A Crooked Path

Well, how was he here? How?

He’d been feeling really good, like AAA bond good, a comparison that he’d picked up from his late stepfather (stepfather, yes, but the only person who’d ever successfully plugged in as a father). (Don’t even get him started on the two previous impostors, which included his biological father.) (He was still getting over his stepfather’s death (from brain cancer after a long illness) two years ago.)

First, he’d finally got out of debt, which was good. His veteran’s disability amply covered his nut. Moving closer to Mom helped, too. He’d hooked up with a good support group and therapist, and was on the right meds. Things were so looking up. He’d found a nice little apartment for him and his cat (Sam, just Sam, a sweet young black cat) (not far from Mom’s house, where he could go do his laundry). (And socialize!) (And eat, yeah.)

Where had the hole come from, then?

Yeah, the shower, yeah.

The shower clogged. He’d told his landlady ’bout it, but she was eighty, and forgot. He waited, though, but he couldn’t use the shower, so he couldn’t shower, so he didn’t shower, waiting for it to be fixed. He was just going through clothes, though. Changing clothes every day (he’s not a friggin’ animal), he wasn’t able to go over to Mom’s house to do his laundry because he’d not been able to take showers, and now he smelled bad (geez, his hair was getting matted) (and his beard was a mess).

Without being able to shower (and do laundry) and without clean clothes, he’d quit going out. He missed his support group meetings and then had run out of meds. He couldn’t get out to get more meds because he was filthy and embarrassed. (And he was running out of food and household goods, and losing weight.)

Christ, it’d taken just two months, two months from being triple A good to being in a shithole of despair.

What was that whole thing about, for the want of a nail?

February 18, 2020 0

Puzzle #5

Yeah, we did it. Yeah, we started. Yeah, it’s a difficult one. Yes, we’re starting to hate it.

The floofs didn’t come around to supervise us. Maybe that’s our issue…

February 15, 2020 3

Another Jeffrey Said

February 15, 2020 0

The Neighbor’s Cat

An old, sweet callie, she seems in pain, and tired. Our neighbor for fourteen years, sShe’s a frequent visitor, singing at doors until we let her in, letting herself in if the pet door is open, and then launching an opera about getting fed until she’s paid for her efforts.

This morning, I’d let her in, fed her, and returned to bed. After a bit, I felt a cat get on the bed, an effort noted for the sounds of climbing up the duvet. I thought it was her because of the lightness of being that tread across my legs and confirmed it with a glance. This was a first for her; she’d never visited us in bed before.

She began a purring lullaby as she came up the bed. Stopping by my face, she greeted my nose with a soft tongue touch and amped her purring to eleven. Going on, she visited my wife’s face for a few minutes. Then she went onto my wife’s pillow and sat down by her head, purring all the will as she gazed out into the room.

She didn’t stay long, perhaps ten minutes, always purring, and was waiting for me with a chirping request for a second breakfast when I climbed out of bed. Her request was fulfilled.

February 9, 2020 2

Puzzle the Fourth

We started building a new jigsaw puzzle on SuperMonday, so we’ve been working on it for several superdays.

This one is used (always a worry, because what if pieces are missing?), purchased from the town Goodwill for $1.49. Depicting a village green with a growers’ market and shoppers in front of a row of shops, it offers a variety of color.

A big ‘un for us, fifteen hundred pieces, over three feet long by almost two feet, the puzzle sprawls across the dining room table. Some many pieces must be appraised and sorted that we’ve added containers. Detainees for specific sections — “Oh, wait, that’s part of the flower cart” — “This belongs to the watermelon guy” — are set aside until we can get to a point where they can be added.

We’ve worked out several categories of pieces during our process.

Edge Pieces. The edges are important for us. We like working from the outside in. None of those edgeless puzzles for us, thanks.
“Eureka!” Pieces. Also known as “Found” pieces (“Hey, I found it!”). these are pieces for which a hard search has been going on. Usually we search, then search again, and again. We typically grouse, “We’re missing a piece. I’ve been through all of these pieces and I can’t find it.” Hence, it must be missing.
“I know this…” Pieces. The color is sufficiently unique that you recognize where it’ll belong, but you can’t put it there yet.
“WTH”, or “WTF” Pieces. Bizarre colors that mystify you as you stare at them (“Do I have my glasses on?”) (“Yes, it’s better with my glasses off,”) these pieces drive you to pick up the picture and stare with furrowed brow until your eyes sweat and your butt falls asleep.

As this is an ‘interlocking ;uzzle’, no weird shapes exist. That’s good. We’d developed a vocabulary for pieces during past efforts (“I’m looking for an angel with black blob feet.”), but my partner prefers straightforward shapes. Unusual shapes annoy her.

Jigfloofs have been diligently employing a paws on approach, often walking among the pieces and on the puzzle in progress to give us their help. While their help is welcomed, of course, we generally remove them from the actual work space with gentle words (“Damn it, get off, I can’t see, stupid cat!”) to the chairs, where they curl up and sleep until a need for them arises again.

The puzzle is coming along. I estimate it to be sixteen point three percent completed (accurate, ain’t I?). We should finish it in time for next year. Meanwhile, optimists to the bone, we’ve been searching local stores and the net for our next project.

Someday, we’ll get a life.

February 6, 2020 2

Another Mary Also Said

February 1, 2020 0

The Quest

Like many, I awoke this morning and began pondering the eternal questions, like, is my head getting smaller?

I wasn’t being facetious. My new Tilley hat had arrived. When I put it on, I discovered it was much larger than my other hat. I confirmed the other was a seven and a half, so the two hats were the same size.* Ergo, my head must be shrinking.

Walking about with my oversized hat on, I entertained the other questions that often plague modern humans.

1. Am I gaining weight or are my pants shrinking?

2. Are my pants getting longer, or am I getting shorter?

3. Is it possible for me to be both gaining weight and getting shorter?

4. Can my pant legs be getting longer while my pants waist is shrinking?

5. If something really had 1/4 the fat of the regular stuff, can I really eat four times as much?

6. How much beer can a beer drinker drink if a beer drinker only drank beer?

These are serious questions. The one about my shrinking head especially worries me. I can see myself as a man walking around without a head. People would probably soon start head-shaming me, shouting, “Hey, there’s little head,” whenever I pass.

There’s family precedence. My mother, who was much taller than me when I was a child, now seems to be about the size of a garden gnome. She appears to be shrinking more in every dimension every time that I see her. I figure that soon, we’ll be able to hear her, but not see her, unless she stands at the right angle and in the right light. It’s like, “Okay, I see her shadow. Let me just trace that back to her.”

Alas, like others, I found no easy answers to these questions. That’s probably why they plague us.

The quest goes on.

*Editing note: Yes, I know that not all sizes are equal sizes during the modern industrial age. Most people must try on several sets of garments or shoes of the same size before finding one that fits right. Hence, there was one shortcoming to the Tilley replacement hat process: it’s predicated on the idea that all of their hats are the same size.