Nom de Plume

It’s been a long, long time. I’m chock full of excuses for not updating the blog, but basically it comes down to one thing: Sheer laziness. Here’s a brief recap:

1) Amazingly, the ranch didn’t burn. The fire was only about two miles away, but everyone stayed and were fine. I was pretty useless for a full week, doing nothing more than hit refresh on the various google map mashups people created. What is really stunning is how different this catastrophe was than Katrina.

2) Obie the foster pug has been adopted. Steve is relieved; he hated him. As for me, I grew rather fond of him, but it’s nice to have a single mellow dog again,

3) No progress on the kitchen, but Steve did finish rebuilding the deck this summer, started and finished carriage doors for the garage, and busted out more concrete in the backyard. He also ordered new windows (2 large , rather than 4 narrow ones), which are sitting on the deck.

4) All of a sudden, I’ve gotten really, really busy workwise. This is going to be one of those weeks. Actually, this is probably why I’m probably updating the blog, after these many moons. It’s funny, but when I’m not busy, I get nothing done–and when I am, I get oodles and oodles accomplished. Not very logical, but there you go.

5) I’m feeling all sustainable living and stuff. Those pumpkins I grew? Peeled, pureed, and frozen. Okay, okay, I never quite got around to making the pickled green tomatoes, or making as much jam as I did last year, but there’s something so satisfying about putting up the veggies you’ve grown for the winter. Granted, most of it will probably end up as dog food–and granted, if I HAD to do it, we’d starve. And, of course, it wouldn’t be fun anymore. However, I’m kind of on a buying locally kick, making a concerted effort to buy only food that’s grown around here. Alas, my efforts are completely negated by:

6) On the Japanese print front, I finally took the plunge and bought some from artelino. The shipping costs are outrageously high, so you can choose to hold your prints over a period of time and then have them shipped all at the same time. So I don’t have them in my hot little hands yet. Funny thing though–I keep seeing prints recycle their way across the Internet. Something that was on ebay with no title reappears on ebay with artist and title and then wends its way over to artelino or a gallery.

7) But speaking of the buying locally thing–I’m trying to buy more stuff locally too, so no more book chains, local supermarkets, and so on. But here’s my question: Amazon and Starbucks are headquartered in Seattle, so does that constitute buying locally??

“I’m bored,” Steve said.

“Let’s go over to Geoff’s,” I suggested. “He rebuilt his wall and wants you to see. Plus, I’m curious how our cheese is doing.” Geoff and I made kefir cheese yesterday.

So across the alley we trompled. Steve admired the wall; I admired the cheese. Not that there was much to admire; it’s resting in a bamboo steamer with a glass and 25 pounds of free weights on top of it. But anyway, Geoff was talking about how he was going to pressure wash something and Steve bemoaned how dirty the river rock wall is. I reminded him he was bored … and long story short, he’s been on a tear for the past three hours. He just called me outside, saying that he had a present for me:

It warmed the cockles of my heart, and I told him so. To which he replied, “That’s pathetic.”

Well, we take what affection we get …

“Harry can’t play with Sasha and Willy any more,” Steve said this morning.

“Why?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and preparing to stagger into the kitchen for coffee.

“They’re a bad influence.”

Indeed. Mr Potsticker pulled the flour off the bottom shelf and proceeded to wreak havoc.

And as if that weren’t enough, he also started licking it off the floor.

Remember how you were a kid and made paste out of glue? Harry discovered that if you lick up enough flour, you’ll eventually glue your mouth shut.

“Cost is no object,” Steve said grandly. “We’ll get whatever we like the best.”

Well, alrighty then. If you twist my arm.

So we’re getting slate:

link

One of Steve’s contractors is giving us a deal on granite countertops. So last night we went to their web site. And now, we’re wondering: should we do silestone instead?

Here’s the thing: I spill things. Coffee, oil, vinegar, all the stuff that stains. Am I capable of maintaining granite? Steve says, rather insultingly, an emphatic NO. He’s probably right. So has anyone out there actually seen silestone? Used it? Have an opinion?

Oh, not in any legal sense, though the only thing that would please my mother more is producing an anklebiter or two. It’s just that Steve did an amazing job framing in cabinets and such while I was in San Diego last week–and then he decided that we should really rip out the cabinets at the end of the kitchen.

I complained that I always had to do the crappy stuff, like clean up. So Steve handed me a huge hammer and a chisel. And while he did this:

I did this:

Then Steve and I both cleaned up.

Here’s the thing: Smashing into walls is the BEST.

So I’ve been making soap like there’s no tomorrow. I’m up to ears in it. Steve is threatening divorce. Well, that’s probably because a. I set the kitchen on fire the other day; and b. apparently the source of the kitchen drain clog was unsaponified soap from when I used to clean out all the pots as soon as I made the stuff. Anyway, does anyone want some? Let me know what flavors you like, and I’ll send you a little soapy care package.

I think the hardest thing about vitiligo is not knowing how it’s going to progress. And coupled with my general paranoia, it’s hard to know what’s really fading and what’s my imagination. It seems to me that it’s spreading on my face and getting whiter–but it could also be more sun (I went white water rafting on Friday and even though I am very careful to wear sunscreen, still soak up sun). Steve says he doesn’t notice it, that I’ve always been this blotchy, but I don’t know. I think it’s worse. Also, his idea of support–bless his heart for trying–is to deny that it’s a problem. I teeter between sheer relief that it’s mainly noticeable to me and anger that he refuses to see that this is a real condition. But he tries, and that’s one important thing. And it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and that’s another. I can see clear as day how this might affect our relationship–not the vitiligo itself, but how I feel about it and myself. Yesterday, he saw me putting on makeup and asked why I didn’t just let my skin breathe on the weekend. I told him that I hate looking in the mirror without it. He staunchly said, “It doesn’t look any different to me.” What’s not to love about a partner who does this? (And who hooks up the kitchen faucet and reconnects the dishwasher to boot?)

Vitiligo affects 1-2% of the population, and it affects all races equally. It’s just more noticeable in darker skinned people. I’m fortunate that I am not super dark. Even so, if it affects 1 or 2 people out of a hundred, why is it that I don’t encounter it more often? I remember seeing some people in India years ago with it, and I had an African-American professor in college who had some patches on his hands. But that’s pretty much it. People are coming out of the woodwork though; whenever it’s mentioned, people mention someone they know who has it. My neighbor Nicki came home from her weekend in Portland and told me, “My friend has what you have!” Her friend told me to contact her if I need support, and that’s been wonderful. I should probably go to a support group, but I don’t know if I’m up for that yet.

There are spokespeople for everything. Breast cancer. Prostate cancer. Incontinence. Impotence. Why are there no spokespeople for this thing? The closest we’ve come is Michael Jackson, and let’s be frank: He’s not a good representative of normal people who live with vitiligo. He’s not really a good spokesperson for anything. It’s sad that he’s done so much to himself that people question whether he really has vitiligo and chose to depigment himself because it was so severe or just wanted to be white.

This is not a pitiful post, begging for sympathy. Even though I know that this is something I’m going to have to live with, I’m not going down fighting. To be honest, I really like my dermatologist, but felt she was abrupt. She did have me tested for thyroid stuff because about 20% of vitiligo sufferers also have autoimmune thyroid conditions. The test was fine–but I’ve also read that vitiligo sufferers can be low in B vitamins and copper. Vitiligo can be a sign of pernicious anemia, which can prevent absorption of vitamins and minerals. There was a very small study that showed that gingko biloba can help slow the progression. Anyway, the medical approach seems to be to treat the symptoms, so I went to a naturopath last Wednesday. On Thursday, I went to give blood and urine samples, and they’re testing everything. I should be able to go back in a few days to see what the results are. I know it is really perverse to hope for odd levels of vitamins or whatever, but I do.

Mr. Demo, that is. Not God.

Still no dishwaster. I had one, and it was wonderful. Now I’m washing dishes in the bathtub again.

Which really sucks.

We won’t even talk about the division of labor. Suffice it to say that I have descended to the level of leaving his dirty glasses in the bathtub so that when he comes home and wants to take a shower, he gets a little hint. The first day, he laughed. The second day he said, “Looks like you have some dishes to do.” Today’s the third day. What’s in store now?

Steve was home sick yesterday. He’s not a very good sick person because he can’t seem to loll around and read all day. Instead, he has to be doing, doing, doing all the time. This elicits very little sympathy from me; I am the queen of lolling about and reading. But anyway.

His mother is coming for a visit week after next. And he realized that he needed to get the sink hooked up. (Apparently his mother can goad him into action; I should invite her to visit more often.) So we hoisted the darn thing off the pedestal so he could connect the faucets, cracking the pipe on one side. This was completely my fault; the thing weighs, like, 3 million pounds. There are two sinks, with two sets of faucet holes. He got one faucet attached, thinking that one is god enough for now.

YAY! Running water. We danced around the kitchen, Harry barking at our feet. Only to realize that there’s a major leak. Somewhere. We don’t know where. he dismantled the pipes trying to figure out where it was leaking. So the status update is this: We now have running water in the kitchen, only it doesn’t drain. We also have no dishwasher now.

There is some good news, however. He works in construction, and is now doing some pretty nice condos. The architect had specified these really cool, ultra groovy subway tiles from France, which are 2″ by 8″. They came in and the color was slightly off–they’re a light mushroom and apparently he says they’re too pink. No one can see any pink to speak of–and it means we’re getting them for free. Also, we’re getting new fridge, also free. Stainless steel, with the freezer on the bottom. It has a minor ding on one side.