flemmings | Entries tagged with rl

It's going to snow some time in the near future, so as long as it's possible biking weather I figured I'd better get to the hardware store for environment-and-concrete friendly salt. (The other kind destroyed part of my steps and walkway last winter.) So though it was -10C this morning (14F) with gusty winds, off I went, lugged a 22lb bag into the store and to the counter: and discovered I wasn't wearing my backpack. No wonder I'd felt so light on the bike.

Lugged bag back out to street display, biked home, got backpack, came back, bought, strapped bloody great thing to carrier, and walked two blocks to the good coffee place for some good beans. By this time flurries were coming down rather heavily. Got coffee, headed gingerly out into the white, got halfway home and realized, simultaneously, that it was too slippery to bike safely and I had a bare 40 minutes to make it to acupuncture. On dry streets that's a doddle: can do it in half the time; on ice trail streets with a 22 lb load it's suicide. Biked down to subway, locked bike, and then took a cab, because 30 minutes isn't long enough to get anywhere by the Dufferin bus. And all for the lack of a backpack in good time.

Of course, two blocks south of Bloor, roads were bare and dry. A very localized snow storm, that.

1. Sunday was hair wash day but I wanted an epsom bath. Which had, but could smell- because I have A Nose- my hair just the slightest bit manky from the steam and wet. My mother's impromptu unshampoo was to dab the hair with cologne, on the grounds that alcohol removes grease. I do not have cologne (and anyway, that method requires a very subdued fragrance) but I do have rubbing alcohol. Alcohol on hair is probably really bad for it, but I will say, lord but does it give it (or mine) body. Better than any conditioner I've ever used, including the volumizing ones.

2. If I'd braved the mall before Christmas I might have found a 2X men's winter coat at Winners; if I hadn't put on ten pounds over the summer and fall I might have fit into the lovely X-large they had yesterday with the many pockets; but I didn't and I did and so must be grateful that I have at least a light puffy winter jacket that isn't held together with duct tape (as my current one is.) And yes it has two inner pockets, larger and more accessible than the present coat; but it has no sleeve or exterior breast pocket and that's exactly what I want. A sleeve pocket is a brilliant notion for everything one doesn't want to lose; a breast pocket is where you put your cellphone; and interior pockets require you to unzip your jacket in the freezing cold.

(I have to have men's 2X because all these coats are made in Asia, of course, with Asian notions of large, and because female hips do not fit men's coats at the best of times. This may prove less of a problem if the coat is in fact warm enough to wear without a fleecy underneath; but I do not expect that from a nylon anything. Also it's black, not grey, and thus renders me invisible, or even more invisible, at night.)

3. Grand and Toy the stationers no longer have brick and mortar stores: I can buy their $8.50 dayplanner online but they'll charge me $15 to send it. Thus I'm at a loss where to find large month-at-a-glance daybooks. Last year I got an overpriced and underused moleskine from Midoco, but this year they don't even have those. So I have a twee thing with forest themes and ickle pretty pictures, that gives month at a glance and individual days, four to a page just to be weird; and that will have to do.

Another calm grey dry day, but brighter than before: like the best of civil November. The seasonal fantods withdraw for a spell, as they bloody well ought to when the weather isn't reinforcing them in the slightest. But their persistence bodes ill for any kind of retirement I might have had in mind (and that my twinging knees and back may be rooting for.) Psychologically I can take only so much of being left to my own devices without small people and perennial crises to draw my attention outwards.

Those with live-in partners don't have the problem. The reverse, probably, but not a solipsistic vortex.

Otherwise have been rereading what I own of the Parasol Protectorate, which is comforting feel-good stuff that, for no good reason, seems to belong to the same ethos as the Invisible Library. (Except that the IL is much less genial. Alexia has no reason for paranoia and Irene has only too much.) But as I go through the last volume to hand (#3), memories of my first reading start interposing themselves-- glimpses of a late summer Sunday afternoon down Spadina in a Burger King, a phantom impression floating just above the text. Distracting: I wish these temporal revenants would go away.

In epoch-making news, I actually got down to a show at the Art Gallery today. As far as I can recall, I haven't been to the AGO since the late 90s, and even then I think I was only at the gift shop.
( Cut for architectural grumbles )
The exhibit itself was our High Realism god, Alex Colville. Whom I like well enough but always found... washed out, in a way. Which is explained by him living in Sackville NB, in the washy maritimes with their saturated atmosphere. No sharp-edged light as in the dry heartland of my own province.

But two things stand out from this exhibit. First, his devotion to his wife of over 70 years, whom he painted lovingly at all stages of her life. The last painting he did, at 90, three years before his death, is of her, grown transparent, standing before a grandfather clock without hands.

The other is a quote of his: "I've never had the slightest interest in going to an 'interesting' place, because places are equally interesting to me. Wherever I am is reality, things are happening here, and this is '‘as good as it gets,' as they say." Which is so much the reverse of my own feelings that it leaves me stunned. Yes of course it's reality here, but a familiar and constricting reality; surely there's a better reality somewhere else?

A grey dry day, cool not cold: best of November and March but different from both. After presents and breakfast, in that order, I went for a walk along the quiet grey streets, wondering again why Christmas is emptier even than Sundays in this town. (Because local restaurants and cafes are closed, I guess, up here at the residential level, and people are visiting elsewhere.) Much like new Year's in Japan, and very soothing. Walked off my December fantods, that *will* hit even when there's no reason for them, and came home to pop Loblaw's pre-stuffed turkey breast in the oven. Only it was a chicken breast, as I *knew* from perusing the case the first time, but clearly Tuesday I wasn't thinking. Wild rice stuffing is chicken, cranberry stuffing is turkey. Oh well; if I want turkey there'll be more of it at the store tomorrow.

Then wrapped presents and sorted receipts for tax purposes and filled out my application for the Guaranteed Income Supplement which I may or may not get- they calculate income differently from the tax people and I'm a hair high; and was pleased to be able to put my hand on my 2013 return right where it ought to be. So that's all right. Now for drinks and turkey and merriment next door.

Also it's now 4:50 and I can still see the buildings out back. What a difference from the day before yesterday's louring rain, when it was darker than this at 3:30. But still- three days past solstice and already it stays light to 5?

The Guardian has gone to the dark side. It's all large colour-coded boxes suitable for reading on cell phones, but *really irritating* on a desktop. Especially at 800x600.

Continuing in the grand tradition of Oh What A Week. Dentists and emergency shifts, acupuncture and emergency chiropracters, knees that go in and out of spasm in spite of the acupuncture and a lower back does the same in spite of the chiropracter. But it's been clear and dry for three days now, and I'm accordingly grateful.

Doctor recommends I look at the FODMAPS diet for IBS sufferers. Universal agreement is no garlic-- which is just fine by me-- and no onions, which is sad. No Greek yoghurt or sour cream or ice cream, sob; no beans or pulses, doh (but am allowed brussel sprouts and cabbage? sheesh, guys); no wheat ack! And then-- no avocadoes or beets or asparagus or mushrooms!!! no mangoes, lychees, pears, and raisins!!! no honey!!!

At least I can have pb and jam-- except my pb is made of soybeans, which is also a no.

And frankly, I think what's upset my stomach today was that salmon cheek I was given as a lagniappe at the Korean-Japanese sushi place yesterday. An interesting experience because I didn't know what it was when I first began exploring it with my chopsticks.

Also made the mistake of buying 'high traffic' carpet shampoo and using it on (half of) the living room rug. Should have known it'd be perfumed-- Febreeze levels of stink. Can't open a window because that's where the thermostat is, so went and bought a small Christmas tree and some pine boughs and hope the resin will mask the unspeakable chemical fug.

Oh, and iced coffee. Iced coffee is the other thing I need to get at Loblaws. Didn't. Must make do with Pepsi.

Going to bed before 10 results in waking at 4. Up for an hour, lie in for two more, up in the chill grey dawn intending to be at work by 9:30: and get the 7:55 call from someone stuck in the subway and not sure she'll be there by the time first kid arrives. Oh well- at least yesterday's snow didn't stick. Am still brainfried.

Never ever ever ever ever leave the kitchen with a pot simmering on the stove. I do not remember pots, any more than I remember that I'm out of toilet paper. (Actually, after a decade or two, I have myself trained to remember when I get low. This may be because I now buy only one brand that's available at only one neighbourhood store, the one I don't regularly shop at. So when I enter Loblaws I always think 'Do I need tp? do I need batteries? do I need crumpets?'- those being the usual reason I'm at Loblaws in the first place.)

However, the baking soda and detergent trick works perfectly, so I still have a pan.

1. Bleak midwinter still beats snow; there's also a Romantic melancholy in the grey and faded browns that emerge from the melting mounds.

2. Right Knee is sulky about Left Knee getting all the attention so has begun random stabbing freeze-ups. Have given Right Knee a knee brace of its very own and hope that will calm its tantrums. Have also begun stretching both calves, as prescribed by chiropractor, though I tend to agree with acupuncturist that the fault is more likely up in the hamstring than down in the calf. (So I stretch the hamstrings too.) But calves hurt like billy-oh when prodded, so stretching is not wasted; and what helps best are

mvrdrk's stretches from eight years back, so I do those. Do so wish cortisone still worked, even as I suspect the pain is largely tissue-related. It was tissue-related in 2006 too, but cortisone cleared it up.

3. Y'day being still non-bicycle weather, I didn't go home between acupuncture and my aunt but sat in a Yorkville coffee house surrounded by New York hedge fund manager wannabes talking importantly on cell phones, and mused on the death of a neighbourhood. Read Buddhist stories from Konjaku Monogatari just for the contrast. Cosmopolitan sophisticate atmosphere was interrupted periodically by the whoops of the Santa Speedo Run who circled our block several times. One hedge-funder told his moneyed blonde companion, "They used to run naked." No. No, they didn't. That was a '70s fad and you, sir, are showing your age.
( Read more... )

So Monday at work my left knee began to hurt, and by Monday evening it was so sore I couldn't bend it. It's very difficult to bicycle when you can't bend your knee but I made it to my acupuncturist's somehow on Tuesday, who relieved the worst of the swelling. Today was largely and happily spent in more RICE (rest, ice, compression and elevation) ie lying in bed swathed in duvets and blankets with my knee resting on a couple of pillows while I reread Moon over Soho for ohh the fourth time? and *finally* got a handle on how the two plots intersect. Also made notes on a back page of who is who. Also remarked the two plot points that are picked up in Whispers Underground which I'd never noticed before in spite of, yanno, reading Moon over Soho again before I first read Whispers Underground. As a reader I have a truly swiss cheese mind.

Tonight is supposed to be a hairwashing night but I think I might be able to get up and down in a tub finally, and I'm dying for a long hot soak.

Saying this will probably jinx it, but for the last however-long-it-is I've been in bed well before 11 and occasionally before 10. A dozen years ago 11 was when I *began* working, just for comparison purposes. The upshot of course is that I'm awake at what the world regards as a reasonable time and don't suffer unduly when I have 8:30 shifts, at least as long as I can bike. Upshot also is that I get to go to the Shaw coffee shop that opens at 7 and have a latte and croissant in the bright empty white-and-concrete of the place. The early morning sky is the nostalgic bumpy cobalt and grey of so many airports in so many European cities, way-too-early flights from Amsterdam or London or, even farther back, Bordeaux; and the world seems a larger and different place. (Early morning airports to and from Japan had different kinds of skies even if the season was still the same.)

I like this season, actually: the dry early winter before snow. A certain timelessness to the subsiding leaf piles, ground to powder in the gutters (sometimes; and sometimes frozen lumps in the middle of the street) and the tidily or not so tidily raked yards, and the uniform grey, a designer colour that doesn't yet depress. Add precipitation and it depresses in spades, of course; but dry it references Tokyo and (for no good reason) the archetypal Japan-reading December of 1985, one of the happier periods in my life.
( Read more... )

Came home to find a high-definition TV on the front porch. First thought was naturally 'How kind of Next Door, except they know I don't have cable.' Second thought was 'Next Door, being convinced of people's criminal nature (that being the area of law they both deal with), would never leave a present on the porch, especially without a tag.' Phoned, Next Door agreed it warn't them. Wrestled it into the light, looked at various tiny labels ('For Export to Canada' etc: luckily I can read small print if I don't have my lens in), found at last the Canada Post label way down on the side. For 563 basement, ie ten doors up. With some difficulty I succeeded in delivering it to 563 basement, which was mostly me being dumb and not realizing where the basement entrance was on that house. In my defence, it was dark and the light doesn't come on until you've actually gone down the steps.

However the family (of what I saw: Mom, ten year old son, and well-mannered teenaged ditto) evinced pleasure because they'd been promised delivery on the 11th. So all's well that ends well.

incandescens, the book arrived! Thank you so much. Mind, I can't read a word of the dedication except my name, but I now have Aaronovitch's signature on a book I own, which makes me feel all kinds of special.

Loblaws now has crumpets again. I don't know why these were totally unfindable for so many months, and I gorge on them in case they become unfindable again. Crumpets and butter and strawberry jam: yum. (And tea, if you don't have to be up early which I do. Which is also why I fight the urge to start the Aaronovitch.)

Weekend before last wandered into a dollar store and found, 9-nen-buri-ni, flannel sleep pants that fit. Is good because the survivor of the pair I bought in '05 is growing thin and worn. Might toss the ones I bought two years ago which aren't proper flannel and have never fit; but then I'd lose ten or fifteen pounds and they would. No matter: for now my nether limbs are toasty warm in bed again.

(Woke this morning to a house that was comfortable. And well it should be, because it was 12C outside. Rose to balmy Indian summer heights and then, as ever this perverse year, temps nose-dived in the wake of hurricane 55 mph/ 90 kph wind gusts. Hope no tree branches bring down power lines tonight.)

Ginkgo biloba doesn't seem to be working today. There was some serendipity find I meant to talk about, but I've forgotten what it was. That might also be due to incipient allergies from newly resurrected leaf mould, or possibly the beginnings of a new cold.

However: my old 90s mittens have moth holes in them, besides being just too big. My lost fleecy mittens came from a church bazaar and luckily the Anglican church up the street from work was having a church bazaar yesterday: or rather, 'craft show'. This last was not encouraging, because craft shows tend not to have homely crafts. Jewelry and notebooks and occasionally soap and candles, but knitting is too recherche in downtown TO. Fortunately this was indeed a bazaar and there was a table of knitted everythings by a woman who lives out of town. So I got a pair of wool mittens, much appreciated in yesterday's raw dank. Not ideal because in the church hall's dimness I failed to note that the backs are open work and the mitts themselves very loosely done; but for double-bagging purposes when the temps are near freezing, quite sufficient.

Note that the neighbourhood potter from my young days is still pottering forty years later, though now she does blue glazes instead of (what I think of as) her trademark brown. Is distinctly possible that she's younger than me because I wrongly remember buying her stuff in the very early 70s whereas she didn't start potting until '74.

Today good citizen me raked a bunch of leaf carpets out of the street gutters where they will not freeze in Tuesday's returned cold. My virtuous deed until it starts snowing and I commence shovelling people's sidewalks again.

Was scheduled for one morning shift this week; wound up doing four, two on snowy no-bicycle days. New boots are too narrow and hurt feet. Old boots do their mysterious thing of causing inner thighs to cramp, but so far haven't done the collapsing knee routine. Everyone has been tired and achy and suffering concrete neck. Walking to and from work may lose me weight but ohh it doesn't help the exhaustion.

Autumn temps return for a few days next week. Shall be so happy to have autumn back.

-10C, wind chill -17 (14F/ 1F) but bright and clear. Only: 'snow beginning near noon, accumulations 5cm (2").' Boots, no bicycle. Unless I want to push the thing back home tonight. And maybe I do: I'm fast heading towards walker-land.

Money is nice, people who gift me with morning shifts, but not having to be up at 7 is nicer. Especially when it involves the unheard-of proposition of sleep before ten.

1. Am given to understand that Royall Tyler translated Genji without using the usual sobriquets (like, yanno, 'Genji'.) Always wanted to see how that worked in English, or if it worked, but was reluctant to fork out for the full text. (There's one available on ebay for about $30 Canuck, plus $23C shipping. Truly, even a 1200 page paperback doesn't cost that much to send up here.) Discover there's an abridged version available at BMV and cop it for a fast $7 plus tax. Then discover that the abridged version uses the sobriquets.

(I know the word as 'soubriquet', and I assure you I haven't been reading 17th century French either. But the net is unanimous that the correct form is sobriquet.)
( Read more... )

The yellow or russet leaves under the streetlights are still beautiful, especially those individual trees that are still full. Will not last much longer but lovely while it does.

I think I may have developed a late-life case of winter SAD (have always had the summer one) or maybe it's just the 'so cold so soon' inducing the hibernation urge. Yesterday's grey and snow showers had me shivering and feeling tired by 9:30. Today's sunshine was more invigorating- hey, I can bike without gloves!- until the clouds rolled in again and the wind picked up and then 'so cold so cold so cold!!' Environment Canada informs me that on this date in 1997 we had several inches of snow, which I vaguely remember, but I don't recall any depression or low energy accompanying it: just that it made shopping for Japan more difficult when I couldn't bicycle.

Maybe I should invest in some grow-lights. Light boxes are just too bloody expensive to be considered.

Meanwhile someone at work is going to Japan for ten days. 'I'll be staying in Mitaka but meeting my friend in Shinjuku.' O jours si pleins d'appas, vous êtes disparus. All I can do is pass on my dated wisdom ('the orange train is always crowded, the yellow one will get you there slower but a bit more pleasantly'; 'if you use Shinjuku station's west exit, get yourself above ground as soon as possible, because space warps in that region'.) 'Yes,' H says, 'my friend told me Shinjuku eats foreigners.'

16C yesterday, jacket weather. 4 today. An early and cold winter and a one day Indian summer. (I seem to recall someone saying the phrase was invidious, for reasons I forget. I always thought it was what the First Nations themselves called the last warm weather, which I know makes no sense; but from my childhood semi-British standpoint, a non-British phenomenon naturally required a non-English phrase to describe it. And of course there's an England-English phrase for the thing- St Martin's summer. The Japanese call it 小春日和- koharu biyori: 'little spring day(s) peaceful' because November is such a warm month there.)

Doctor says to me, 'I started seeing you in '96, which makes it-' pause- 'Eighteen years,' I supply. 'So I suppose I should stop thinking of you as 40-something.' That might be an idea. 'But you haven't changed at all!' And don't I wish that were true.

Cold- head cold cold- is making signs of a comeback. Sore throat, full sinuses, tiredness. Doubtless the extreme weather changes are to blame.

Mental fuzz led me to leave the taps running down in the kitchen at work, thereby soaking the floor. Am not the first to have done this, but it's still mortifying. Must ramp up the mindfulness to CONSTANT. (There was also a little incident ten days back with a stove element left burning while I went out: low, very low, the way people simmer soups, but I was not simmering soup; so my wisdom now is to remove all pans from burners when I leave the kitchen.)

OTOH have just discovered sleep socks stuffed in the pockets of my other bathrobe, where I put then after wearing them downstairs the other day and then wanted to weigh myself without their extra woolly weight. So *that's* alright.

On the utterly mundane but satisfying side, received notices from gov't that my Old Age Pension and Seniors' Drug Benefit plan will kick in next February. Money is good. And that worry (did they get the application? will they approve it?) now settled.

Have been near-crippled by IT band sporadically turning to concrete these last few weeks. Not good, with snow and boots likely to happen in the near future. Knees also complain, and only stop if I wear Berks. Also a no-go if this winter is the way it looks to be. IT and knees *loathe* boots for reasons never fully understood: stabilizing my wobbly ankles makes everything else complain? Mentioned this to chiropracter, who whipped out a theraband loop and told me to fasten it around my ankles and then start walking sideways. Hoo boy yes. Fast strengthening exercise, here we are. I crab-walk the upper hallway twice a day and even in three days notice a difference.

That reading meme a while back asked if you'd ever had a reading hangover, and an amazing number of people said they had no idea what that meant. I have one from In the Woods, something ferocious, which Angela Carter is doing nothing to disperse. However I also have The Goblin Emperor from the library, and I trust that will do the trick. Before I go hang me over, all over again, with the next in French's series.

During the intestinal upsets of two weeks ago I moved into the side bedroom and have stayed there ever since. Warm, dark, quiet; the futon enfolds me in its thick soft embrace and I sleep like a baby. In transferring bedding I discovered my long-missing sleep hoodie hiding in the front room bed, and not a moment too soon. Ahh, warm ears on cold nights: what bliss.

However while slaying dust elephants in the front bedroom, I somehow mislaid my fuzzy sleep socks. I remember that morning thinking that I was taking them off in the wrong room and would I please remember what room it was. Didn't. Far as I can see they're nowhere in the upstairs at all. Like the hoodie, they've probably slid underneath something; I look forward to finding what it is.

Finished the final Rutledge yesterday, muttering to the last at the unlikely suspects these country policemen (and Scotland Yard detectives) fix on. I hope this isn't at all historically accurate, but I'm afraid it is: 'the chief inspector is pressing us to solve the case, here's a handy foreign national wandering the country, no reason for him to murder some chance strangers in the countryside with laudanum-laced wine but let's charge him anyway.' Motive, guys, motive: do you even know the meaning of the word?

Am now engrossed by In the Woods, with its pleasing echoes of Peter and Leslie. Am told the denouement is a disappointment but the trip there is all kinds of fun.

Was in depressive don'wanna funk all weekend. Pulled myself out of it Monday morning. Phoned the tree service, to discover that the one I want doesn't work west of Bathurst. 'Only the oldest of moneyed Annex trees for us!' was my subtextual reading. Second choice gets me cheerful English voice who will try to come by Wednesday morning. Well, so far so good.
( But then )
Then started vacuuming bedroom, and was emptying rapidly filled tank when the phone rang from work: and I have been working ever since and no longer feel like vacuuming at all.

Mindfulness helps you recover from cancer. Mindfulness alas is not working for me at all these days. The appointment today that I was sure I cancelled online y'day morning does not register as cancelled on the wp, and I must pay for it when I go to my new app't Thursday.

Autumn is yellow this year but no less stunning for that. Last year was pale and washed-out; the year before, Sandy took down all the leaves and turned them into pulp. But even Friday's downpour (poor trick-or-treaters) couldn't strip all the maples in the neighbourhood, so now we have the lovely Tokyo/ Lothlórien effect of a carpet of yellow under a canopy of the same colour. Does lovely things with the light effects, especially in the December-cold sun and blue skies of today.

Also: Your sushi has a cat on it, your argument is invalid.

Blearily noted another grey greasy wet day out the fogged up windows as I got my breakfast ready. Sat down at computer, called up Environment Canada's wp (I can call ~~spirits~~ pixels from the vasty deep), see current weather is 'light snow' WHAT??? Look more closely out window. Snow flurries indeed. Oh I am so not ready for boots, especially this week when my right knee has decided to yell about the damp.
( October's sad stats )

Ninety minute dental appointment to repair two fillings left me zombified for the rest of the day. Have become a wimp in my old age, or else the perennial drip-and-hack acts like vampires sucking out my vital fluids. Truly it was no different a dozen years ago; was actually rather worse, since no one could mistake this current drip for asthma.

Bed earlyish last night but woke several times from dreams of looking at my clock to find it was 10:15 (appt was 9:45.) Clocks were located in dreamTokyo, which was partly how I knew, dreaming, that this wasn't true. DreamTokyo for once was a comprehensible expression of archetypal Tokyo, instead of utter randomosity: eg the people living in wooden crates along the alleyway I walked were a dream-reflection of Japanese living in their mokuzou buildings in the early 90s and also a concretization of Japanese living in their societal 'boxes.'

Even in the weirdly warm temperatures and with unruly wind and spotty rain, Toronto is still an old gold harmony with maroon and crimson notes. A consolation when one aches in joint and jaw, and must also work a full shift tomorrow.

No more Ford, which is good, except he has his brother's council seat which is bad. Tory is mayor, which is oh well at least he's not Ford. S-i-l says we will enter a 25 year long economic depression on April 21 next year; am disinclined to research why the date is so precise.

Need to work on my Buddhist detachment. A few transcendent moments would help in this, but satori doesn't come just for the asking.

FB has the use of at least alerting me to my sister's social doings before they happen, so this morning I bicycled up to her church's fall fair to check it out. The usual fall fair stuff available, but not alas those useful handicrafted thingies I can only find at church fairs, like booties and fabric glasses cases and individual cards. Weighed getting Iain Banks' Wasp Factory from the used books section but decided against it: my mood has been tending to apocalyptic and Banks never helps. To show willing, put my bid in for a silent auction item that I don't really want and evidently didn't get; bought a package of sugar cookies but not the pie I was tempted by, and a package of maple-something cheese for next door, and some wretched indulgence which I will talk more about below.
( But first a digression )

Weird. Just had one of those mysterious inner thigh cramps that come from sitting on the couch, only this was sitting in the rocking chair, worse luck. But after several agonizing minutes bent over the bed at a 90 degree angle, the one position that doesn't make things worse, I finally remembered the fix-- pressing the skin between thumb and forefinger HARD. At which the pain simply disappeared and I could walk again.

You'd think someone could give a medical name and reason for these things, as also for the cure.

ame ya aranu
aki ya mukashi no
aki naranu
waga mi hitotsu wa
moto no mi ni shite

Is this not the rain, and this autumn, the autumn of old? Am I the only thing that stays the way it was?

It's October, it's raining, ash leaves fall like snowflurries, maples glow golden under the streetlamps: and I'm not going to New York to see

paleaswater as I did in '10, and

incandescens isn't coming here as she did in '12, and the fall feels a bit incomplete in consequence.

Cold has reached spasmodic cough-and-strangle stage, so familiar from Japan. It may all be post-nasal drip but boy is post-nasal drip spectacular. As in Japan, to be calmed only by water and sucking on a lozenge. (Oh days of trying to teach with a voice that cracks and disappears, how I do not miss you.) Compounded this morning by spectacular intestinal upsets shared by half the kids-- on the weekend, meaning they were here today-- and several of the replacement staff who all called at 8 am asking me to work for them. Upsets seem to be dramatic but brief; cold seems determined to last its full two weeks plus.

Determinedly cheerful, I expect the day's fast to have lost me a good two kilos.

Determinedly pessimistic, I note new raccoon poo on the roof. Next door says white vinegar and peppermint oil works. I'm sure it does, but I fancy next door has no sense of smell at all.

A modicum of clarity returns to the zombified brane, and the thrice-damnable concrete shoulder ache eases off, even as the mucous production goes into overdrive. Ten days on this jobbie and counting, even if it never reached the true sodden sponge stage (and we shall pray it doesn't.) Saline rinse has saved my life though I must use double the usual amounts. Shall hope the weekend makes up for the early morning risings of Thursday and Friday: not lack of sleep, because I slept eight or ten hours both nights. But as ever, that indulgence was cancelled out by forced awakenings and the occasional ten hour day.

Hope to be recovered for Ghibli's Kaguya-hime tomorrow, since I already have a ticket to the thing. Will not be able to bicycle there (truly, why must the Lightbox be down on King among the condo construction?) on account of Dark and Coldness, to say nothing of condo construction closing lanes and tearing up sidewalks. And of course afternoon matinees are dubbed.

Whatever else I did this week, laundry was not a part of it, so today I laundered. The temps dipping towards 0C mean I can fling everything over the lines in the furnace room, which is a great relief. Whatever else I did this week, eating dinner at home was not a part of it either, so I turned Monday's turban squash into squash and apple soup, or potage, or stodge, whichever. I see why people in Japan use squash to make their pseudo-pumpkin pies.

If I go to bed now, as I'd like to, I'll be awake at three. Which is fine, probably, since I must be up at 8 for work. Experience suggests however that if I'm awake at three, at eight I'll be just ready to go back to sleep.

I want riches beyond the dreams of avarice and a nice lady's gentleman to wake me gently, if wake I must, and bring me cafe au lait and croissants in bed.

It's called Tylenol Cold. When I have allergies it dries me up and sends me to sweet sweet sleep. When I have a cold it does dick-all.

So I cooked a turban squash stuffed with rice and onions and cranberries, and made leeky colcannon. But my nose still drips like a tap, and in consequence I'm more annoyed than I should be at someone in Rutledge's vicinity wearing a sweater. Especially as she's wearing it in August when much has previously been made of the sultry heat.

Don't know if this is a cold or if it's an allergy but it's immensely ill-timed, whichever. I do so wish it would go away.

Concreted some more. Used wrong consistency ('when anchoring uprights' means 'when anchoring uprights in holes in the ground') so much of it poured away under my square forms. Looks like ass but *does* finally anchor the upright of the bannister so it no longer wobbles. Must buy more, use putty consistency, and build up the step a little. But not this week which is set to rain daily.

It would have been a fine day even if I'd accomplished nothing, being one of those sunny blue and yellow October jobbies with red maples and big white clouds, whose mere beauty justifies its existence. But I also finally got to play about with the cement I bought a month ago, patching some of the earthquake-deep rifts in the back concrete pad so as to get an idea of the proper consistency. Two packages doesn't go very far and I'm not sure if this is what I need to brace the progressively more crumbling front stoop, but I bought two more packs and shall probably have a go at it tomorrow. Alas that my wooden form is a silly millimetre too high to fit on the side. OTOH, I'm obviously going to be doing this in stages, so can start with just an ordinary piece of wood.

Then watched two eps of Otougizoushi. Been two years since I used my DVD player and had to replace batteries in all the remotes. Begin to find my screen too small after all the huge flat screens people have now. But I'm so not a watcher that buying one is pointless, especially since I don't have cable or even a digital antenna.

Wish I hadn't learned that Charles Todd is American. Not to be chauvinistic, but now I'll be wondering more about things like that respectable woman in the 1920-set one who's walkng outside bareheaded. I know people get their own historical details wrong, but it's that much likelier when you write another culture.

Up: Acrobatic medieval babies. I like this more than I should.

Down: raccoon poo on my flat roof below the study window. Brother vows swift vengeance once they return from the cottage; I put more faith in chili flakes. As we alas know from work, once raccoons start using your roof as a toilet, they don't stop. On the plus paw, they don't live where they poo. On the pluser paw, my roof vents are at least theoretically safe from their intrusions, for which I suppose I must thank the good-luck bad-luck? intrusive squirrels.
( Will my sadness ever come to an end? )

Thought that yesterday's rain had somehow ramped up the mould allergies; think it more likely that getting soaked in yesterday's rain (jacket still wet this morning) has given me a cold, along with half the world at work. Explains the long hours of delicious sleep last night that I hated to wake from, when I'd thought that was due to allergy meds and the delights of wool and flannel and feathers and hot beanbags and fluffy pillows and all those lovely sleeping in autumn/ winter things.

Shall have hot bubble epsom salt bath and do it all over again tonight.

(I continue to read Rutledges, more or less happily and not from any completist sentiments. Took me a good six volumes before one of his/her/their ticks began to get to me: 'Opening the letter, Rutledge read the sloping handwriting', 'Putting on his coat, he slipped out the door', 'Reaching into the boot of the car, he brought out a shovel and torch.' I do that myself, I know, but it's still wrong.)

I now have my new ten-year passport, with grave doubts that I'll ever get to use it. But it's handsome enough, with pale colour illos of Canuck this-n-thats backgrounding each page. I wonder if I have the eastern Canada version, because it seems awfully heavy on eastern Canada Stuff: Quebec City, Halifax, Newfoundland. One page for 'the Prairies'; possibly Nellie McClung as prairie content, though she was born in Ontario; the west coast nonexistent AFAICS.

My cousin's kid makes a dish by putting uncooked vegetables under a chicken which she then slow-roasts for several hours. Tried this the other day; wish I'd doubled the veg part because yum so good. (Would still have parboiled the little potatoes.) Cooked up a bunch of veg yesterday with the chicken bits I don't care for- drumsticks and legs mainly- but didn't get a chance to eat because an afternoon with the Little Girls turned into dinner with The Little Girls. Lunch tomorrow if no one calls me in to work.

The owner of the saiyuki_yaoi ML has been asking if anyone's still in the fandom to warrant keeping the ML alive. Went and looked at the archive, which is not laid out as usefully as it used to be. Was reminded of those busy days when MLs were in swing, and why I used to feel there were a lot more people in my life than there are now. Five or six posts a day with several people chiming in made you feel part of a group conversation; not even active LJ communities do that, and most are far from active. Fandom doesn't just fragment, it narrows: down to 140 characters thrown into the void. Interaction is the essence of fandom, but where does that happen?

This year is officially fired.

(I mean, yes, as the boomers age we'll be dying off in numbers proportionately greater than other generations. It still sucks.)

I hope October is not going to be as grumpy a month as the first day would seem to indicate.
( Cut for sad September stats )

Ending as it began, with a shingles shot (ouch for the price, which is probably better than ouch for shingles) and a polypectomy ('hasn't changed at all since last year but let's have it out anyway.') How good that I never throw anything away etc., but I trust this is the last time I ever have recourse to a tampon.

Just yesterday I was thinking how sunny warm September days- like yesterday- belong to foreign cities: Toulouse (not Paris), Florence (not Rome), Matsumoto and Matsue (not Tokyo. Or even Kyoto, which I don't remember from '90, though I was definitely there.) One expects the taste of wine and the smell of Gauloises: another place, another time. But today dawned threateningly scarlet and kept looking like it was about to thunder, so I transitted to the doctor's (narrowly avoiding the shutdown at one of my stations) and bought an umbrella in the station before getting on the bus. And in the end it didn't rain a drop. Is still chill and muggy and not at all pleasing. The old cold days of mid-month are welcome back anytime.

I've signally failed in my two main objectives of the weekend, to update Firefox and to try mixing cement with a view to mending my front steps.
( Cut for ineffectuality )
On the semi-win side, bought pricey organic veg and heirloom squash at the Christie St farmers' market up the hill. The carrots are respectable but no better than organic from the greengrocers; and the heirloom Japanese squash is... squash, and not even kabocha squash either. A learning opportunity.

Also spent evening (and an unforeseen chunk of the night because valet parking = 40 minute wait for your car) with the Little Girls. Saw a fair chunk of The Return of the King, even though I thought we were watching The Two Towers, and very nice that was. LotR should be watched with friends on a not-too-big screen (do not need to see spiders bigger than I am, thank you very much), and a sardonic seven-year-old yelling 'Hamstring him! I hate war elephants!!' at Theoden's army is as good a viewing companion as any. The landscapes are gorgeous in the films, though there was a lot of Mordor here; and the rest of it is oh well Peter Jackson.

Grinding week is over. Glorious weekend ensues. Grindinger week follows that, but maybe things will improve in October. If nothing else, Newlywed will be back and we have at least one more body on the roster to take some of the load off. It is not I doing the ten hour days anymore, but what I do is still quite enough. I mean, money's *nice* and all, but so is breathing room.

The upshot of the many Interesting Medical Procedures of this month are that nothing malignant is growing in my colon, nothing at all is growing in my cervix or uterus, and the disintegrating dental bridge is not disintegrating more than it did in February so I may keep it for a while longer. Doctor wishes to speak to me about uterine polyp but as the spotting stopped once I started drinking soy again and the damnable dryness eased off, she can wait for the current work crises to end. Happy crises-- one staff getting married, another on maternity leave, a third with a new grandchild-- but short staffing nonetheless.

Speaking of malignancy, however: Monday the Frontlawn Library yielded me Burgess' Nothing Like the Sun and Allende's Eva Luna. I despise Burgess as I despise Amis, but hell-- it's about *Shakespeare*, how bad can it be? Very bad indeed. Tony, you are nowhere near as clever as you think you are and your male characters are Neanderthal louts. So it was nice to turn to the Allende, magic realism written by a woman for a change, with no raping generalissimos (well, not many) and no Spanish Whore/Mother silliness.

It isn't that cold at night, but I am. Discovered the trick: wool blanket under feather duvet (and the usual flannel nightshirt, flannel pants, ancient hoody and socks.) Oh the sweet sweet sleep, that I had to cut short to be up for the 10 am animal people.

Who were pricey but efficient. $450 later I have a one-way door on the hole the squirrels ate into the fascia, and various anti-critter measures about the vents and what-all on the roof. Shall hope this is the last I hear of them.

As one gets older one begins recycling time. This is sometimes dreary but right now rather wonderful: to be living in a reworking of 2003, mind full of Pipang's poems and Karin's pearl spirits and Immortals; or sometimes 1996, thinking 'I must buy my tickets for Tokyo in December, and register for the JLPT'; with just a frisson of the two French autumns, five years and a lifetime apart, 1975 in Pau and 1980 in Paris on my way to Florence. I can't remember a place well unless I'm there, and the same goes for times; but now I remember all those years very well.

Here at post-solstice when the blue hour happens before 7:30 and darkness comes at a quarter to eight.

The animal people are coming tomorrow morning to see what has got into my walls. I discover that a mysterious Thing bumping three feet from the computer makes me very reluctant to sit in the study where the bumping happens. Thus I have read two books in English and three chapters of Japanese, vacuumed the hallway and living room, washed the kitchen floor, mucked out the hall cupboard (and decided at last to part with my 1980 duvet, essentially useless since 2001: it takes me a long time to let go of things) and taken the bedroom rug to the cleaners. The things one accomplishes when online solitaire is denied you.

(It rained heavily yesterday morning, and I was suddenly transported back to Tokyo in October of '91, student visa newly in hand, staying at the Tobu Nerima gaijin house; bundled cozy in Lisa's futon and worn blankets, watching Saturday samurai shows on my tiny three inch portable TV while the rains of autumn fell outside the window.)

All this, and possible squirrels in the roof.

Am going to bed.

(No I'm not. I'll be up at 3 if I do, and being awake at 5 this morning was bad enough.)

(And seriously, I *remember* my brother saying they had squirrels in the walls between the back bedroom and the bathroom, precisely where I think I have mine, but he says no he never did and no they never did. Am losing it big time.)

In the midst of this week's disruptions, I missed

i_am_zan's birthday Tuesday. So happy birthday, Zan. I hope someone gave you a laptop by way of a present.

I was expecting the result of the Scottish vote to be available when I got home from work at 8. But no, not till 2:30 am our time. Ah well, will make a good reason to get up in the morning.

My doctor, taking no chances, has ordered me an ultrasound. Shall have it Monday, because Mondays suck anyway. Ah September, the month of interesting and blech medical procedures.

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