fufaraw

Between two coasts, and five accounts at two financial institutions, plus retirement accounts with another institution, I have spent the entire morning on online and telephone banking, with the outcome that I need to read the damn PDF, look over the printed material when it comes in the mail, and fill out, sign, have notarized, and mail back the forms they'll be sending. Eventually.

Could I have that double single malt now, please, bartender? Or maybe the gatorade cooler full of ice and water? Either or both would be appreciated at the moment, cause it's hotter 'n hell's hinges in my house right now.

I need to haul several weeks worth of recycling to the bins at the end of the street, and do a grocery run, and pack up and mail time-sensitive, um, mail, to OH, since it appears that he will now be in NC for another several weeks, still, while all the legals process, and the storage bins and BiL's studio get cleared out:hello craigslist, goodwill, neighborhood applilance/clothing/furniture pantry. He thinks he has a buyer for the house, though that's going to take channels and utmost patience and trust (which he does have, luckily, in the buyer), since neither he nor the buyer are going through an agent. StY will come help clear out the last of the house, and take his memory tour of the premises, and meet OH at the site where FiL and half of StE's ashes were scattered, to scatter MiL's, before OH leaves the state.

And then OH will drive the car cross-country, passing the St. Louis arch and the Largest Ball of Twine, and maybe even Carhenge, with BiL's ashes riding shotgun. And then BiL will accompany us on a year-long tour of all the things we always intended to show him when he came to visit, finally scattering his ashes at Deception Pass, where the rest of StE's ashes were scattered, looking out to sea toward Japan.

I am tired of lying down to sleep in an empty house. I'm tired of the chores involved in keeping myself fed. I'm tired of making decisions I'm uncertain about on my own. I know it's been hard, and painful, and terribly terribly devastating for him. But the last year hasn't been a picnic for me, either, and I'm ready for it to be over.

FYI, due to a death in the family, and because wendy is awesome, Prodigal will post on Wednesday, July 18 rather than its original date, tomorrow, July 11.

Apologies, and thank you for your patience.

OH was just back from a grocery run, stacking stuff on the bar preparatory to putting it in the fridge or the pantry. As I walked past I scooped up a can of peanuts.

"I'll just be taking these peanuts."

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and held it out to me.

"And whatever cash you got."

I took it, and kept walking.

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Also, if you missed it, I was interviewed by meus_venator for spn_darkside's Discussion Sunday yesterday.

Too many pictures of too much stuff behind the cut...

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If you look at the third picture, on the wall just to the left of the cupboard is the whole-house thermostat. In the fourth picture, the door immediately to the cupboard's left is the furnace. The wall oven is behind it, and behind that is the washer and dryer. Between the furnace and the washer-dryer is the hot water heater. Cozy little thermostat never feels the chill. OH has discovered how to motivate it, though--a bag of remedial frozen peas draped over the top of the thermostat for a minute or two usually results in the furnace kicking on. I keep him around because he's always on his toes like that. And for car maintenance.

Eschewing carols for the fireplace dvd, flames flickering and the snap and crackle as the wood is consumed. Missing the scent of woodsmoke, but not the choking, coughing part. And likewise eschewing problematic eggnog (we all had salmonella one Christmas day, even the cat) for Bushmill's honey? J'approve.

These decisions are wise today, and going forward.

Merry Happy, Flist!

Woke instantly this morning, noped out of another dream. Summer Glau in a ruffled red sheath and heels was trapped underground and the water was rising fast. A trap door opened in the floor, with the implication that it led to air and out. Nope, nope, nope, wide awake now, thanks.

In other news, the Other Human is apparently deeply appreciated by people more than just me. A clerk he sees often in the grocery store reached an arm from behind him, her hand holding a long-stemmed red-edged pink rose. "Take this home, you could probably use the brownie points." And the neighbor across the street, whose late-summer-fall garden has been usurped by dahlias, had stems broken in the recent winds. She gave him a pale yellow one as big as his head, with almost no stem.

We have a stack of three faux-slate ceramic tiles straight out of the wall-and-floor section of Home Depot. We attached rubber feet to the corners and use them as trivets. They are 6-inch, 8-inch, and 12-inch squares, of varying colors, and we have them stacked on the kitchen bar counter, off-center toward one corner. In the stacked corner is a rock, brought through customs by a British friend from her holiday at a ruined Scottish castle. The rock is roughly triangular, striped in subtle shades of grey, and echoes the corner of the stack.

OH put the dahlia in a rough-textured ivory-tan pottery bowl of water, set the bowl on the stack of tiles, with the rock on the lowest corner. So simple, so deliberate, so beautiful.  (click pictures to enlarge)