End of June

I keep thinking June is over, but it keeps moseying along. Today and tomorrow - and THEN we'll have July. And the 4th. And my birthday. I'm going to be 65! I should sign up for Medicare this week, mustn't forget (although I think I have 3 more months in which to do it). We have health insurance through Rocket Boy's government retirement, but I have to sign up for Medicare Part A to help cover hospital care. 

Medicare, oh my goodness. Now THAT makes me feel like I'm getting old. But otherwise I don't feel that way at all. Maybe because I keep getting a little thinner, I sometimes feel like I'm getting younger.

I had a sweet, sad dream this week, which I felt was related to my age. I was trying on dresses in front of a mirror. These were dresses I've owned in my life, mostly, some I still have, some I don't, but some I'd never seen before. Some fit, some didn't. I tried on a pale yellow sweater dress (nothing I've ever owned in real life) but it was too big. I pulled at it to try to make it fit, but then realized I was already too small for it due to Mounjaro, so it wasn't going to work, ever. My mother, who was standing nearby, ironing, agreed with me. "Where did I get this?" I asked her, and she said it was from some fancy resale shop in Palo Alto that I'd never heard of. Then I tried on my old witch's cape, which she made me when I was about 10 (and which I still have). I went twirling around the room in it. Suddenly I was struck by how happy I was to be there with my mother. I twirled over to her and gave her a big hug. "You can Never Ever EVER die!" I told her, laughing. And then I woke up. And I thought: my mother IS dead. She's been dead for 17 and a half years. And I lay there for a long time thinking about this.

I'm mostly OK with the fact that I don't have a mother anymore. (Here we are together, me in a (wedding) dress.) She'd be 103 if she were alive. People don't live forever, they live for their time and then they go. I had her for 47 years, which is a good long time. My own kids probably won't have me that long. I was 47 when they were born, which means I'd have to live to be 94. I mean, it's possible, but it doesn't seem likely. My goal is to make it to 90, at which point they'd be 43, but even that would be a stretch. My mother lived to be 85. If I only make it to 85, my kids will be 38 when they lose me. That's in 20 years.

And since Rocket Boy is 6 years older than me and has some serious health problems, he'd probably already be gone (although you never know, it's true). So then they'd be alone. I worry about this, probably more than I should, especially regarding Teen B. Teen A has lots of friends, so maybe by his 30s he'll also have a partner. But I don't know.

There's nothing I can do about any of this, so worrying won't help. Still, it's hard not to. 

As I get older, I think about whether there's anything I still want to do with my life that I haven't done, and there isn't much. Now don't get me wrong, there are MANY things I would still like to do: I'd like to read hundreds more books, I'd like to write all sorts of novels and stories, I'd like to travel to all sorts of places, and I'd like to help the world and individual people in whatever ways I can think of. But none of this is very specific. I don't have a real bucket list. Pretty much whichever things end up happening will be fine with me.

My mother had a little bucket list. I remember the year Rocket Boy and I got married, 2002, she told me she wanted to see the Sandhill Cranes in Nebraska and the Grand Canyon in Arizona. So, 6 months later, when she was almost 81, we went and did both of those things together. It was so much fun, especially the cranes.

I just can't think of anything like that for myself. I'd like to visit every state in the union -- but if I don't, it's OK. I'd like to go to Alaska. But Montana would be good too. I'd like to go to Hawaii. But Costa Rica would be good too. I'd like to go to New England. But British Columbia would be good too. I'd like to go to Australia. But Germany would be good too. They all sound like fun trips. I'm sure I'd enjoy them all.

*** 

This was a pretty low-key week. Once again I was laid low by the drug, so didn't have much energy. Cooking worked out pretty well, though. I had decided it was Pride Week, on account of yesterday being Pride Day, so on my three cooking days, I made rainbow foods for dinner. Sort of. This picture shows my lovely Rainbow Pizza (before I put the cheese on it), which I made on Monday. 

Rainbow Pasta (Thursday) was less successful. I did find a box of three-colored pasta (tomato, spinach, and regular plain), but when cooked, the colors didn't really stand out. I put pesto on it for a sauce, and then mixed in some leftover salmon (Rocket Boy had fixed salmon on Tuesday and Wednesday) and the flavors didn't meld well. Teen A ate his, but Teen B took a couple of bites and then pushed his plate away. I think an Alfredo sauce would have been better.

Rainbow Salad (Friday) was nice, but Teen A refused to even come to the table. Teen B picked the croutons out of the bowl and had some watermelon and that was that.

This coming week, with 4th of July and all, I have dubbed Patriotic Week. This means that we will be eating red, white, and blue foods, as well as traditional American foods, whatever those might be. Baked beans (from a can). Cornbread. Clam chowder (from a can). Potato salad. Hot dogs. Apple pie. Macaroni and cheese -- Rocket Boy is going to make that on Tuesday, or no, maybe Wednesday. We're supposed to have a power outage on Tuesday from 8 to 4, so I don't know if we'll do any cooking that day. We're thinking we might go to a museum in Denver, and/or the botanical garden.

For my birthday, on the 5th, I am planning to make a Strawberry Bundt Cake, which I found on the NY Times cooking site. The weather forecast says it will be mostly sunny that day, with a high near 83, so I think I can turn on the oven. Some years it's so hot in early July that you don't even want to THINK about ovens.

Maybe this coming week I will also manage to restart my patriotic activities, such as writing and calling my elected representatives. It'll all depend on how I feel, I think. I should be adjusting to this new dose of Mounjaro by now. One of these days. This past week I spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday lying down, and even Thursday wasn't great. On the plus side, I managed to finish reading my latest Presidential biography, about FDR, so that was something. 

Rocket Boy asked me if there were anything I wanted for my birthday, and I said yes! A large rectangular planter. I want to put it here (see photo), underneath the window box that hangs off the side of the porch. He was dubious, but I did some research and found a company in Canada that sells lovely cedar planters and we ordered one. It's 3 feet long and 30 inches high. The website said it will be delivered "in July," which might mean July 31st, but I will look forward to seeing it whenever it gets here. I want to fill it with something like petunias or impatiens, just a big mass of color.

So. A strawberry cake, the promise of a planter, a present from my sister, and probably a few cards. And Medicare. I think it will be a lovely birthday. 

Reading post: June

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Late June

Here we are officially in summer -- the solstice was Friday night into Saturday -- and it feels as though it's almost over. It's not, of course, but it's going fast. We have seven full weeks left until school starts again. We have no trips planned (I gave up on the wonderful Saskatoon idea, too complicated, too expensive). We haven't even scheduled our dental work yet! I did finally call the oral surgeon's office, though, and the kids and I have a consultation scheduled for June 30th. So hopefully the work will be done sometime in July, and once that's scheduled, I can schedule something else. Like a fun trip. 

(A cheap fun trip. This dental work is going to be really expensive, even with insurance, and I just spent almost $900 on dental work for the CAT.)

Except... apparently now we're at war with Iran. Last night (Saturday), Rocket Boy and I watched the Friday night PBS NewsHour and then Washington Week with the Atlantic, and they were talking at length about the possibility of war with Iran. 

Little did we know that it had already started. 

The Atlantic folks mentioned that Pete Hegseth was being left out of the talks, ostensibly because he was in the doghouse for not having planned a better parade for Trump's birthday. I said to Rocket Boy, "I'll bet it's really because they don't trust him to keep his mouth shut. I'll bet they're planning to bomb Iran and they're afraid he'll blab it to someone on a Signal chat." And it turned out I was right (maybe).

A few things went through my mind when I saw Trump's announcement (on the New York Times website). He was standing there with JD Vance and Marco Rubio and Pete Hegseth and I thought, what a bunch of bozos to be running a war. Maybe Rubio has some idea of what to do, but the others? And then I thought, this is going to increase Trump's popularity. People always love their president when we're at war, at least in the beginning. And I thirdly thought, what is Iran going to do to us in retaliation? How many people are going to die?

Last night (still not knowing about the bombing) I had the oddest dream. I dreamed that JD Vance was driving harp students to their weekly lessons, in Boulder. He had a fairly small car, something like our Prius V, with seats that folded down, and he was transporting multiple students at a time, like four, WITH THEIR HARPS, in this little car. Somehow it was possible to cram them all in, and the students even had seatbelts on. He would drive a group of them over to the harp teacher, then go back and get the rest -- or it might take three trips total. Then he would wait until their lessons were over and go back and get them and take them to their homes. After a while of observing this, I actually became JD Vance, so I was the one doing the driving. It was complicated, because I didn't know where the harp teacher lived, but I gradually figured out that she was in the 3500 block of Culiver. This is not an actual street in Boulder, nor did I know where it was in the dream version of Boulder, but I figured that was enough information to find it, given that JD Vance knew where it was, and he was still in the picture, more or less. And sure enough, it was.

I don't know if I need to say that I HATE JD Vance with a passion. I mean, honestly, I probably hate him more than any other person in government right now, even Trump. I hate his fat face. I hate that he can be married to an Indian-American woman and still be the asshole that he is. I guess I feel like he should know better, as opposed to Trump, who's just an idiot.

And yet in a dream, I became him. While driving harp students around with their harps. I love harps and harp music. I always look forward to the harp concert every Christmas at the library.

***

It's been very hot here the last few days, in the upper 90s, although bearable with our big-trees-and-overnight-fan solutions. We haven't felt the need to flee to an air-conditioned mall, or anything like that. Yesterday we went out to dinner at Red Robin and it seemed quite chilly. I wished I'd brought a sweater. At bedtime, I didn't think I'd be able to sleep because it was so hot in the room, but in fact I dropped off right away, even without my usual medical aids (Tylenol and Pepcid-AC). I thought, oh, if I have heartburn I'll reach over and grab the bottle of Pepcid-AC, and that was my last conscious thought. 

I haven't been getting much of anything done. I suppose I can blame the heat, at least partly. No political stuff. Not much cleaning. No writing. Some reading -- I'm grinding my way through an enormous biography of FDR. I take walks most evenings.

At least I've been getting up a little earlier. I managed to get the cat to the vet before 8:30 am on Tuesday, and I met two friends for breakfast at Lucile's at 9 am on Wednesday. The other days I mostly got up around 9 am, but that's better than 10 am. It seems terrible to sleep through the cool-ish mornings, wake up when it's already hot. 

Cooking went well this week. I think we've settled on a workable system, to wit:

• Monday: I cook something easy (this week I just bought hummus and tzatziki and labneh and an orzo salad at Trader Joe's and served it with pita chips and carrots)
• Tuesday: Rocket Boy cooks (this week he made mahi-mahi burgers)
• Wednesday: Rocket Boy cooks (this week it was leftover mahi-mahi burgers, plus some veggie burgers)
• Thursday: I cook (this week I made Thai pineapple fried rice)
• Friday: I cook (this week I made stovetop cheese quesadillas and a salad kit from Trader Joe's -- which wasn't very good)
• Saturday: we eat out
• Sunday: forage night (eat up all the leftovers) 

 My sickest days are Tuesday and Wednesday (after taking the shot Sunday night), and by Thursday evening I'm feeling better, so I can cook again by then.

This coming week is Pride Week (according to my summer schedule), so I am going to make rainbow foods. Tomorrow (Monday) I'll make rainbow veggie pizza (red, orange, and yellow bell peppers, plus green zucchini and black olives). Thursday I'll make rainbow pasta, and Friday I'll make a rainbow salad (possibly incorporating the leftover rainbow pasta). I'll try to remember to take pictures of at least some of these.

I made the first smoothie of the summer yesterday, at Teen A's request. I didn't have orange juice or vanilla ice cream or frozen bananas, though, so it was basically frozen strawberries and iced tea. He drank it, so I guess it was OK. I put the other things on my grocery list. 

I guess there were protests scheduled for today, emergency protests over the new war against Iran. We decided not to go. It's not that I think this war is a good idea, it's just complicated. Iran is a terrible regime, its own people hate it and would like to see it gone. Also, nobody wants Iran to have nuclear weapons. On the other hand, if the regime does topple, the replacement might be worse. Also, we might not have destroyed their nuclear capability after all. And it's not very American to go around bombing people we don't agree with. 

I mean, it actually IS very American to do that, but it goes against our ideals.

Plus, we're doing what Israel wanted us to do, and Israel is a nightmare right now, attacking everyone in sight and genociding Gazans and all that. 

I don't know where I stand on all this. I'm puzzled and almost numb.

I feel like drowning myself in ice cream and chocolate, but I still have a very limited capacity for those things, due to Mounjaro. I'd make myself sick long before I achieved a state of oblivion. Of course, being sick is a kind of oblivion, there's that. 

We're thinking of going up to the mountains in a little bit, maybe do some hiking. That might be the best kind of oblivion I can manage. 

Mid June

Well, it's Father's Day. A lovely hot Father's Day in June. June is probably the prettiest month in Boulder, I'm thinking. All that rain we've been having has led to incredible growth. Look at that maple tree. And here I was afraid the Xcel tree trimmers had killed it.

It's also really birdy in the backyard. Magpies, spotted towhees, blackbirds, the white-breasted nuthatch from previous years, flickers, chickadees, robins of course, finches, starlings. I saw a parent starling feeding a fledgling! The only birds we're missing are the hummingbirds. I still have only seen one once at the feeder, and I've planted a lot of flowers for them, but they don't come.

We took a drive into the mountains this afternoon, to give Rocket Boy a little Father's Day outing. He wanted to go to Magnolia, which was a mining community at one time and is now just a road and a neighborhood. Teen B agreed to go along, just for something to do. Magnolia Road goes VERY steeply uphill. We were watching the altimeter in the car climb: up up up, over 8000 feet! Over 8400 -- in other words, 3000 feet above Boulder! My ears clogged up and didn't pop until we got home. I was hoping we'd stop somewhere along the road so I could use the Merlin app to listen for birds, but we didn't. Eventually we ended up in Nederland, where we went to the little cafe in the train cars (and the only birds were house sparrows and crows), and then drove home. It was much cooler in Nederland, so that was nice. Here, right now (6 pm), in Boulder, it's 86 degrees, which is better than yesterday. It's supposed to be stinking hot this week, though. Cooler on Tuesday and Wednesday, but awful the rest of the week. 98 on Friday. Not quite ready for this!

So let's see, what happened this week? Not a lot. We got up so late on so many days that it seemed like the day was half over before it had even begun. I realized that I have to change that, so the last three days I've been setting my alarm clock for 9 am. Each day I've actually woken up before 9, so this is obviously doable. (Yesterday a magpie woke us up, squawking right outside the window.)

Tomorrow (Monday) I am going to set the alarm for 8, because on Tuesday I need to be up by 8, in order to get Baby Kitty to the vet before 8:30. He is going to be having "a dental" because his teeth are nasty. Poor Baby Kitty. One tooth is actually dissolving, which the vet said is painful. They'll pull what's left of that tooth and clean the rest. I didn't ask how much it will cost.

On Wednesday I am having breakfast with book group members -- one current member and one past member who now lives in Philadelphia. We are meeting downtown at 9 am, which means I will have to get up by 8 also.

I think 8 am would be a good time to get up every day this summer. Maybe by doing it 2 days in a row I'll be able to stick with it.

Hmm

This was supposed to be Bird Week, but I didn't do anything particularly birdy. On the other hand, as noted above, the birds did it for themselves. The yard is full of them (except, as noted, hummingbirds). Next week is supposed to be Bug Week. I don't know how I can celebrate that. There will probably be a lot of bugs around because it is going to be hot. I suppose I can wave at them, say "Hi bugs." Beyond that?

Once again, this week I didn't get much done politically. Tried to write letters, couldn't get myself to do it. Felt like I had no idea what to say.

We did however go to the No Kings protest yesterday, and that was a lot of fun. We went up to Longmont to protest with our friend Dave who protests there every Saturday. There were thousands of people there, plus it seemed like most of the people driving by on Main Street were also protesting (they had signs). The van in the picture drove by several times, around and around.

There was also a pro-Trump car driven by a Latina woman that passed by a few times. It said something like "Mexican-Americans for Trump, 45 & 47, support your country," etc. As Dave said, if there weren't any pro-Trump people, we wouldn't have to be doing these protests. I've learned not to worry about them. Sometimes I give them sad looks, sometimes I just wave happily. The point is to love them all, not encourage more dissension.

Dissension. Is that the word to describe the Minnesota murders? Thank goodness they caught the guy, I read just now. 

This coming week I will try to do a couple of actions. I still haven't written to the Daily Camera, must do that if I can think of something to say. And I could write to one of my elected representatives. But what would I say? I'm feeling curiously silenced.

Today a friend of mine invited me to travel with her to Saskatoon in late July for a few days. We would be visiting a friend of hers from 40+ years ago, who I also know slightly, or used to, but haven't seen since 1986. 39 years ago. Funny. When I went to Michigan, it had been 19 years since my last visit. What would it be like to see someone again after 39 years! I have seen my friend more recently -- she was here for a brief visit last fall. When I met this friend of hers, back in 1986, she and I were near the end of an epic round-the-world trip, during which we got SO MAD at each other, it was actually pretty funny. We've traveled together once or twice since then, and it's been OK, but I can't help thinking about that first trip. 

Here we are, in 1986, as infants: 

I would LOVE to go to Saskatoon for a few days! When would I ever have another chance? We're all getting older. And I could get a plane ticket for only about $300 -- my friend (who is wealthy) would cover the hotel and rental car. 

The problem: I don't have a current passport. I could apply for a new one, and try to expedite it, but there's no guarantee I'd get it in time. This would be in only 37 days. Five weeks, basically. I don't know if it's even worth trying.  

I can't even find my old passport. I've looked in about six different places. I found my old old passport, the one from 1985, but not the one from 2002 or whenever it was.

I'm thinking a good project for this week would be to work on the files. If I could spend an hour each day for five days, I'll bet I could make some progress. Maybe I'd even find my old passport.

Hmm.

Now we've started talking about making it a family trip. The thing is, Saskatoon is practically a straight shot north from Boulder. A little less than 1000 miles. Two days up, two days back, maybe three days in Saskatoon. But OMG, the money, the logistics, we'd have to get passports for the twins too (Rocket Boy at least keeps his up to date). The twins actually have passports, from when they were babies, but those were only good for 5 years and are long expired.

I don't know what to do. We might sleep on it. 

The week ahead

So, it's another quiet week. As I mentioned above, Baby Kitty is having a dental on Tuesday and I'm going out to breakfast on Wednesday. And Teen B is getting his hair cut on Friday. That's all we have on the calendar.

Political tasks, yardwork, waking up earlier, working on the files, staying cool. Trying to stay cool, I should say. Probably won't succeed, especially when it's 98. Maybe we should do something for Juneteenth, but it's supposed to be 95.  

I've come up with a plan for summer cooking, but I don't know how successful it will be. The plan is this: cook three times a week, probably Monday, Thursday, and Friday. Make things that I like, don't worry about what the rest of the family likes (as much as I usually do). Have Rocket Boy cook on Tuesday and Wednesday. Eat out on Saturday, forage on Sunday. We ate out again tonight because it was Father's Day, but that's a special occasion, it's different.

(My birthday is conveniently on a Saturday this year.)

For those three meals I cook, try not to turn on the oven, or if I need to roast or bake something, try to do it ahead of time, preferably the night before. Make a salad for one meal, sandwiches for another, maybe stovetop pasta for the third. Or a stir-fry or a bowl or a platter of dips.

This week we had turkey & cream cheese sandwiches on Wednesday, stovetop pasta on Thursday, and a quinoa salad on Friday. None of them were huge hits. The quinoa salad was the biggest disappointment. I am going to be having it for lunch every day this coming week (I had it for lunch today) and I don't even like quinoa. Must remember the part about making things that I like to eat.

Must do better. 

June gloom

I think it's supposed to clear up a bit this week, and I am certainly ready for that! I remember when I was young, I liked cloudy days, I liked the fog that crept over the mountains from the ocean. I thought it was romantic.

Now it just seems dreary (granted, we don't have fog, we just have clouds). Not even any good thunderstorms to speak of, just drippy wetness.

This past week was supposed to be "Garden Week," but it rained so much that I hardly got out into the garden at all. I did make it to the nursery behind King Soopers one day, and bought some more flowers for my porch boxes -- and planted them, so now the boxes look very full and pretty, if a bit jumbled. I still want to plant some more pots, maybe in a week or two. And our next-door neighbor gave me a basil start to add to my basil planter, so I need to get that planted, maybe later today.

I wrote last week that I was going to have to ease into summer gradually, not expect the first week to contain any big achievements. I was certainly right about that. There were no achievements at all. One thing that I'm having to deal with is that we are going to bed so late! I don't think I turned off my light before 1:00 am any night this week. It's because Teen A has decided to go to bed late, so there are lights on in the front of the house until very late (which means there are lights shining into our bedroom). I think I've already given up fighting this. I had to make various appointments this week and each time when the person asked, "What's a good day/time?" I answered, "Any day, just not early in the morning."

I thought we would get started with Teen B's driving practice this week. I decided we would drive (a little) on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Teen B's response to this plan was that sure, he would drive -- as long as he could wear flip flops. No, I said, you can't drive in flip flops, that's not safe. And we were at an impasse, and there we remain. I don't want to push it too much, because the more I push, the more his position will harden. But I think it's possible we won't drive at all this summer. 

I was worried that Teen A would do nothing this summer except play video games (like last summer). But it seems that his friends have other plans. Three or four days this week he went out with friends (they picked him up or he took the bus), and two of those times he brought his swim bag and apparently went swimming, or did water sports of some sort. He won't tell me where he's going or who he's going to be with, but I'm glad he's getting out and about.

Last night around 10:30, Rocket Boy was expressing concern that Teen A wasn't home yet. "You know," I said, "when I was 17, I had a 2 am curfew on weekends." And this is true. "What would you do until 2 am?" Rocket Boy wanted to know. I thought about it. "Well, we went to the midnight movie a lot," I said. "And we'd go out to the Baylands and park and make out, but I don't think Teen A is doing that." (As far as we know -- which isn't far -- there are no girls in the picture.) "This was with Greg, the racist?" Rocket Boy asked. (My high school love interest is now a white supremacist.) "Yes," I said sadly.

Teen A got home at about 11:45 pm, not smelling of anything or acting drugged in any way. I suppose we should set an actual curfew for him, but so far I don't really see a problem. Nine months left until he's 18.

I had some trouble with cooking this week. On Monday, Rocket Boy made scallop pasta, which is the same thing he made for the boys while I was gone. He just made it again, which I thought was weird, but I was grateful (though I wouldn't eat it because I don't like scallops and was feeling sick from the shot). On Tuesday, I made Brenda's sticky tofu (which I make once a month). Wednesday I was supposed to make tacos, but I just couldn't. The thought of cooking anything made me so angry and upset that we ended up having leftovers and whatnot. I'm not sure I ate anything that night.

I went online, looking for answers to this problem of Not Wanting To Cook At All Ever Again. Mostly, I found the usual advice about planning meals ahead of time, setting up a rotation, and suggestions of easy meals. I really think I have done everything I can in that department and I still Don't Want To Cook At All Ever Again.

Then I found something different: an article about how to reset your mind about cooking. It was called "Why you hate cooking (and what you can do about it)" on a website called "Vegan Family Kitchen." It was followed by another post called "20+ things you can do to find joy in cooking" and that had several good suggestions.

I think these articles gave me three ideas that helped me this week.

1. Gaza. Think of the starving people who have nothing to eat and here you are, GETTING to cook all these delicious foods in your well-stocked kitchen.
2. Nourish yourself first. I'm going to try to plan more meals that *I* want to eat, don't worry about my family so much. Rocket Boy will eat pretty much anything and the kids often don't even like foods I expressly plan for them to love. I should focus more on pleasing myself.
3. The best cook in the household should be in charge of the cooking. Might that person be you? This is not what the article says -- it says the person most concerned about healthy eating should be in charge of it. That person is actually probably Rocket Boy. But I am the best cook. And I think the best cook should probably do the most cooking, not because she's forced to, but because she's good at it. As I cooked on Thursday (those tacos) and Friday (a frittata), I thought about how I am a decent cook and I'm doing something I'm good at. That helped.

So, on we go, and I'm sure I'll have plenty more days this summer (and in my lifetime) when I don't want to cook. But I did a little bit of attitude re-setting this week, and I think that was good. 

Now if only there were a way to reset my attitude about cleaning the litter boxes!

Since we're talking about food, this might be a good place for the Mounjaro report. I skipped it last week because, as expected, I gained weight on my trip -- DESPITE ALL THAT WALKING! I always gain weight when I travel, it's not worth worrying about. But this week I got rid of it.

• Weight the morning I took my first shot: 254.6
• Weight two Sundays ago: 219.2
• Weight this morning (after 51+ weeks on Mounjaro): 218.6

Look at that! We are just shy of a year since I started this drug, and I am down 36 pounds! I just checked and I actually took my first shot on June 14th last year, so next Saturday will be the one-year mark. And I'll probably gain weight this week, just to spite myself, or just because my body never does what I want it to. But seriously, 36 pounds! The big sack of kitty litter that I buy (Dr. Elsey's) is 35 pounds and it's terribly heavy. I usually get Teen A to carry it into the house for me, but this week he was being snotty, so I had to carry it. It's horrible! And I had that much extra weight on my body!

I feel so good with all that weight gone. So light and free. Also, I've noticed that having the scale read "21X.X" makes me feel really skinny. I wonder what it will feel like when it reads "20X.X" -- that's hard to imagine. But since the weight is continuing to come off, very very slowly, there probably will come a time -- maybe a year from now -- when I'm below 210. And maybe in a couple of years it will be 19X.X. It's possible.

I felt really good when I was in Michigan. I was not the thinnest person at the memorial service, in fact, many of the people I saw there were thinner than I was. People seem to do one of two things as they age: they get fatter (most of us), or they get thinner, sort of shrivel up. And, OK, some people stay the same. And anyone who saw me probably thought I'd gotten fatter. But I still felt good and I've continued to feel good since getting back. "I've lost 35 -- now 36 -- pounds," I sing to myself (silently) as I walk the aisles of the grocery store. 

Also, I can't get over my hair! I always think my hair looks awful these days, so thin and graying. But compared to everyone I used to know, I'm still blonde! In fact, it's apparently odd that I still have so much color. I was quite taken with my friend Janice's hair, which is completely gray, kind of a silvery white, and very pretty with her non-wrinkled face. Her hair looks like she dyed it that way on purpose, like Phoebe Bridgers. But most people's gray hair looks kind of dull. Compared to them, I'm like this blonde bombshell. Well, no, not really. But I'm going to try to enjoy the blonde, in the time I have left with it.

I planned to get back into political tasks this week, but I did nothing. Didn't even write a letter to the editor. Next Saturday there are official 50501 protests, so Rocket Boy and I will participate in one of those, and maybe I can do something during the week too. I feel bad about dropping my "five political things a week" plan, but I think I'm starting to be resigned to that. I'd like to do at least ONE political thing a week, though, so I will try to do something this week (in addition to Saturday's protest).

I think there are a few problems: 

1. I feel hopeless.
2. I don't know what to focus on, there are too many things. 
3. I feel especially hopeless and confused about the Israel-Gaza situation.

Of course, DOING political things makes you feel less hopeless, so I am really failing myself there. But the "too many things" problem, and the confusion about Gaza are real. I want to support Jewish people, but I don't want to support Netanyahu's policies. I want to support Gaza, but I don't want to support people who destroy peony gardens and set Jews on fire. I can't figure out what I want to say in a letter to the editor. So I do nothing. I'm paralyzed.

Yesterday, on his way home from swimming, Rocket Boy stopped at a farmstand and bought a dozen eggs. They cost $9 and he only had a $10 and they didn't have change. "Peony blossoms are one dollar," they said helpfully, so he brought me home a peony.

The fortunes on the table with the peony are from the takeout Chinese food we got last night. We got masses of it, and the kids didn't eat it (Teen A was out and Teen B is sick and grumpy), so we'll have it again tonight and maybe tomorrow. My fortune was really weird: "It must be home-grown." What kind of a fortune is that? What does it even mean? 

I googled it and came up with a quote from Stephen Covey: "Character cannot be purchased, bargained for, inherited, rented or imported from afar. It must be home-grown." Is that where my fortune came from? I'm not sure I can do anything with that, but after all, it's only a fortune cookie.

When Teen B and I went to Starbucks this morning, a song was playing in the background that I recognized. Jimmy Cliff singing "You can get it if you really want." "That song was popular when I was in college," I told Teen B. "Don't care, didn't ask," he said, as usual. "In fact, I think I still have the record." When we got home, I looked for it. Sure enough, there it was in the record cabinet, between Petula Clark and Phil Collins. The song has been going through my head ever since.

You can get it if you really want
You can get it if you really want
You can get it if you really want
But you must try, try and try, try and try
.......
You'll succeed at last. 

OK, the week ahead. The second full week of June, and we hope, not as cold and gray and rainy as this past week has been. I have three things scheduled for Monday (a cat vet appointment, a teen haircut appointment, and my book group in the evening) and nothing else the rest of the week, but it will probably fill up. I will try to call the oral surgeon about getting Teen A and Teen B's wisdom teeth out. And work in the yard and work on genealogy and cook dinner and all that good stuff.

On my summer schedule it says this will be "Bird Week," and that's a nice idea. I love the Merlin app on my phone, so maybe I'll focus on using that more. Yesterday there were some little birds hopping around in the lilac bush outside the window, so I turned on the app and it said they were bushtits. Bushtits! I actually screamed the word, and so the bushtits flew away, into the neighbor's tree, and they're so little that then I couldn't see them anymore. 

One of the benefits of having it be cool and wet is that the magpies have not gone away yet (they retreat into the mountains when it gets hot). In fact, they are in our yard! Last summer I noticed that magpies were coming to eat the citronella candle that I'd left out on the patio table, so this winter we put out some suet, and the magpies occasionally stopped by to eat it. Yesterday, Rocket Boy suggested I put my can of bacon fat out there, see if they'll eat that. I did, but I'm not sure they've sampled it. Still, they're in the yard, yelling away. Magpies. I don't need the Merlin app to identify them! I can't think of an easier to identify bird, both by sight and by sound. 

Back home once again

I am back from my trip to Michigan, and what a wonderful time it was. A lot of crazy things have happened since I got back, and I'll mention them down below, but I don't want to forget about my trip.

I flew to Michigan on Wednesday. I had set my alarm for 6 am -- fortunately, the alarm is battery-powered, because of all things, our power was off. Rocket Boy said he heard an explosion around 5 am, so it must have been a transformer blowing. Because of the lack of power, I couldn't make tea. I ate a yogurt, forgot to take my pills, and caught the bus to the airport at 6:40. I got to the airport at about 8 am for my 10 am flight. They've been doing a lot of construction at the airport and things looked different. But I found Southwest, printed out my boarding pass -- and realized I'd forgotten to check in the day before. Thus, my boarding position was C-54. I was so embarrassed. People who fly Southwest regularly, as I do, KNOW to check in 24 hours in advance. Oh well.

I got a chai latte at Starbucks and snacks from a convenience store, and sat down at the gate to wait. As they started boarding, the attendant warned that it was a "completely full flight" and there would be no room for the last few people's suitcases in the overhead bins. "Check your bag with Customer Service, between our gate and the next one," he kept saying. So finally I went to Customer Service to check my bag. But Customer Service was on the phone. I could see the last few people boarding the plane. I gave up and ran back to the gate, where I was the LAST PERSON to board the plane. I was so upset. As I stepped on board I said to the flight attendant, "Will there be a place for my bag?" and he said, "Oh, sure, there's plenty of space." And there was. 

But there were no seats. Every single seat on the plane was taken, but I was still standing, as was the person who had boarded right before me. I raised my hands to the flight attendants in supplication. "What do I do?" It turned out that there were two pilots taking this flight to get to their next flights -- but THEY did not have reserved seats. The seats they were in belonged to me and the other woman. And they were aisle seats! So that's how I ended up with an excellent seat, near the front, with plenty of room for my bag.

And I said to myself, "You know what, you need to just chill. You thought the world was ending and now you have a great seat and a place for your bag and the flight is on time and you're going to Michigan and all's right with the world. Have a little faith."

I had to change planes in Las Vegas (so ridiculous to fly to Las Vegas in order to go to Detroit), and that was no trouble at all. I was not the last person on board, maybe the 10th-to-last, and I got a middle seat this time, between two women, and it was fine. I read quite a bit of Patriot by Alexei Navalny, and also dozed for a while. The plane was on time, getting in at about 7 pm. It was pouring! I got off the plane and went to find my friends, Janice and Shawn, who were picking me up. But first I ran into my friend Sunny, who had flown in from California just a little bit before me. She was waiting for our other friend, Betty, who was due in a little later. We hugged and said we'd see each other tomorrow. Janice and Shawn got caught in a traffic jam, but soon made it through, stowed me in the back seat, and we were off to Ann Arbor.

Ann Arbor has changed so much since I was last there, and yet in other ways it hasn't changed at all. My friends drove me around North Campus and I kept getting disoriented, like - where are we, exactly? But then they drove to my old apartment complex on Broadway and it looked exactly the same. And then we drove down Broadway and almost everything was unchanged. And then we got to the end of the street and OMG what are these dreadful buildings? Multiple huge highrise apartment buildings all over where my grocery store used to be. It was like that everywhere -- the same, the same, OMG what on earth is that? Of course, Boulder is like that too.

They took me back to their house and I had some cottage cheese and they had some cheese and crackers and we talked as though talking was going to be made illegal the next day and we'd better hurry up and get it all out. The whole visit was like that. Talk talk talk talk talk. I was starved for talk -- not just the need to talk, but the need to hear my friends talk. 

They have actual guest quarters -- a single bed downstairs in the office and also their daughter's old bedroom upstairs with a double bed. I chose the single bed for more privacy, mainly because it was right next to a bathroom in case I had, er, digestive difficulties. I did pretty well, but it was nice to feel safe. I took a wonderful shower and passed out in the bed.

The next morning I had set my alarm for 8 am, but then went back to sleep and dreamed that I was getting ready, eating breakfast, all that. Janice had to knock on my door at 9:20 (we had to leave by 9:40) and then I ran around frantically getting ready for real. They had bought me my favorite cereal, Heritage Flakes, and Janice made this wonderful tea, which I might try to find here -- Fortnum & Mason royal blend I think it was called. 

Janice drove me to Betty & Sunny's Airbnb, which was just off Geddes near the Arb. Sunny was going to meet a friend that morning, so Betty and I set off to go exploring. It was a cool morning, with a significant breeze blowing, but I don't really get cold that much, even though I was just wearing a t-shirt, no sweater. Betty copied me -- and as a result was freezing. So we stopped at a t-shirt store on South University and bought her a lovely lemon yellow Michigan sweatshirt. 

We then walked to Lorch Hall, where our old department (linguistics) lives now. It's on the 4th floor and actually a pretty nice space. However, we noticed that the classroom named for our old professor didn't seem to be called that anymore, so we pulled the card out and edited it. Then we found a bookcase with everyone's old dissertations and pulled out the ones our prof had supervised. We also included a note explaining what we had done.

We were having fun. Can you tell?

Then we walked on through campus, through the beautiful law quad, past Angell Hall and the Michigan Union, to the restaurant where they had dinner the previous night, to fetch Betty's umbrella which she had left there, and then we went to a CVS on State Street to buy various things. Sunny met us there and we walked to Zingerman's Delicatessen. I had a vegetarian sandwich, mainly cheese and cole slaw. My friends shared a chicken sandwich.

After lunch we walked over to the Kerrytown shops and did some browsing. Sunny had been cold during lunch (we ate outside), so she bought herself a jean jacket. Not to be outdone, as the only one not buying outerwear, I bought a small pin that said "Book lovers never go to bed alone."

Sunny needed shoes to go with her dress for the memorial service, so we walked downtown and went to a couple of different shoe stores. She found a great pair of Dansko at a store called Footprints. Then we walked down Main Street, looking at all the new stores where our old favorites used to be, and then we walked to Nickels Arcade, where Sunny bought herself a tie-dyed Michigan t-shirt. And then we walked back to their Airbnb and I called Janice to come get me.

I wasn't using my walking app, but Betty and Sunny had theirs on. I think we walked something like 6 or 7 miles that day. I was really tired. We realized that we had forgotten to go to the Arb and see the peony garden! OK, tomorrow, we promised.

Janice and Shawn took me out to dinner at a tiny little restaurant downtown called Spiedo, which was sort of Mediterranean style. I had a tofu rice bowl, probably the most boring thing on the menu, but we also ordered some things to share, farmer's cheese and a spicy carrot dip called pkhali, which were so delicious, and Janice got a chocolate tahini shake which we all tried (it was a little weird). So fun. I had meant to take them out, but was thwarted when Shawn paid for the whole thing. These are the people who got me through grad school -- I think of them as my Michigan parents, although they're a little younger than I am. And here they are still taking care of me.

We talked until late at night again, and again I overslept, this time dreaming that I was putting in my contact lenses (I don't wear contact lenses). Janice drove me back to the Airbnb at 9 am, so that Betty and Sunny and I would have time to go to the Arb and see the peony garden AND still have time to come back and get ready for the memorial service AND go out to lunch. We walked to the Arb and down through it to the garden. Everything was so green and lovely, and there were still lilacs blooming. I kept remembering my old friend Al, who I sort of dated for a while. Mostly we just went for long walks, and some of them were in the Arb. It was always hot and humid and I was always sweaty. But I wasn't sweaty this time.

I used the Merlin app to listen for birdsong and was quite startled by all the birds that showed up on it -- Eastern Wood-Pewee, Red-eyed Vireo, Carolina Wren, American Redstart, Brown-headed Cowbird. I wouldn't have recognized some of these if they'd popped into view. I wish I could have looked for them, but I didn't have binoculars, and anyway, we needed to move along.

The peony garden wasn't in full bloom yet, but it was so lovely. We each went our own way through it, looking at the colors and forms that pleased us best. The rhododendrons were in bloom too, and I found those quite stunning. Just look at those orange ones. I'm not sure I knew there were orange rhododendrons.

I found a bench to sit on and did Wordle and Connections. The sun was shining, but I was in a bit of shade. It was simply bliss.

So strange to find out today that the peony garden was vandalized overnight, by people upset about what's going on in Gaza. I'm very upset about what's going on in Gaza too, but I don't think that's a reason to destroy the peony garden. The flyer that was left all over the garden said "Palestinian lives deserve to be cared for. More than these flowers."

The thing is, both deserve to be cared for. And cutting off all the flowers will not cause Palestinians to be cared for. In fact, it seems to me that it will do the reverse. Seems like just as stupid a move as voting for Trump (which a lot of Arab-Americans in the Detroit area did, because they were mad at Biden).

After spending a long time in the garden, we walked back to the Airbnb. Betty took a shower, and she and Sunny put on memorial-appropriate dresses. I was just wearing black capri pants and a navy shell, but I added a navy sweater and a scarf, so that I looked a little bit dressed up. Oh, and I exchanged my sneakers for black sandals. I think I looked fine. 

We ate lunch at a Korean restaurant on South U, bi bim bap with tofu. Korean food is not my favorite, and I have to be careful of spice so I couldn't try the kimchi, etc., but it was fine. 

After eating, we walked over to Weiser Hall, where the memorial service was to be held (on the top floor). I didn't take any pictures at the memorial service (it didn't seem quite the thing). But that's OK. There's a livestream of the service that you can watch on YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzLX-XicDJ8). It was really wonderful. I enjoyed all the speakers so much.

But what was really amazing was seeing the people who came. I thought there would be more old professors, but school's been out for a few weeks, and probably some people have gone out of town already. Plus, most of my old professors are probably pretty old themselves now. But there were so many other people I knew! And a lot of them I didn't recognize right away, mostly because their hair was gray and I remembered it as dark brown or whatever. But because my hair, for whatever reason, is still mostly blonde, or anyway blondish, people recognized me. "You look just the same!" I heard, over and over again. I was really glad I had lost 35 pounds this year, though. No one knew that I was 35 pounds heavier a year ago -- they probably thought I looked fat! But to myself, I looked just fine, and that felt good. And feeling good about myself made it easier to like the way everyone else looked. I've noticed that before. If I feel bad about myself, I feel more critical of other people. If I feel good about myself, I love everyone. Or, you know, at least like them.

Now, I will say that I felt a little inadequate when it came to talking about what I'm up to these days. People would say, "And what are you doing?" and I would say, "Nothing." When poked, I would admit that I have two 17-year-old boys and a husband, who take up quite a lot of my time. But I didn't really want to say that I spend all of my free time reading and writing and doing genealogy. I didn't want to answer questions about what I write, or admit I have a blog. I felt better saying "Nothing" but then I also felt "lesser" than most of the other people there, all the academics. So, OK, that's probably something to work on. The thing is, I have no desire to have a job right now and I'm quite happy with how I spend my time. So maybe I can figure out a way to convey that to people, for the next memorial service I attend.

There were a lot of great stories told, both by the six people who spoke officially, and afterwards when people were just chatting. One little nugget that I loved was about my old advisor's upbeat personality. He apparently once said (to one of the speakers) "I just walk around in my little bubble of sunshine." I couldn't imagine him saying something like that, but she swears that he did. And ever since I heard that, I've been thinking about it, about what it would be like to walk around in such a bubble. Think how happy you would be.

We stayed until the very end of the reception, until they started cleaning up. Finally there was no one left but us and the current director, who was clearly waiting for us to leave. We walked back to the Airbnb and Betty and Sunny changed back into normal clothes. We were going to go out to dinner, but first we had to talk and talk and talk. It was the same with them as it was with Janice and Shawn. We talked as though we hadn't talked to anyone in years and NEEDED to talk. Every subject was fair game. Talk and talk and talk. Finally we realized that we'd better go eat, so we walked back to South University and went to the Pizza House, which claimed to stay open until 4 am. Betty and Sunny ordered individual pizzas, and I had a Belgian waffle with strawberries and banana, plus a strawberry milkshake. Talk, talk, talk. Janice finally texted me, asking if I was ready to be picked up, and I realized I was just going to have to end the evening. I couldn't be with all my friends, talking nonstop, until I got on the plane -- I had to cut things off, go take a shower, go to bed. So I told Janice to come, and she and Shawn ended up giving Betty and Sunny a ride back to their Airbnb too.

And then back to J&S's house and more talk, but I was really tired. Eventually we said goodnight and I had another wonderful shower and passed out.

I woke up early on Saturday, packed, ate breakfast, and was ready to go long before my hosts. Shawn assured me that I didn't need to get to the Detroit airport two hours early -- it wasn't like Denver -- and he was right. They parked and walked with me into the airport, watched me print out my boarding pass -- once again, I had forgotten all about checking in the day before and my boarding position was C-26 -- and then hugged me goodbye. I went through security, which took about 5 minutes, maybe not even that, and then I had two hours to kill! I found a Starbucks and got a chai, bought my usual snacks at a convenience store, and went to sit at my gate, where I finally finished Patriot.

I of course ended up with another middle seat, but of all things it was next to a woman my age (born in 1960) who was a deeply religious... Democrat! A huge Trump-hater! Someone with a protest sign in her car's trunk! We had a great time talking, just so much fun. Then we'd take a break and she'd read her Bible and I'd read my other book, The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst, which is chock full of descriptions of gay sex, including on the pages I was reading. I tried to hold the book only slightly open, so that no one near me could read what I was reading, but it was awkward.

When we reached Denver, I texted Rocket Boy and told him not to pick me up, I would just take the bus. "We're in the terminal," he texted back. "WE???" Yep, the whole family came to pick me up. It was so sweet, I was almost in tears. Teen A even let me give him a slight hug, although Teen B resisted. We went to Starbucks on the way home and then Red Lobster for a late lunch. 

So now I'm home. And the world has gone nuts. Not only was half the peony garden cut down last night, but today in Boulder, some pro-Palestinians set fire to some Jewish people who were quietly marching in support of the Israeli hostages in Gaza. 

OMG. 

But it's June, and it's summer vacation, and now I have to start doing summer vacation stuff. On my vacation calendar that I printed out before I left for Michigan, I dubbed this coming week "Garden Week" (you know how I used to have themes every week when the kids were little). So, Garden Week. I guess that means I should be working in the garden. But it's going to rain a lot. Well, I can still do some gardening. Maybe. A little.

I think I'm going to have to ease into summer slowly and gradually. This might not be a big achievement week. I'll try to cook and do laundry and read and make some necessary appointments and pay some bills and do some political stuff and get the kids started on some plans... and that will probably use up the week. And then we'll see what comes next.

But I'm back. And it was a wonderful trip.