Nom de Plume

“Heirlooms are the tomato equivalent of the pug—that “purebred” dog with the convoluted nose that snorts and hacks when it tries to catch a breath.” From How to Grow a Better Tomato: The Case against Heirloom Tomatoes.

• @MikeBoss I want chickens!!! in reply to MikeBoss #
• Excited about the auction tonight: I spy woodblocks and possible end tables for the bed. #
• @swansacres YAY! I have company. Doesn’t help that mr demo is frying sausage. He was like, “Can you drink the sausage juice?” in reply to swansacres #
• Late night work with a fat little snuggle pug nestled right next to me. Only problem: He’s snoring louder than Steve. #

So you can see the bedside tables I got from the auction–exactly what I’ve been coveting. Steve put in the windows (they weren’t there before), and built the trim around them. He still has to do the trim around the big bank on the adjacent wall. He says when I helped him install the windows, I put them in crooked. So he has to redo them–and it’s all my fault.

Last night’s auction was pretty incredible, and it was also emptier than usual. So I lucked out. First, I snagged two Danish modern teak bed side tables–the exact tables we needed for our bed (the platform kind with all the storage). Only difference is that these are about 50 years older. I think they might even be solid teak.

Next, I also snagged a Junichiro Sekino woodblock for next to nothing. It was in a terrible frame, and the colors seemed pretty dingy. But it lightened up without the grimy glass–and it was framed flat on painted plywood, so it’s still in pretty good condition. I found it in the Sekino reference book Elias gave me (thank you): It’s Minakuchi from the Tokaido series.

I was watching the press conference last night, and it occurred to me that Obama’s main problem was that he overestimates the ability of those who bitch about all things liberal/democratic/whatever to actually understand what he’s talking about.

I mean, he goes through and takes the time to EXPLAIN the exact reasoning behind his actions. Think it matters to those posing the questions?

Not so much.

I was sitting there marveling at his patience when repeatedly being bombarded with stimulus package questions that he’s already answered … and then the guy who kept accusing him of taking so long to respond to AIG bonuses. Finally, he snapped. In a very nice way. It was a lovely thing to behold:

• Booted out of my own house by Mr. Demo, who is doing his very favorite thing. #

Which was the only book I loved more than Pat the Bunny when I was a wee little thing. So imagine my delight when I opened up Google this morning to see this:

Did I mention that Steve got laid off?

He’s actually pretty thrilled about it. Good severence, plus lots of tax money coming back (insert self-employed bitter rant here). The good news is that he’s finishing some of the projects around the house. We now have trim around the windows in the bedroom, and he’s finished the trim and new fir doors.

The bad news is that he’s taken up the ukelele again.

I came home the other day to find him strumming A Bicycle Built for Two.

“I have plenty of time,” he explained, just a tad defensively. “I’m going to become a maestro.”

“I’m waiting for the Stairway to Heaven ukelele solo,” I said.

It was a joke. But apparently not. Stairway to Heaven ukelele solos abound on YouTube. I’ve created a monster.

• @worldgirl Raw garlic. Chope 4 cloves or so, cover with a little olive oil, and then eat after 15 min or so. Won’t smell good, but … in reply to worldgirl #

Okay, little warning here. This is another whiny post–so you can decide whether to skip it.

I’ve been debating about posting all the stuff about this ectopic pregnancy and my rollercoaster emotions. Ultimately, I’ve decided to go ahead and do it. This is why: There’s a lot of clinical information out there on various medical web sites. It’s all valuable information–but it’s all about how you feel physically, not emotionally. Thank God for the personal stories on blogs and message boards. Those have helped so much. We don’t talk about these things unless covered by a veneer of anonymity; they are deemed too personal, no one’s business, whatever. But in this connected world of ours, if we can’t talk about the things that touch us, if those things are lost in the never-ending quest for “content”–well, then, what can we talk about? I am still ambivalent about posting all this because until recently, I haven’t gotten that personal on the blog, and I really don’t want to make people feel uncomfortable. So let me make it clear that I’m not looking for sympathy, responses are not necessary. It’s therapeutic to write about it, just as its therapeutic to read about other people going through the same thing. The responses I’ve gotten from the vitiligo posts prove that.

So large disclaimer aside, this is what I originally logged in to post:

Several years ago, Steve tore his Achille’s Heel tendon. I remember thinking that had he lived 100 years ago, he would have been crippled for life. I’ve been thinking about it again. I could have died. This isn’t being melodramatic; it’s a statement of fact. We are fortunate to live when we do: Medicine has rendered something possibly life threatening into something marginally uncomfortable for a week or so, with a couple of tiny scars that no one is ever going to notice. In fact, my recovery time will be less than Steve’s was.

So it seems churlish that I feel such resentment. But I do.

I resent that there was all this stuff done to me when I out cold, like I was just this slab of meat on an operating table. One moment, there’s a mask being placed on my face. The next moment, I’m awake and sore. Two hours–just gone. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have wanted to be conscious. But when you’re asleep, even those nights when sleep seems like a dark cave of oblivion and you wake still halfway in it, there’s still a shard of self-consciousness. If nothing else, someone doing stuff to your body would wake you. This? This was like death. It was nothing. Where was I? Where did I go? And isn’t it ironic that all this stuff that saves a life feels so negating? (Actually, it’s kind of funny that surgery seems to be prompting an existential crisis.)

I also finding myself really resenting what is functionally a loss of an entire Fallopian tube. (If you want to get all technical, it was a fimbrial ectopic, which means that it got stuck in the part of the Fallopian tube next to the ovaries. This section has a large opening and little tentacles that wave the fertilized egg into the tube. This whole section was removed.) One Fallopian tube works perfectly well, it’s true. Everything else was in perfect condition, that’s true too. And so future fertility shouldn’t be a problem. If you want the absolute truth, I am still ambivalent about having a kid. But now, by God, it’s a challenge.

But if you want to know what I resent most, it’s having to see that heartbeat on the ultrasound twice. That just pisses me off.