OCTOBER

I am ready for October to end. It is my favorite month, most years. My birthday and the shift into wearing sweaters. All good. But this year, October has been too much. Good and bad. Writing, knitting, weaving. An ouch. Overlapping Zoom meetings, three times this month. Busy is great, but I’m getting out of breath.

The light in the recycling room of our condo has been out for three weeks. The management company’s cleaning staff reported the light out, then a neighbor checked and found four other outages. Someone was sent to replace the recycling room light, but it still didn’t turn on. They concluded it was an issue with the ballast. This was discussed ad nauseam during the Zoom HOA meeting last night. In the middle of this, Gary went down and looked. The fluorescent tube was installed incorrectly. He had to come back up to get our ladder to fix it, and they were still talking about it when it was fixed. One Board member sent him a thumbs up in the Chat. You would think…

I recently began another push to improve my health. I ran the Bridge Crossing, which was fun but slower than I expected. I took my blood pressure this week: 140/84. That’s bad, sure, but a month ago it was 151/91. Twenty years ago my BP was 90/60 and had been throughout my younger adult life. My resting heart rate is generally 58-60, and that hasn’t changed. When I’ve asked medical people about why my blood pressure has changed, they only say: Well, BP changes as we age. Bullocks to that.

I’ve been vegetarian with occasional pescatarian lapses for 33 years. I eat organic. I do not eat fast food or ingest sodas or other unhealthy stuff. I’ve kept to the recommended coffee and alcohol servings for a woman.

For the past couple of years my weight has been good with a BMI of about 22.5. I could stand to lose another ten pounds, sure. I have recently cut alcohol consumption to 4 glasses of wine/month and shifted from my one and half cups of Gary’s industrial strength morning coffee to peppermint tea or chai. I run every other day. All good, right? We’ll see about my BP with these most recent changes.

I’ve sold five shawls this month at the local gallery, which is how many I sold in two hours last year at the Night Market (which was cancelled this summer). Not bad, but not great. I did finally find a better way of knotting my fringes that I am particularly pleased about. And another warp is working itself out in my head. I will put it on the loom next week after my loom is home. More purples and blues, I think.

This morning—okay, this is bad—I fell during my run this morning. I landed hard on concrete. Over the years, this is my fourth fall. I generally pop right back up and run on. Not this time. On my left cheekbone. Bashed knees. Slammed fingers. My first thought, before I tried to move and sit up: where am I injured? Hip is not broken—good. Face hurts. Knees hurt. Fingers hurt. I sit up. Swirl, so mild concussion? Two men immediately rush over. Are you okay? Are you okay? I’m okay. White kid on bike and Black construction worker. Do you need a bandaide? I’m fine. I can’t see where I am bleeding (later: little finger, left hand). Another construction worker, in hard hat. Are you okay? As soon as I can, I stand. Not in great shape, face hurts, hand, elbows. Knees stop hurting as soon as I begin to move. Then my shoulder hurts.

I give them credit, they hung on till I was moving.

So. Hands, especially the right one, hurts. I have a lump on my left cheekbone that suggests some color by tomorrow. Gary says I look like someone hit me. No one hit me. It was concrete. That pavement jumped right up and smacked me! Scraped hands and knees without touching my new running tights.

Knitting is painful, but so is typing, yet here I go.

Baby stacks on the shore.

I am now going to eat an entire little carton of raspberry sorbet. Okay, half.

LOST/FOUND

I misplaced my blog, not the blog or the posts (which are only hiding), but the BLOG. I think I have it back. The posts are all still… here. Like this one. I hope. Let me know. Gary is still unable to comment, which is Not A Good Thing.

[UPDATE: Things seem to be where they should be. All good.]

…and this post showed up in my email “Junk” folder. So there’s that.

Oh. DEER.

It happened again. A deer in the surf and a dozen people crowding the shore. The last time, the deer drowned. This morning it’s an outgoing tide and I was repeatedly called a “b—” (and other things) for shouting “Back off!” at the top of my voice. I am so mean.

[Have no fear reading on. No one dies in this story.]

Going in the right direction. I can only assume he knows what to do because he’s done it before a few times. The fact that the doe resisted him, was actually a really good sign. Still some fight left.
Continue reading

ANNIVERSARY

Yesterday was the 49th anniversary of our wedding. Gary and I were married under the pagoda tree in my parents’ backyard. We wrote our vows, a friends officiated, I made the wedding cake, a fruit cake, from a 100-year-old recipe, Joyce brought lasagna, The Chieftains sang on a record, and my dad toasted us from Shakespeare as his “warrior children”.

The nice man from Gresham who we talked to last week was horrified by the plankton bloom. He kept calling it “terrible”. What’s shown here is entirely gone, with a narrow line of fresh plankton at the tideline. It’s not terrible or bad in any way. It just is. I will run the beach tomorrow!

Our anniversary rings, more about goldsmithing, the Hood to Coast relay, and my preferred running conditions.

Continue reading

TIMES CHANGE

Temperatures rose well over 100° in Portland yesterday (105-107°) but we are at the coast, and I am reminded of why my mother’s childhood was spent at the beach in her great aunts’ home. Portland is hotter in summer and colder in winter, and now the heat is higher. Temperatures here are stabilized by proximity to ocean. During the past forty-four years we have gone entire winters without frost, enjoyed summers with temperatures that never rose over 70° (that has changed). There was no electricity or running water during my mother’s childhood at the shore in the 1920s and 1930s, and the house was surrounded by mature spruce. Now we are surrounded by rental home.

Last night we were fussing about a daytime high in the eighties and the internet being slow.

Times change.

Other weather has changed, but ordinary standards of behavior are changed. Bragging to someone about violation, bragging that we could commit an act of violence without altering voter loyalty, threatening violence—these are the acts of schoolyard bullies writ large. In my mother’s lifetime, such behavior on the part of a public person in America was unthinkable. In my own youth, even accusations of such behavior was enough to force resignation and shame.

Times change.

I always feel obligated to offer some beauty. Because it’s here, all the time, if we remember to look. It’s easier to point to the bad stuff, what isn’t working, what makes us angry or bereaved. But the black oystercatchers raised at least one baby this year, and that is a good thing.
Continue reading

GETTING IT RIGHT

I spilled these flat-smooths out of a tea bowl also found on the shore, and I played with them for a while. Even as a child I gathered stones. My mother refused to replace the metal lunchbox I ruined by carrying rocks home. And all these years later I am still carrying rocks home.

Rocks, cougars, the Tortilla Race, ordering online, and typos.

Continue reading

Helen is back

As of a couple of hours ago, Margaret and Helen is back. I agree with a recent comment: “Welcome back. So sorry you need to be here.”

What the hell is wrong with the Republican Party?  I mean, fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.  Fool me for three indictments and 78 felony counts… and we haven’t even heard from the Georgia DA yet. Surely I am not the  only fat lady dying to sing. 

—MargaretandHelen.com

Helen Philpot is a determined old lady who won’t stand for nonsense. She’s funny, smart, and right. Today she explains why “Trump is a hemorrhoid.”

Thank you, Helen. I missed you like crazy!

NOW & THEN

Today is the 70th anniversary of the end of the 1950-1953 Korean War, one of the first international conflicts of the Cold War era.

—CNN’s 5 Things
On my walk the other day.

Right there: “Korean War.” It was studiously called a “police action” when I was a girl. No war was declared and we were corrected if we slipped and referred to it as a war.

Continue reading

INDEPENDENCE DAY

Locals mostly hate the Fourth of July. Too many people, loose dogs, and illegal fireworks going off at all hours. During my run this morning, a dog charged me, barking deeply, and the owner didn’t even apologize. But also a great many brown pelicans, sand all the way around Hug Point, and Gary built a fort. Some bad news, but good food. Education.

There were dozens of brown pelicans onshore in front of our home when we went out about 6:30. We did not approach but took zoomed-in photos. By the time we got home there were people and loose dogs scattered across the beach, and the pelicans had gone off for the day.
Continue reading