mrissa: (good mris pic)
When lj was messed up yesterday, this didn't crosspost from my blog. So:

So yesterday afternoon Ista was worrying at her right front leg, and when we looked at it, we saw that she had scraped it on something in the back yard severely enough that there was a triangular flap of skin torn back. And she was not leaving it alone. Not a source of great worry, but also not something that could just be left. So Mark and I bundled ourselves into the car and went off to the emergency vet with her.

People. The emergency vet is not where you want to be late in the afternoon the Sunday before Christmas. I mean, really, the emergency vet is no fun in general. No one is there to get routine shots for their perfectly healthy puppy. The general take-home lesson of the emergency vet the Sunday before Christmas is: for the love of Pete keep your dog away from the chocolate. The place was quite full, mostly with dogs who had eaten lots of chocolate when their humans were out shoveling or otherwise occupied.

We waited for an hour and a half before we got into a room. In that time, we saw a family–mother and dad and little girl–whose dog did not make it. That was pretty horrible. Anyway, they got us roomed, and another half-hour later, Mark and I got sent off to get dinner while they waited for a chance to sew her up. No general needed, just a local. But we called to make sure that they were done, and sure enough, they weren’t, so…all in all, Ista spent four hours at the vet yesterday, Mark and I about two and a half.

It’s amazing how people who can talk for hours under other circumstances have a much, much harder time of it in a vet ER with a stressed and injured dog.

Ista’s bandage is off, though the sutures will stay in 10-14 days. She is worrying at them, so we have her in the cone of shame. Oh the displeased poodle. Oh the injured dignity. She’s already managed to get it off twice, so when we don’t have another focus I think we’re going to have to try to sit with her and get her used to the sutures and not licking/biting them, because the cone is not seeming like it’s going to work as a sole solution to this problem.

So. Not the blog post I’d intended to make–stay tuned for character expectations and competences–and not the Sunday evening I’d intended to have, but we’re all fine. Even if one of us is also pretty annoyed with the cone.

Update from later: she got the cone off some more, again, so we got her a soft protective collar that looks like a travel pillow for one's neck, and she doesn't love it, but she's willing to keep it on and do things while wearing it. Win.
mrissa: (question)
1. What is an interesting object you have out on display in your house somewhere? Why is it interesting, and where did it come from?

On the mantelpiece in the library, we have: three star-shaped crystal candleholders that were in my grandparents' house from before I was born and that only came here when Grandpa died and Grandma moved up here; a vase [ profile] ladysea made for us; a three-vase dealie that looks like a Miyazaki thinger (purchased at the Eagan Art Fair); a blown-glass ship in a blown-glass bottle, imported from Hungary; a rosmaled box made by my grandmother who died before I was born; and a chunk of salt (I forget what kind of salt) that lights up interestingly, purchased by [ profile] markgritter's father.

We are full of cool stuff. I promise.

2. Why is five the canonical number for LJ? Five questions, five things make a post, five times such-and-such a character did X.

I don't know about the other ones. But five things make a post was my friend [ profile] wilfulcait's originally. This is why all my "five things make a post" post are tagged "missing rise," because I do miss Rise every time I do a post like that. We lost her far too young (breast cancer that metastasized), and I am still wistful about the absence of this true and good friend whose face I never saw in person.

Sorry, bet you didn't see that one coming.

3. What is the most recent bit of art you've traveled somewhere (a museum, a theater, a freeway overpass) to see? What is the most recent bit of art you've stumbled upon accidentally? Which approach do you generally prefer?

Well, [ profile] markgritter and I went to the surrealists exhibit at the Vancouver Art Gallery more recently than to the Inuit Prints exhibit at the Museum of Anthropology. I always think I like surrealists better than I do because I like Rene Magritte enough for all the rest of them. People: painting an eyeball on things does not make them surreal. It makes them eyebally. We are all done with the eyeballs now. You can do something else. (Hint: not the old-fashioned diving suit.)

As for the stumbling, I don't know--do people's homes count? Or foodstuffs? Usually foodstuffs are sought out, but knowing that they're art in advance is not always possible...anyway, I enjoy the things I look for but also things unsought. I wouldn't want to pick just one.

4. Do you any particularly cute/funny/dramatic Ista stories?

Oh yes. Ista is me in a dogsuit. She is frequently quite opinionated, and this translates well into monkey tales. Just today I have generated an interpretive dance of what Ista is like when she doesn't want me to disturb her by printing out my book.

(I do more interpretive dances than people expect, I think.)

And I'm going to steal one you asked me, because it was interesting: 5. What part of your life would be hardest to explain to your 20-year-old self? your 10-year-old self?

I think my 10-year-old self would be more surprised at the inability to do all things simultaneously backwards in high heels, so "here is why you are not a physicist" would take more doing. "Why there is essentially no math in your life at the moment" would take a lot of doing. My 20-year-old self had actually overcorrected in a number of ways there, so it would be very nearly the opposite explanation from the one my 10-year-old self would need. Which somehow seems to imply that my 33-year-old self has found a lovely balance. I chuckle quietly at the thought.
mrissa: (ista grown)
It's very clear that there are some things where our theories of how the world works and Ista's theories just do not match up. Dogly personality matters a great deal here. With Honey (the dog we had when I was an older kid/teenager), my mom was the alpha of the pack, and anything my mom was eating that she was willing to give to Honey was food. Mom would break off tiny pieces of cauliflower or green bean or heaven knows what, and Honey would take them and eat them dutifully. She liked chicken tacos best, but if her alpha gave it to her from her hand at the table, it was by God food. not the case with Ista. And leads to such perplexing situations as lunch today. I am not, you will understand, a vegetarian; I just prefer their tasty, tasty food, so people confuse me for one. So on the table at lunch we had: a roast beef sandwich, cashews, edamame hummus, and a salad with broccoli, tomatoes, and bell pepper in. The first two were [ profile] markgritter's. The latter two were mine.

Ista: You see, of course, that I am not jumping up and begging like a bad, bad dog. No! I am merely nudging your ankle with my cold, cold nose to remind you that there is a good, good dog here who smells nice food like roast beef and cashews, and who likes those things!
Me: Wah!
Ista: Nice dog here.
Me: Wah!
Ista: Nice dog here.
Me: This is what I am eating.
Ista: But--you are the alpha. And that is not-food. And I smell food.
Me: This is what I am eating.
Ista: Why would you be eating not-food when there is food? You are the alpha. You could make the others give you the food, and they could eat the not-food if they had to. Or you could get more food and nobody would have to eat not-food.
Mark: Ista, stop bothering Mrissa and come have a little piece of roast beef.
Ista: Oh! Thank you, Mark! That was lovely! Mrissa, nice dog here.
Me: Wah!
Mark: Ista, I have the roast beef.
Ista: It is food. And she is the alpha.
Me: Hummus, dog.
Ista: So not food! I do not need to be any closer to understand that this green goop is not food! And lo, I am sore confused! Perhaps if I apply my nose to your ankle, your edamame hummus will become roast beef.
Me: Not an alchemical nose.
Ista: It might be. Poodles don't care about gold anyway. Now, if you had a rock that turned not-food into roast beef. That would be a philosopher worth knowing about.
Me: I have my suspicions about several of the 19th century German ones on that very topic.
mrissa: (Default)
1. I don't have my singing voice back, but I have most of my speaking voice mostly back. So that's a good thing. I have this stupid cold on the run enough that I can, y'know, do stuff. I like stuff and the doing of it. I'm crazy that way.

2. In other news, the electricity is back to all parts of the house, and the mistakes of the last electrician have apparently been rectified, hurrah. This basement-finishing job: it looks to me as though the bits we will see take far less time than the bits we won't see. I hope I'm not wrong on that, or we will be another twelve million years in getting the drywall up.

3. It's been snowing here since before I woke up. A few hours ago, the plow and the mail delivery came through at the same time, attempting to pass each other multiple times within our small cul-de-sac. They looked like a mechanized Three Stooges routine. I do not mean this as a compliment. Our driveway guy has not been here yet. That is such a hopeful "yet," sitting right there. I don't really know how to articulate how I want him to do his job differently. Perhaps he'll come along and clear just around the time the snow is stopping, and I won't want him to do his job differently at all this time. One can hope.

4. When I went to let the dog out, she looked out in the snow, and then she looked up at me like, "Okay, monkey, there's a difference between funny once and funny all the time."

5. We are now owners of a startling share of the world's supply of chocolate, hot (or, more to the point, potentially hot) and otherwise. Eeeeexcellent. Now with only four hundred and six more steps, my plan for word domination will be complete.

Oh, there's supposed to be an l in that? Hmm. This may require substantial alterations to the said plans.
mrissa: (ista grown)
Grandpa took a turn for the worse yesterday afternoon, and they moved him into a private room. Dad drove home in the afternoon so that he could work today, so it was just us women around. Mom took Grandma and me back to Grandma and Grandpa's to sleep, and then she went back up to stay with him. (They later moved him into the ICU, but at the time Grandma and I didn't know that. So they have an eagle eye on him.)

So Ista and I went to bed. And she paced and paced and crooned and crooned. I let her outside twice. This was not the problem. I let her have access to her food and water. She did not want any stinkin' food and water. What she wanted was to check beds. Grandma was fast asleep in hers; okay. We had to look at the bed Mom and Dad usually use. Of course it was empty. After that Ista was willing to go lie down with me, but she laid there and crooned and cried for a good twenty minutes further. It was not barking. It was the whimpers and opinions of a dog who knows something is not right and her monkeys are not behaving to specifications.

My aunt Kathy went to stay with Mom last night at the hospital, and she's here with me now. She'll be trying to get some sleep that isn't on the family waiting room couch and will be running me over to the hospital if I'm ready to go before Mom's ready to come home for a shower and a "power rest."
mrissa: (winter)
Thanks to all of you who wished for health and comfort for the Ista-bop; she had a quiet evening and was made much of, and she got her antibiotic pill in some cheese and got to sleep on [ profile] markgritter's fleece. I expect she'll be perking along today.

Those of you who've known me for awhile may remember that Christmas Eve is my holiday, the holiday of choice for me, the one that has to be observed on the proper day. Fairly soon it will all begin. We've had to shift a few things to account for the health and age of various family members, but all the right elements are here and waiting, and I have promising theories about lunch with my father (which is one of the things that's shifted: lunch rather than snack). I hope you all have a wonderful day. I certainly intend to.

poor pup

Dec. 23rd, 2008 05:28 pm
mrissa: (ista grown)
Ista was helping [ profile] markgritter deliver cookies to the neighbors this afternoon, when the neighbors' daughter (who is grown and doesn't live there and therefore is not used to corralling large dogs) accidentally let her parents' two large dogs slip out. One of them chomped down on Ista.

There's only a small puncture wound and some bruising, and she'll be on antibiotics. We'll check to make sure the neighbor dog is up to date on her vaccines. These are good neighbors (as you can tell by the fact that they get cookies!), so I'm sure they will be just beside themselves over this when they get home; their daughter was. We'll keep an eye on Ista's wound to make sure it isn't doing anything nasty and she isn't doing anything unpleasant to it. Should be fine, and we'll try to set up a playdate with Morgan as soon as we can all manage it, to remind Ista that other dogs in general are Friendly And Nice.

Still and all. Not the sort of thing to make a person sing fa-la-la. Uff da. Considering the much larger things that have befallen our people and their people in the last few days, I think it's safe to say that we will not be inviting 2008 back again.
mrissa: (Default)
1. I have only two people left to buy Christmas presents for, and I know what I'm buying, it's just a matter of doing it.

2. All of Mikulas morning has passed, and I have the appropriate toys and candy for the good folks who live here, and Krampusz has not eaten me. Therefore I was not completely horribly bad this year.

3. I have used my powers of mind-control to convince the aforementioned good folks who live here to have pizza for dinner. (Here is how my powers of mind-control work: I say, "Hey, how about pizza?" And they say, "Yah, okay." And then we have pizza.)

4. I am being power-snuggled by a poodular unit.
mrissa: (hippo!)
1. I called Otto today. I came prepared: I know that my name is spelled with two letters that are pronounced "esh as in Shamuel." I got Otto himself this time, and when I got to spelling my address, I said "O as in--" and Otto interrupted me: "O as in MEEEEEEE!" Oh, The Day I Call Otto's is one of my favorite late fall holidays.

Also we are to visit Otto next time we are in Los Angeles. He will fix us up with many fine things without having to spell, and there will not be snow. No snow at all! Not like Minnesota! At least that's what I'm told. And ten pounds of csabai sausage are winging their way towards us, since there were merely one hundred fifty orders ahead of mine this time. Again. (Two years ago there were one hundred seventy, so this is progress.)

2. I have a Facebook account. I am not spending a great deal of time on it, so while some of your charitable causes are surely just and some of your friendly gestures are surely friendly, I will probably not be hanging out any banners or planting any virtual gardens over there. That sounds suspiciously like a project. But I will probably friend you or list you as a contact or whatever if you want, as long as I'm clear on how we know each other or who we know in common.

3. Am trying not to obsess about tomorrow's clinic PT. You see how successful this is.

4. Ista thinks that it was extremely considerate of [ profile] porphyrin and co. to bring home her new bestestest friend EVAR, Morgan. We weren't sure how she would react to having another dog in her house with her monkeys. I suppose we can't swear that it'd be universally okay, but this other dog was a huge hit. (Morgan really is a very fine girl.)

5. Note to Heroes writers: film badges are not the same as Geiger counters. They do not change back when things have gone back to okay levels of radiation. This is useful. Measuring cumulative levels of radiation matters. Yarrrrg. Honestly.
mrissa: (out with friends)
Remember the sneakiness? And that was in September, and then some of you were asking how it turned out, and I had to say that it was longer-term sneakiness than that?

Now it can be told: we had a surprise birthday party for [ profile] matastas last night. [ profile] dlandon and I are the Queens of Sneaky. (Several other people are Grand Dukes and Duchesses in our Realm of Sneaky.) He thought he was coming down here for dinner. And there was dinner! in a nibbly party sort of way. Just with a couple dozen more people than he expected.

Keeping the secret in person was no problem for me. I have a really good deadpan, and while [ profile] matastas has many fine skills, he will be first to tell you that reading Scandosotan deadpan is not on the list. Also I don't live with him; [ profile] dlandon was completely awesome at seeing him every single day and never letting anything slip (except that I was making meatballs for dinner, which was not exactly a huge secret). Oh, and since enough surprise party novices asked about this: no, the cars aren't a problem--you have people park around the block or down the street where the neighbors' bushes block the view! Silly monkeys.

No, the hard part for me was lj. I would have lj'ed a lot of stuff in this last week about the iterations of the lamb meatballs and other proposed food experiments and accomplishments and difficulties getting there with the vertigo stuff. Under ordinary circumstances, I almost certainly would have talked about the gigantic bundles of mint and dill Byerly's delivered to my house, necessitating mojitos last night (oh noes, oh noes) and company chicken later this week (wailie wailie woe) because four pounds of lamb and a huge batch of tzadziki only accounted for half of the mint and dill they brought me. But if I was talking about that much food, there was some chance that [ profile] matastas was going to think there was something odd going on with me, even if he didn't guess that it was a surprise party for him. And creating a no-Matt sneak filter did not really seem like the thing somehow.

The meatballs are all gone, but the tzadziki remains, so I guess we're figuring out what we're going to do with tzadziki on a different night than we have company chicken. Or a different two nights. Or possibly a different three nights and every day for lunch. On the up side, it's good tzadziki. We are also well endowed with pita bread, mulberry cream cheese dip, fancy olives, and apple crisp, among other things. Also there are spare carrots and apples and frozen mini-quiches that never got put out. I just didn't want anybody to go home hungry! [ profile] timprov managed to talk me into saving my new stuffed mushroom recipe idea for later, on the theory that [ profile] matastas would rather have me awake enough to form complete sentences than have mushrooms, and on balance it looks like this was the right idea.

Also we seem to have once again had a net gain in beer rather than a net loss in beer over the course of the party. I am wandering around this morning singing, "My kitchen is full of beer," to the tune of "In Heaven There Is No Beer (And That's Why We Drink It Here)." I don't like beer, but I know people who do, so that should be all right.

[ profile] dlandon and I had a really good time planning this and a really good time executing it, and I think others did, too, from what I could see.

Key bits of sneakiness: last weekend we went out for dinner with [ profile] matastas and [ profile] dlandon, and I insisted that it should be Matt's birthday dinner "because we won't see you on your actual birthday." (We didn't. His actual birthday was last Monday.) At that dinner, [ profile] markgritter was musing aloud about whether we should have an Election Day party at the last minute, which we decided not to do because two parties in four days was too much. And then [ profile] porphyrin delivered the coup de grace by having Matt come over to get his present on his birthday "since it sounds like you have plans this weekend." What did I tell you? SO SNEAKY.

Ista handled the monkeys very well. The first monkeys here were her baby and her boy and their parents ([ profile] porphyrin and crew), so that was a good thing from the dogly perspective, and then there was [ profile] 1crowdedhour, whose fine traits are not only readily apparent to monkeys, which we knew, but also to my dog, which we did not: Caroline got wagging right away, which is pretty unusual. And as I told [ profile] matociquala already this morning, I was worried about the everybody gathering around the kitchen door to yell surprise, whether the dog would fuss, but in fact she thought it was the most sensible thing monkeys had done in a long time, gathering to bark and sniff at the incoming monkey as a pack, and if we behaved that way all the time, she would be somewhat more satisfied about our sanity. She did decide, around 11:30, to go upstairs, lie down on the bed, and bark quietly to let us know that it was late and she was tired and it was time for these other monkeys to GO HOME. But when they didn't go home, she came back down and snuggled the birthday boy and slept with her head on his shoulder. So it was a pretty fine night for the dog as well.
mrissa: (ista grown)
Some of my friends are dealing with some pretty bad stuff at the moment and have asked for cute animal stories or baby stories or otherwise purely happy stories. So:

Sunday night [ profile] markgritter packed his suitcase for his trip to California this week. Yesterday morning while he was showering getting ready to go, I got Ista out of bed. She is usually in a good mood in the mornings (yep, that's my dog), but yesterday was far beyond her usual morning happiness. The scruffing, the wagging, the licking, oh. I had to remind her twice what we were outside to do, because she was too busy twining around my legs and licking my calves. This is practically unheard-of first thing in the morning: she had an immediate and instinctive understanding of Why Dogs Go Outside First Thing in the Morning.

So. We went in and sat down in the library, where there was more scruffing and wagging and licking, and then she nosed my knee and went to the bottom of the stairs. Monkey, let's go upstairs. Fine. So I followed her upstairs. She went straight to [ profile] markgritter's suitcase, nosed it, wagged, and said, "Arr arrrrrr?" I said, "Yes, Ista gets to go." Some sentences she puzzles out, but this is one she knows without doubt. Flurry of wagging, scruffing of bedclothes, knocking pillows around, looking at me with her head upside down and her wiggly little butt in the air, much dogly happiness. Little clown. Then she ran to [ profile] markgritter's office and scratched at the door of the closet where we keep the suitcases. I pulled out the bag we use for her when she goes down to the folks', and she trotted downstairs to take up her post on her bench in the music room, watching for [ profile] mormor1 to come take [ profile] markgritter to the airport and take Ista for a fun week at Mormor and Morfar's Luxury Accommodations For Poodles until the steady monkey returns.

That dog is smart.
mrissa: (ista grown)
My dog really likes Inuit cloudberry tea.
mrissa: (hippo!)
1. We can add durian to the list of things I can eat but will probably choose not to eat for the foreseeable future.

2. Shut Up, Bob Costas! This is my rallying cry for every Olympics. I love the Olympics, even the Thawed Olympics. In the Real Olympics, I like hockey, which I can watch all the time, as well as the things I can't watch all the time. In the Thawed Olympics, I don't want to watch baseball or basketball or soccer. I want kayaking. I want dressage. I want fencing. I want the weird little short-track cycling thing. And I want it all sort of jumbled together, where you watch a foil match and then switch to water polo and then shooting right after that. Also I want them to stop showing President Bush. He is on television for being PotUSA every day of the year. The alternate-made-good only totally nails a beautiful pommel horse routine* a couple of times every four years, so shove over, dude, and let somebody else's mug on camera for a minute or two. And camerabeings, for heaven's sake, this is at least as much your fault.

3. I should probably read some other fun poet very soon, or else everything is going to have W. H. Auden epigraphs for months and years after this. Sprawling on the couch feeling vertiginous with W. H. Auden (poems, but the prose is in my future) is way better than without.

4. Ista thinks that a few degrees' cooling in August means a great deal more snuggling of the poodle. Oh noes. Oh the horror.

5. Someone made a comment that made me think I had perhaps not been clear: I will not be going to World Fantasy Con this year. It would be awesome in more than one way, I feel sure -- seeing friends in town as well as at the con -- but I am not getting un-vertiginous enough to plan a lot of trips, and the one to Montreal at the end of this month is going to be it for the foreseeable future. And that one will probably be hard enough. So. No Calgary for me. Sorry, folks. Another year.

*I don't even like pommel horse, but damn.
mrissa: (Default)
I've been going through the fiction on my library list at an alarming rate, because I'm not interspersing it with nonfiction at the moment. Don't know when I'll get my ability to read nonfiction back, but it doesn't seem to go well with the vertigo. So in the meantime: what fiction should I read? Recommend something, or more than one something. If I've already read it, that's okay; I'll tell you, and you can recommend something else, or not, as you like.

I read books aimed at any age of person. The main genre constraint I have is that I tend to bounce hard off genre romance, and horror and traditional westerns are not generally my cup of tea.

In other news, Ista is really not at all thrilled with this entire holiday, and she's alternating between running around wanting to figure out what those noises are and trying to stay hidden and safe behind the living room couch.

I watched the first half of Good Night and Good Luck with today's workout. Seemed appropriate. Happy Independence Day, all those of you who celebrate it today.
mrissa: (writing everywhere)
I was going to get up and leave the computer forty-five minutes ago, except that Certain Parties decided that they Really Needed to snuggle. And last night was kind of chaotic for the doglet, not very snuggly, so I decided to go with it despite the vertigo. And now I have finished this short story, finally. "Five Ways to Ruin a First Date" is as done as it will get for the foreseeable future.

Thanks, Helpful Poodle!

Uff da. We go rest elsewhere and look at something else.
mrissa: (ista grown)
Ista's birthday was Friday. Mark picked out a birthday present for her. It is a soft toy ring. It's so cute one might even say it's precious.

....oh dear.


Apr. 8th, 2008 01:50 pm
mrissa: (viking princess necklace)
Ista has gotten herself a little ear infection -- quite under control with drops from the vet -- and as a result has been a bit demanding lately. She needs to be snuggled right up against me, we are given to understand. At all times. (Poodles are much given to italics.) I am not to think for even a moment that I might get up and do my PT or have a workout or shower or anything so crass as that. No. I am to sit still and provide a lap. I am possibly allowed to pet the pup. Anything else is right out. (She's in for a nasty surprise as soon as I finish this entry, since PT, workouts, and showers are all in the non-optional category in this house.)

Also demanding: the Aesir noir novel. I have already given up and agreed to work on this thing. Last night when the vertigo-induced nausea was making it hard to sleep, the brain obliged by writing a big chunk of [cue ominous pipe organ music here] the dreaded synopsis. It's not cuddly and sweet, but as demanding stuff goes, it really could be worse. I don't suppose there's a really good painting of Baldr post mortem for which someone could make me a LOLAesir reading, "Creepy ded god iz creepy." But this is set in the pre-Ragnarok, post-death of Baldr part of Norse mythology, and dead Baldr is creeping me out, and is likely to creep me out for the rest of the book. Hel? No problem. Dead Baldr? Umm. Anyway, you'd think it'd be strange to have a grown-up noir mystery set in the same universe as a YA series that's very clair. But the death of Baldr more or less takes care of that; it'd be like acting surprised that writing a book set in 1910 somehow didn't feel like writing one set in 1920. And I really like having both. I really like holding the contrast in my head.

Rounding out the demanding trifecta is, of course, the vertigo. Whee. But since there are other things with family members that could have been extremely and quite rightfully demanding of my attention and have been resolved into gentle worries instead, with the help of competent professionals, I am extremely grateful that this is where the demanding trifecta has settled for the day.
mrissa: (ista grown)
This particular Ista story was a comment under someone else's friendslock, so I thought I'd reproduce it here:

It is very sad to be Ista. Three times a day the alpha monkey has started behaving incomprehensibly, doing things like standing in the corner with her eyes closed or nodding her head up and down very slowly. And not paying attention to the dog. It's all very strange. She spent about ten minutes complaining to Piggy last night. Not barking, just a very quiet, "Arrorrorrhuhhhhhh. Arrarrfffffft. Romromromrom." She flopped down at the top of the steps with Piggy held facing her in her front paws and held forth for quite some time. I mean, it's a good thing Piggy's a good listener, but we didn't want to laugh out loud and interrupt because we wanted to see how long it would take, and we nearly ruptured ourselves.
mrissa: (winter)
Today Ista went in to get a haircut, and the drive into the vet's (which also houses our groomer) was already getting pretty slick. So I walked to get her, instead of driving, and the walk back counts as her walk for the day. We are done, we are home, we are gradually -- very gradually -- warming up. And after another few minutes, we will be working on the book. Well, one of us will. When we got home, my footprints from the walk out had already disappeared on the road in front of our house. There will be warm leftovers for dinner, and quiet time with my book and probably with someone else's book as well, and there will be scruffing with the wee beast, and there may even be fresh pumpkin bread (since the last time I made pumpkin bread, the oven went insane). And I'm only going out to shovel Ista's path on the back deck. Saturday was a lovely day out and about in the snow, glorying in being careful Minnesota drivers. Today will be a lovely day in, now that we've had our walk. All good. All good. I love this place so much. A tree had split under the weight of the heavy wet snow on one of its larger branches, and we stood and smelled it as the snow came down on our heads. It wanted to smell like spring, but it didn't quite manage; the sap was wrong. We were both fascinated, the dog and I, and so happy.


Dec. 3rd, 2007 03:07 pm
mrissa: (getting by)
I took [ profile] markgritter to the airport this week. He'll be back Friday evening, which is not so long. But still, we actually have him around because we like him and stuff, and so Ista and I are a bit glum. ([ profile] timprov may be glum, too, but he's sleeping, so it's harder to tell.)

I am pretty physically tired, having shoveled the steps and the walk this morning, and worked out, and walked the dog in the cold, and done some physical-ish housework. I am in tights and jeans and "expedition" SmartWool socks and a shirt and a hockey jersey. I was pondering putting my very thin indoor gloves on for awhile, but grasping the mug full of Really Good Hot Chocolate seems to have done the trick there. I am reminding myself that this level of tired would have come halfway through the shoveling two years ago, during the Year Of Sick. This is somewhat cheering, sort of.

I had a vertigo episode as I was getting the Really Good Hot Chocolate out of the pantry, and the lid popped off when I whacked into the pantry door, and I spilled Really Good Hot Chocolate all over hell's half-acre. Happily, I had been doing some housework earlier, so I could recover a good deal of it with nary a qualm about the cleanliness of my kitchen floor. Unhappily, I still lost some. Probably a serving. Sigh. Stupid vertigo. Also I crated Ista to keep her from the chocolate bits, which I think was the right choice: it's not as though every dog her size would have seizures and die from some fraction of the quantity of chocolate I spilled, but better safe etc. So she was Even More Glum. ("I didn't do anything, and suddenly the monkey slammed her shoulder into the pantry door and made me go upstairs to bed! Just not fair. SIIIIIGH")

In order to demonstrate that she is Distressed But Very Mature, Ista got a pair of my panties out of the laundry hamper and set them on the bed but did not chew them. Progress...still looks like the dog dragging my skivvies around every few months. Sigh.

The phones at Peninsula seem to be having some serious issues, because I got connected to a person for just long enough to be able to ascertain that they do indeed take reservations, and then I was cut off and get weird beepy noises every time I try to reconnect. Not fax beepy noises, either. Weirder than that. I am on the verge of declaring that the friends with whom I am dining on Wednesday can do without reservations -- it's a Wednesday, for pete's sake. Surely there's not some citywide rush for Malaysian food on Wednesdays in particular.

The vertigo episodes are becoming more frequent and severe on otherwise "good" days. Since Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, I have fallen more days than not. Not down more than one stair, happily. But still. There is a clinic I can try for a second opinion, but they require a great deal of paperwork from more than one place before they will see me at all. So there's that to start. Wheeee, paperwork. I recently had a friend of my family provide a painful life example for how not wanting to deal with paperwork in no way exempts a person from it, so I am noting this by way of glum and not by way of intending to stick my fingers in my ears and sing in hopes that it will all go away soon.

There are good things about today. I'm going to have dinner down at my folks', Yorkshire pudding and brussels sprouts (consecutively, not concurrently). I've gotten a lot done and will get more done. I'm going to finish reading a book I'm enjoying a lot. And there was, of course, the Really Good Hot Chocolate. I'm just a bit glum, is all. I'll get over it.

September 2017

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