DOG DAYS OF JANUARY

A meltdown was bound to happen. It had been a nice respite from anger but something set me off last night. Maybe I just get tired of taking care of her and everything else. One of our Christmas guests, a good friend of Janet's, spent a fair amount of time pointing out to her, in a nice way, how much stress I am under. She doesn't see it. 

Days later.

The world feels so dismal and dim that noticing and reporting on the happier or more interesting details is challenging. What feels the best to me now is when I can slip into a deep, almost viscous, sleep. Unfortunately, that kind of sleep doesn't happen over night, wherein I wake up every couple of hours. I am able to sleep off and off for a couple of hours, and I am grateful to not be heavily into an insomnia mode.

I observed neither Obama's closing speech nor DT's press conference. All of it feels equally ineffectual. I am trying to stay on something of a personal even keel, not an easy task with the energetic chaos that seems to pervade the media-sphere. I am not ignoring the news, but only skimming so as not to let the dementors of emotional and despair overwhelm me. I know those dogs are baying, but I can't get a clear message, other than danger.

So, I'll go back to watching Scotch curled up near my feet and maybe pick up Looking for the Stranger: Albert Camus and the Life of A Literary Classic or the ever-fun Virginia Woolf: The Impact of Childhood Sexual Abuse on Her Life and Work.

At least Southern California is getting some rain. I even had to wear my coat once or twice.

DON'T KNOW WHAT FOR

The laptop sits on the desk near the window at night, during the day, really, too, when it is not on my lap. It is cold in the morning, so I ahbor the first few minutes of computer time until we all get to a better temperature. Some things to note:

•  “abhor” is not recognized by MS Word’s dictionary; 
•  Abhor was a character in the Bible, the book of whom was lost: (Abhor (or Amba Hor) and Mehraela were a brother and sister who were martyrs for the Christian faith. The book of their "acts" has been lost. Their feast day is celebrated on January 9 in the Coptic Church. That’s one for the Book of Who Knew? And still time to plan your celebration.

I can’t remember the other things. I am working on my hot water and honey, so the synapses are still slow or misfiring, not at caffeinated levels of efficiency. And what am I doing up at 6:50 a.m. having already heated water and put away last night’s dishes as well as snacking the cats? Don’t ask me. As I often say I want to get an earlier start, I chose to get up instead of snuggling down for more snooze and podcasts (Krista Tippet’s On Being has had some interesting shows this week: the one on Maria Popova who curates 99545444454 rtotttotottyytotttr5 (says Vera) … Brain Pickings and the one on silence). 

No, really, let me warm this up for you.

And for some reason, Hello in There was in my head when I awoke. I just listened to John Prine sing it, and, of course, tears. (We listened to the Bette Midler version when I was at UCSC.)

We had an apartment in the city

Me and Loretta liked living there

Well, it'd been years since the kids had grown

A life of their own left us alone

John and Linda live in Omaha

And Joe is somewhere on the road

We lost Davy in the Korean war

And I still don't know what for, don't matter anymore

Ya' know that old trees just grow stronger

And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry day

Old people just grow lonesome

Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there"

Me and Loretta, we don't talk much more

She sits and stares through the back door screen

And all the news just repeats itself

Like some forgotten dream that we've both seen

Someday I'll go and call up Rudy

We worked together at the factory

But what could I say if asks "What's new?"

"Nothing, what's with you? Nothing much to do"

So if you're walking down the street sometime

And spot some hollow ancient eyes

Please don't just pass 'em by and stare

As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello"

Oona Minnie Pearl Moonlight is on a tear (not a tear) this morning. I can hear Emmylou quietly growling at her. Oona misses Merle who left us in November. Janet wants to get her another kitty playmate, but I find keeping up with five cats to be plenty. Also, even though we will lose Ariel to old age and Butterscotch to a recurrence of her cancer (not evident yet) sooner than later, three cats will be too many for me to take care of on welfare or in public housing (if such things still exist). We don’t let them out at night or too early in the morning to keep them from coyote mealtime.

This is going nowhere fast, so perhaps I shall conclude for the nonce and get on to other activities. The kitchen cupboard cleaning/reorganization has been stalled since Wednesday, although I did complete the lentil chili I had started. (This recipe not particularly recommended. I changed it quite a bit and it came out well.) The kitchen floor badly needs mopping. I need to get Janet moving if she is going to go to her senior lunch with a minimum of tears. I'd really like to take a bath and finish reading Another Day in the Death of America (highly recommended, if depressing. Far better and more interesting than Hillbilly Elegy. This New Yorker article is far better than the book.) but that would slow things down significantly.

Just went outside with Emmy and Oona. The tangerine tree is laden with fruit, so I picked some for Janet to take to the senior center. Maybe I will make some tangerine banana bread. The tangerine tart I made for Christmas dinner was outstanding. 

Onward?

This is a bad kitty; do not be fooled.