks the "View all journals and communities in my own style" box under Display. Have unticked. Shall see what difference this makes on my phone; must say that my own style loads a lot faster than the RSS feeds that FB- arbitrarily again- converts selected LJs to. For no reason: they aren't feeds at all.

Good day

Wednesday, June 21st, 2017 09:58 pm
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Inevitably, perfect days this summer (which I know has technically only just begun, but that's not how it works in reality) are followed by forecast rain and thunder. Mind, this summer even rainy damp days are followed by forecast rain and thunder. It is a wet year. But I shall note that today was a perfect summer day, blue skies, white clouds, cool wind and warm- OK, hot- sun.

I serendipitied into two pairs of good pants at Suzy Shier, not a store I'd ever buy at because I don't fit women's sizes. But they have a small line of plus, and they had two black rayon 2XLs for very little, so now I'm set for everything but the hottest weather. Their 2XL is actually a mite too large, which is heartening, because I can't wear the general run of women's XL; and anything that lets breezes blow about one's limbs is to be encouraged.

Did a wash and hung it on the line and it dried in no time and only the pants had bird poo on them. Win! Tackled the hedge finally, which is now a lot lower than it was, though no healthier on my side. Vast forests of dead wood. Had I a good electric saw or trimmer I'd take the dead bits out and replant, but this will do for the nonce. And finally repotted the philodendron and added the cuttings that have been sprouting in water for more than a year. We shall see if they survive.

So a good sweaty healthy day, and now for a hot shower and hair wash.

(Oh, and LJ on my phone has everyone in my own style. I'm fond of my own style for me, but seeing everybody against a pink background is disconcerting.)
Reading )

Not much doing

Tuesday, June 20th, 2017 09:17 pm
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It may be Midsummer's Eve but it's pretty dark at 9:15. Can't believe that 25 years ago I was painting porch rails at this hour. Then again, cloud and rain do that to an evening. A good night to be in with mysteries and tea.

It seems the patchy blisters on my right hand- but only the right hand- that appear every summer and vanish every fall, are eczema. Always thought that was bumpy and red and now I know better. Have heavy-duty cream to deal with it, or will have when I pick it up from the pharmacy.

Up too early for complicated reasons having to do with turning phone off so I wouldn't be woken by expected incoming text. Mothers are not allowed to sleep like human beings so yes, glad I wasn't woken at 7:15 and got that extra half-hour's sleep before Sense of Duty woke me instead.

On and off cool grey rain showers amid blistering sun in this oddest of changeable Junes. At least is not a heat wave June: a day or two and then revert to the autumnal mode: which I don't remember when the heat returns.
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A number of people seem to have had broken nights last night. The current weather doesn't help on the sleeping front, but neither does the vague but persistent daycare malaise. When Daycare Hugh said 'It's been over a week and I still haven't got my appetite back' I didn't realize that means 'It's been over a week and I'm still vaguely queasy all the time'-- even though I didn't have the stomach version and he did.

Am informed that too much ginger causes rather than cures intestinal upsets, which may be a factor. OTOH I've returned to a weight unseen in fifteen months and have cut my anti-inflams to less than half the usual dose.

Current Gallagher has, as ever, married people who cannot keep it in their pants: small towns are indeed a hotbed of adultery and vice. But has also a dotty English family of the Cold Comfort Farm variety, which is a happy change. Also has a trope of the sea rising up and drowning us all etc etc, which in this high water summer, when beaches and Islands are closed because of flooding, is a bit too close for comfort.
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My cell phone took itself into reboot mode last night when it was supposed to be innocently charging. Controlling my techno-panic, I googled on the desktop and managed to get it out of reboot mode. Mind, google wasn't that much help. 'Press the power and volume buttons simultaneously.' Does anyone tell you where the volume button is on an android? Not a hope, only how to use it to take videos or turn the phone on and off. I had to assume it's the only other thing that moves, and so it proved. Have I ever used it for volume control? Never- because I didn't know that's what it was.

Hottish day with thunderstorms, spent not unhappily in the side bedroom with the fan and a Ruth Gallagher. More of same tomorrow.

Acupuncturist recommended adding turmeric to my ginger tea to combat inflammation. To me, turmeric always has a suffocatingly dusty taste. But the Chinese greengrocers have fresh turmeric and I bought some today on impulse and chopped a little into my afternoon tea. Suffocatingly dusty taste and disagrees with me; also stains fingers yellow. Besides, I'm out of acacia honey; the unpasteurised stuff I bought at the health food store is overwhelming, and the linden honey I bought at the super is 90% crystallized, so I am displeased on that front. But the linden does well enough until I can get down to St Lawrence Market for the real thing.
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Either I've got used to the noise my computer makes or it's stopped making it. Hard to tell with all the other ambient noise (its usual airplane taking off sound, the table fan, the lawn mowers in the neighbourhood.)

I rarely used my dryer because it wouldn't dry heavy things, but the stuff I did dry was OK. Workman replaced the vent hose in January. Just recently I've discovered that stuff I dry and leave in the dryer overnight or for a day or two comes out smelling odd. Stuff I take immediately from the dryer is OKish. On the off chance that it's actually the washer to blame, I'm running a hot water and bleach cycle through the thing. If there were fabric softener sheets that didn't give me headaches, I might start using those, but there aren't. The clothesline will be unusable for the next six weeks or so, so this is a bit of a problem. Sheets and towels I will entrust to the untender mercies of the laundromat, underwear and tank tops I can hang from the chandelier (truly: on those Asian hanging wheel things) or over the banister; but give us mug and neither of these last will work.

My sense of smell knows when I've worn a set of clothes before, even if they remain clean. One can't hang all one's trousers over the banister until needed again (for one thing, the wash is hanging there.) So I shall cover the- to me- obvious odour. Bought a cake of Dr. Bronner's lavender soap, which is currently scenting my t-shirt drawer. Shall saw it in quarters and distribute around the pants and sock drawers and hope that works. If I ever worry about having Alzheimer's, I can reassure myself that my sense of smell is getting better, not worse

Worrit

Wednesday, June 14th, 2017 08:01 pm
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Computer is making a new and by definition worrying noise. Knees that barely twinge at home twinge desperately at work. Three hours of same makes me tired and light-headed. Back hurts and I can't seem to unkink it for all my stretching.

On the upside, came in from playground and said to staff, 'Among the many things this daycare has swallowed is my black-' and got no further, because staff said, 'It's behind the water jug.' And there indeed was my black velcro brace. We 'r' psychic at work, or that staff and I are, because she always stops mid-sentence for some reason. As earlier: "Did you tell--" "Yes, I told J's mother he's out of formula." It's like being with family.
Wednesday again )

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