In the Details

I've suspected it for awhile, but tonight clinched it. The Spirit likes to work the Atlantic daily crossword with me. 1-Across: Fiasco. Debacle. Debacle? OK, it's the right number of letters. D [check letter: D it is] E-B [check letter: B] A-C-L-E. I hadn't thought of that word in years, and there it was, right when I needed it. 2-Across: "Gimme one more!" I think it's "another," let's see if I'm right. A-N [check letter: yup] O-T-H [check letter: H] E-R. 12-Down: Word before blanc or Diesel. Vin? Vin. I think we both snorted at that one. I know I did.

My grandmother of the bride dress has safely arrived at Firstborn's. I bought the shoes a week ago Monday, after the bipolar bears' monthly checkups, and I wore them to church on Sunday to start breaking them in. I don't hate them, and they don't hurt. I've been slacking on wearing my compression stockings while working from home, but I've picked that up again. And I've also resumed taking the morning diuretic, which I hadn't needed for several months, but it's warming up out there and Body is starting to be a little crabby about that.

Knitting continues on the scummy green shawl. I'm knitting it with fingering yarn but am planning to knit the full number of repeats that I would if it were laceweight, or maybe splitting the difference between eight repeats and fourteen. I haven't decided which of the edging options I want.

Last Saturday I took the quilt top that's been lying fallow the past 20 years to the quilt shop for finishing as my wedding gift to Lark and her hubby. She is my first granddaughter to tie the knot. I imagine that BittyBit will be the next, as I don't think Willow plans on ever getting married. Her dad's on (at least) his third marriage, and her mom is on her third as well.

I know you're probably saying that I have no business commenting on how many times people have gotten married, given that Beloved was my third-time's-a-charm. Speaking of which, today is the eighth anniversary of our sealing in the Dallas Temple.

I had originally planned on taking yesterday and today off to celebrate, but my workload is approximately half again as much as it was before SemperFi retired, and I am trying not to drown. It helps that my new attorney is a lovely human being (I'm looking forward to meeting her in the flesh later this year; she came on board at the beginning of the pandemic last year, so we've only ever spoken on the phone, emailed or IMed) and appears to be every bit as organized as SemperFi.

Midnight is fast approaching, so I'm calling this done. Later, gators.

Tropes

One advantage of having the bipolar bears under this roof is that they continue to educate me. We have many common interests which lend themselves to nearly instantaneous mutual comprehension. A family shorthand, if you will. And individual interests that enrich daily life.

Through Fourthborn I've become aware of the concept of tropes: literary or cinematographic symbols of a story arc. And in watching multiple movies recently, over multiple days, I've realized that one of my favorite tropes is that of girl/woman/ingenue with less than ideal partner who is suddenly presented with a potentially more satisfactory partner. Think Moonstruck or You've Got Mail or Genius or The Accidental Husband. I wonder if I would find these movies half so enjoyable had my second marriage been sustainable.

Another trope which gives me less amusement or satisfaction, now that I am happily remarried (if widowed) is guy cheats on or otherwise seriously disappoints his wife/girlfriend, who rebuilds her life, or its lesser variation guy cheats on his wife/girlfriend, who takes amusing revenge. Examples of the former: The Mirror Has Two Faces or Catch and Release.  Examples of the latter: First Wives Club or Gloria Gaynor's anthem I Will Survive.

Sleep is catching up with me again. I had an eight hour "nap" last night, and I have a long but wonderful day planned. Later, gators.

FirthFest

I am bingeing all of the Colin Firth movies and TV shows that are mom-appropriate, if Mom is Ms. Ravelled. Yesterday I made a spreadsheet of his oeuvres, then sorted them out by MPAA or TV rating, if one was available. Of the 90+ options that have been released, 36 are rated R; of those, the only one I would consider watching is The King's Speech. Another 10 are not rated. Two more are TV-MA, which I'm guessing is roughly equivalent to an R. At any rate, I'm not sure mature I am, most days.

I tried to rent another two movies to watch yesterday, and neither transaction went through. I don't know if that was purely technical issues or electronic stupors of thought.

I was craving real food today, so I took a package of Trader Joe's mini-ravioli and simmered them in chicken broth with a can of thoroughly smooshed white chicken. While that cooked, I nuked a package of mixed peas and carrots. It turned out really well, especially with a fat spoonful of sour cream stirred in. I need to go put the leftovers away, as the bipolar bears are napping.

Yesterday was all screwed up, time-wise. I went to bed about 1:00am, awoke two hours later, caught a catnap before taking us to the eye doctor (Fourthborn calls him Dr. Eye-Poky) to pick up two out of three new pairs of glasses, took a much longer nap mid-afternoon to early evening, watched four movies in the course of the day, knitted like a madwoman, and utterly forgot that I'd requested and been approved to work a couple of hours of overtime.

I slept somewhat better last night but opted for Zoom church anyway. Congested and coughing a little from my allergies, plus Mothers Day is never my favorite Sunday to attend. (The year that I divorced the children's father, I beat the daylights out of the Sabbath by taking the kids and me to the Ren-faire instead. Not my finest moment as a Christian, but still, one of my better memories with my kids.)

The leftovers need my attention, and then I think I will re-watch Pride & Prejudice while finishing the second baby sock.

 

Coloring by numbers

Roughly once a quarter, I look over my 401K allocations to see if I need to move money from one bucket into another or change the percentage which goes into each bucket. Today was that day. I had three buckets: a balanced fund, a large-cap equity fund, and a targeted retirement date fund. After pushing things around a little, I kept one fund at the current percentage, decreased another fund, and increased the third. I also set up two small experiments: a small-to-mid-cap fund and an international equities fund. I've directed that a small percentage will go into each of those, and I'll see what happens over the next six to nine months. It will be interesting to see how they perform, compared with the three main funds.

I also placed another order with Gudrun Sjoden. Yet another striped shirt, two sleeveless dresses for layering, and two pairs of summer-weight leggings in bright colors.

I think dinner tonight will be those inside-out gnocchi from Trader Joe's that called my name on Monday night. I am suddenly ravenous, and Fourthborn is making waking-up noises.

Today has been a significantly better day than yesterday. I'm going to make another of those spiced almond milk drinks before bedtime and see how it affects the quality of my sleep and the quality of my workday tomorrow. But first, I need to empty the dishwasher and reload it.

And I'm pondering the feasibility of installing shelves all around my bedroom walls at a reasonable distance from the ceiling.

Unutterably weird

Nevertheless, I shall attempt to describe it. I slept reasonably well. And this may have been the squirreliest that I have ever felt. Alternating between brain fog and thoughts skittering like drops of water on a hot griddle. I was still getting things done, when I checked my email and discovered that I'd missed my 1x1 (quarterly meeting) with the office manager because I was busy checking things off my ToDo list. I'd gotten it into my head that our meeting was at 10:00, and it was set for 9:00. I missed last week's setting because I'd spilled orange juice into my keyboard and had to dash out for a replacement.

At this point, I can only laugh and shake my head.

After I finished a phone call with one of my attorneys, Middlest came out into the living room and asked if I were taking prednisone, because I'd been increasingly manic as I spoke: both faster and louder. He said that I sounded like I do when I'm on steroids.

Nope, not on steroids, because I'd be working three weeks ahead if I were. I don't know if this is a reaction to the almond milk nightcap I drank last night, or something completely random. Maybe a weird response to the second dose of Moderna? Maybe kickback from yesterday's Cherry Coke after not having imbibed for two or three months?

It did occur to me that the fact that I haven't read my scriptures in four or five days might be a contributing factor. Heaven only knows. My mind is still racing along, too loudly for Heaven to get a word in edgewise.

In happy news, this month's installment from the yarn club arrived in today's mail, and it's gorgeous. I think my neurosis about the color blue may be mitigating slightly to moderately. The yarn is an inky blue semisolid, and I'm delighted that my reaction when I saw it was OOH! rather than EWW!

It's nearly midnight, I'm freshly showered, I need to comb out my hair, I need to fold the laundry that's occupying the foot of my bed, and I want a mug of hot chocolate.

No foolin'!

I like arugula?

On the way home from work, I stopped at Trader Joe's to stock up on chocolate covered ginger and triple ginger cookies. I also picked up two bags of frozen potato gnocchi and a flatbread covered with a new-to-me cheese, arugula, and prosciutto. I baked the flatbread as soon as I got home. It will definitely be joining the rotation.

I'd never heard of burrata, a fresh cheese meant to be enjoyed within a day or two of its creation. (Thank you, Google & Thummim.) And I've had arugula before, but only as part of "spring mix" so tasting it solo was a bit of a revelation.

Right now I'm trying an experiment.  I saw a recipe for "golden milk," and I had all of the spices but ginger. Kroger was out of almond butter*, so I've used some natural peanut butter. And because I'm not enamored of standing over a stove, stirring-stirring-stirring, I'm using the microwave, one-quarter cup of almond milk at a time for two minutes at 20% power so as not to boil the mixture. The fourth installment is beeping at me as we speak.

*They were out of smooth almond butter, and chunky almond butter didn't sound sipping-friendly to me.

Verdict: the honey and the nut butter and other spices go a long way toward mitigating the medicinal taste of turmeric. I take a turmeric capsule every morning. When it comes apart before I swallow it, which happens two or three times a week, it's a total eclipse of the taste buds.

Three of the four Gudrun petticoats which I ordered, arrived in today's mail. The other is backordered until November.

I don't know if it's the placebo effect, but I am suddenly, actually, deeply drowsy. This bodes well.

Austen-tatious

Several days ago, I purchased "Austenland" via Amazon Prime.

I like Keri Russell, Jane Seymour, and Jennifer Coolidge. Each is a talented actor, and the potential for the movie to be great fun was certainly implied. Twenty minutes in, I turned it off and began to watch twelve seasons of "New Tricks" on BritBox, because it just seemed so far over-the-top that it didn't even  qualify as good-bad.

Late last night I finished "New Tricks" and, on a whim, fired up "Lost in Austen," which I enjoyed so much that I got only four-ish hours of sleep. It was everything I had hoped "Austenland" would be.

Today at lunch I picked up where I'd stopped on "Austenland," and it grew on me. I don't know if I'll ever watch it again, but I began to enjoy the multiple improvisions on a classic plot. Keri Russell did not disappoint. Jennifer Coolidge toned it down a little and revealed a heart of gold under her flashy exterior. Jane Seymour chewed the scenery in proper Regency style.

I did not enjoy the song that "Jane Erstwhile" played on the pianoforte. I liked the closing montage and song (a reprise of what she had played) even less. Just gross.

In other news, a friend posted a wonderfully silly meme today:

    Me, after hitting rock bottom, "Welp, it can't get any worse."

    Rock Bottom's older brother, "Is this the guy that hit you?"

And on that note, I am going to bed several hours earlier than I did last night, because I'm driving in to the office tomorrow to take my turn at printing and posting everybody's mail. As LittleBit once remarked to me when she was two or thereabouts, "Goodnight. I am such a tired little blessing."

The non-silent treatment

I read this article in the Atlantic before church. It brought up memories of the last years of my marriage to the children's father. I don't remember his using silence against me. I do remember his using talk radio to drown us all out. I don't know if he felt overwhelmed by the estrogen storms that swirled around him. He was seriously outnumbered. I do remember feeling overwhelmed by loud male voices (his hearing was deteriorating) spouting subtle and not-so-subtle misogyny. He was the king of passive-aggression. I was the queen of codependence. I know that I stopped sharing what was going on inside my head, because he was unable or unwilling to hear me or to work with me. He'd make a commitment at counseling, pursue it for two or three weeks, and then resume old habits. Call it ADHD. Call it undiagnosed autism. Call it what you will. I remember feeling excluded, feeling invisible, feeling hopeless.

Years later, after time, further counseling, and the Atonement of our Savior have all worked their magic on me I can look back on this period of my life with a measure of compassion. For him. For myself. When ghosts or memories arise, I can look at them from a better perspective, acknowledge them, and let them go.

In unrelated news, today I am masking up and attending sacrament meeting in person. I am quietly anticipating that. Taking the sacrament surrounded (at socially responsible distances) by my ward family. Seeing their eyes above their masks. Our bishop asked, several weeks ago, that those who are unable or unwilling to mask up attend via Zoom. If I see compliance, I'll keep coming back in person. Today I am feeling, not loneliness, but a deep and healthy hunger to connect.

Keyboard a l'orange

It was a hell of a day in the neighborhood. A hell of a day for a neighbor. But I'm glad that you're my neighbor.

I managed to spill half of my orange juice onto my desk while setting up. A few drops splashed into my work keyboard. All seemed well until I attempted to email one of my attorneys. This is the sentence which my efforts produced:

I was inally able to igure out a way to save it to the ile.

I literally had no F's to give. Funny, now, but not so much when it happened.

This necessitated a couple of phone calls and then a trip to a coworker's house, as she's our IT person and lives half a dozen miles from me and had a spare keyboard.

I slipped a couple of errands in while I was out, and I ended up taking nearly two hours of PTO in the late morning, which cut into my productivity like you wouldn't believe. On the other hand, I enjoyed a fresh, hot chicken pot pie for an early lunch at my keyboard (eaten with one hand under my spoon as it passed across the new keyboard), and some Ghirardelli dark and I'm not going to tell you how much blueberry cheesecake ice cream.

I am now retiring to my boudoir to sulk while watching multiple episodes of "New Tricks" and knitting away on the gorgeously self-striping sock. That yarn really stands up to multiple bouts of frogging, and I couldn't be more pleased with it.

Stimulating.

After getting an official-looking letter that said I'd be getting a nominal amount, the deposit hit my bank today. It will pay for all of the bipolar bears' dental work, for which I am profoundly relieved and grateful. There should be a bit left over for fun things for each of us.

I get, but do not always take the time to read, the Modern Daily Knitting weekly newsletter. Based on an article in a recent issue, I've set up a monthly self-care date. Today is my first official one. I spent it at the office. Before I go to bed in a few minutes, I'm going to empty out my purse.

I put a few more rounds of ribbing into the current sock. I am loving this yarn.

Today I wore a Gudrun dress to work over a striped tee and a petticoat. It felt so good to be dressing up a bit.

Body is tired. Brain is going pingety-ping. Time to shut this down and putter off to bed.

There are times when I hate being right.

Last night was one of them. The Insomnia Fairy did, indeed, pay me a call. I got maybe three hours of sleep before my head exploded. I did manage to get another couple of hours before work, and I was dragging all day.

I've cast on a sock for me, out of the self-striping yarn I bought from Modern Daily Knitting. I'm using a free pattern recommended by the manufacturer and am about halfway done with the ribbing for the cuff. I'm really liking this yarn and am discovering that yarns which are 75% wool and 25% nylon can have a wide range of textures. I have some that is rather limp and almost squeaky. This feels slightly dry, a bit bouncy, but not scratchy. I really can't feel the nylon as it slips through my fingers.

Still enjoying New Tricks. I can easily identify with Brian, who has mental health issues, a phenomenal memory (OK, that's not an exact equivalent, for me), and a serious case of oh-look-shiny with all of his projects. I love that while his friends rib him about his eccentricities, they also love and respect him. He's the team's geek, and they rely on his strengths. I also identify with Esther, his wife. It's one thing for me to deal with the pluses and minuses of my own quirks. It's another to savor and/or work around those of my beloved bipolar bears. (Unlike Brian, all three of us are consistently med-compliant.) Esther just rolls with it. Our generation of women were reared to tend to the needs of others. That is a most excellent thing. It builds character; it builds families; and it builds communities. And we're not always good at appropriate self-care. But we can be taught.

Running on empty

I stayed up way too late last night, or should I say this morning, watching New Tricks on Britbox. I am learning all manner of British slang, much of it in the realm of childbirth words. Think R.E.D. (the first one; I haven't seen the second one as yet) but with retired cops instead of retired spies. The soundtrack is rocking!

I am drowning at work. We had our dental cleanings on Monday. I spent the rest of the day reading and watching Rosemary & Thyme. We got our second vaccinations last Wednesday, and right before I was due to log in on Thursday, I had spectacular rumblies in my tumblies. I gratefully accepted the option of taking the day off to recover.There was only the one episode, but I really didn't want to be more than five feet from the loo, just in case.

That same day, the washing machine repairman came and determined what the problem is. A pump has burned out, and thankfully it's covered by warranty, but he had to order the part. With any luck, he will be back this coming Thursday to install it.

Wednesday I will be going in to the office to print off and send out the mail. I don't anticipate getting much done in the way of my attorneys' dockets that day. I may need to request more overtime. I'm good, and I'm thorough, but "we have learned by sad experience" that there are only so many things one can accomplish in a given chunk of time, even with the assistance of one's guardian angels.

Mine are probably on furlough after protecting me during that tumble down the stairs four weeks ago tomorrow

In knitting news, I finished another pair of baby socks.

I am one tired mama, and I suspect that the Insomnia Fairy has plans for me tonight. Wish me luck.

Fat-bottomed Loo

Still getting used to it. It's louder and faster than the prior one. Massive whoosh with less water, and done. No longer need to fill up the tank with a one-quart measuring cup before flushing. All very nice. But the Squatty Potty doesn't fit neatly against the base, so it either tilts up at the back or juts out at the front, creating a possible tripping hazard.

Definitely not something I could have foreseen.

In knitting news, I'll finish another baby sock before bedtime and cast on its mate. I'm currently 4.5 pairs of socks behind the goal which I set when the pandemic sent us home, that of two pairs a month. Still, it's an impressive haul. Not sure if I'll stop when this pair is done or extend the challenge. I'm ready to knit a pair of self-striping socks from my recent Modern Daily Knitting purchase to coordinate with my Gudrun outfits and petticoats.

The sock is calling my name, and I need to catch up on my reading.

The week got (somewhat) better

On Thursday I went down to the office and printed the mail for everyone. We are doing a 9-10 day rotation. It mostly went well. The postage meter jammed when I ran a bunch of envelopes just before taking my lunch. After a couple of phone calls, I was able to get it running again. On the drive to and from the office, I listened to roughly an hour and a half of Anna Karenina. There are just under eight and a half hours remaining. There is light at the end of my reading tunnel.

I've also begun reading Lady Susan on my Kindle app. I wonder if this was the first work featuring a female anti-hero in the English language. It was written c.1793-1794 but not published until 1871. Anna Karenina was written in 1873. Wuthering Heights was written in 1846. (I do not consider Catherine a heroine. I think she's a spoiled brat.) Gone with the Wind was written in 1935. (I do not consider Scarlett a heroine, either.)

Next week is going to be incredibly busy. And spendy. Dentist on Monday. Our second Moderna vaccine shots on Wednesday, with the distinct possibility of being knackered for the next several days. Thankfully, we will not be out any cash for that. And on Thursday, the repairman is coming to work on the washing machine.

I've watched the entirety of Scott & Bailey this past week. It was well-written but not exactly edifying. I've signed up for BritBox as of today, and I'm watching Rosemary & Thyme as a palate cleanser. The writing and acting are not particularly good, but it's funny at odd moments.

Brain and Body seem to be in agreement that I could go to bed right now and maybe sleep through the night.

Oh, bleep.

Oh, bleep! Oh, bleep! Oh, Bleep! OH, BLEEP!!!!!

So, we've been waiting a few weeks for the part to come in, to fix the commode in my bathroom. Our wonderful plumber came this morning, only to discover that the part doesn't fit. Further research revealed that my wonderful, eco-conscious, ergonomic dual-flush commode has been discontinued. It has now been replaced with a wonderful, ergonomic, reasonably eco-conscious model with a traditional lever handle. To the tune of several hundred dollars. I've arranged for a transfusion from my credit union so that I may pay for this.

Our wonderful plumber checked the washing machine, out in the garage, to discover that its refusal to drain is not a plumbing problem. That freezing spell killed something in our two-month-old washer. I've put the word out on our Relief Society Facebook group for the name of a reputable repairman. I've also arranged for a withdrawal from my 401K to cover whatever this is going to cost me.

I also need to come up with $2K apiece for dental work for the bipolar bears. I could really use a good cry about now, but I can tell that it's stuck in crosswise. You're likely to find me eating my feelings for the next few days.

Oh, bleep.

Grumblings

I follow Sistas in Zion on Facebook. I'm not sure how to categorize them. They are faithful members of the Church, and before the pandemic, they would frequently appear at the joint venture between the Relief Society and Deseret Book which is known as Time Out for Women. I've attended that twice since it's been offered, but they were not presenters either time. They share their perspectives on what it's like to be a Black member of a church which began as various tints of White. As the decades pass, and membership around the world has grown, the complexion has become more varied and interesting. The culture is changing more slowly, as culture does. Thanks to the writing of these sisters, and the greater transparency about Church history, my perspective continues to broaden and deepen.

I read a post today in which one of the Sistas narrated her inner dialogue while reading the 23rd Psalm. Some of her questions are analogous to my own, and inspired my comment: "My late husband and I used to talk about the concept that we knowingly and intentionally chose each and every thing that we experience here on earth. I maintained then, and still maintain, that I would not have signed up for some of my experiences, nor would my children. When I was new in the faith, I believed that the universe ran like clockwork. If I obeyed A, then the blessings for that obedience would flow. Maybe not immediately, or where was the faith, but directly. I resisted the idea that randomness was a part of the plan, that the promised protections were intermittent and incremental rather than continuous. Oh dear. I feel a blog post coming on. Thank you for making me think."

This, dear readers, is that blog post. It may be one of several. Watching historical fiction or adaptations of Jane Austen's novels tends to make me think. From The Musketeers, an extremely loose (in multiple senses) adaptation of Dumas' novel, I've pondered why it should be treason for a queen to be intimate with someone other than her spouse and king, while the king was free to dally with or seduce anyone he chose, without it reflecting badly on him, much less be considered treasonous. Yes, it was important for the king to know that his son was a legitimate heir to the throne. And yes, actual history has been massively complicated by illegitimate sons who wanted to be the next king. What kept running through my mind was a phrase from the Book of Mormon about the descendants of the first Nephi: "pretended nobility."

The only nobility we mortals can claim devolves from the fact that we are literally the spiritual children of our Heavenly Parents.

Reading the annotated edition of Persuasion has opened my eyes to the cultural mores and ideals of that time. I am relieved to have arrived on earth when women have somewhat more freedom to act than in Regency times. During my lifetime, women have gained the right to take out loans without a man's signature on the instrument. Once we cleared the cloud on the deed, I was able to refinance the mortgage in my own name. This house is not entailed to Beloved's eldest son. I have an interesting, well-paying job in a traditionally female role. (And my life would be considerably different had I been born a male. I would be retired from some sort of profession. I might have been a CEO with a golden parachute. My 401K would be significantly fatter. My children would never have known hunger, nor neglect. They might still have their current physical and mental health challenges, but we would have had greater resources to deal with them. I would not have invested a significant amount of time, attention, and anxiety in the effort to protect myself, and my children, from sexual predators.)

On the other hand, I would not be sealed to Beloved. And I would much rather have served briefly as a Relief Society president, than several years in a bishopric or stake presidency, had the Lord been inclined to call me. With all the frustrations of an aging body and a misogynistic, racist, and materialistic society, I'm still glad to be a modern woman.

P.S. Sherry, you asked about my favorite Jane Austen adaptation. That would be the 1995 Sense and Sensibility, with Emma Thompson et al.

For this I put on a bra?

Theoretically, the plumber was coming today with the part to finish fixing my commode. Given what a mess North Texas was all last week, it's likely that he got stuck on another job or a fresh emergency. Does not change the fact that I have been shoehorned into a bra for the greater part of this day, and the girls are not happy about it.

I've finished reading Persuasion. The annotated version was highly edifying and a bit of a slog. I am, nevertheless, going to order annotated versions of as many other of her works as possible. I found myself getting impatient with the ending. In the Root/Hinds movie, they have a nice kiss on the street (which doesn't happen in the book), her father and sister are oblivious jerks when the good Captain comes to ask for her hand (they are better-mannered in the book), and we get to watch them literally sail off into their future together. That movie is my second-favorite Austen adaptation. I like it a vast deal better than the book.

I am now going to log off and finish watching Bramwell. I'd like to crawl through my phone and pinch the head off both the heroine (who is becoming sullen, whiny, and bitter) and her former fiance (who is revealing himself to be an opportunist of rapidly fading charm). I am delighted, however, with the autumnal romance of her father and the posh lady. I know from personal experience that autumn love is the sweetest of all.

I do rather wish that Beloved could pop in for an evening or two. I'm trying to be careful about the media I'm consuming and after eight years, I could do with a conjugal visit. He was enormously fun to kiss. I don't expect that to have changed since last we smooched.

As Kenny Chesney sings, everybody wanna go to heaven, nobody wanna go now.

Daruk, Daruk, Daruk, Daruk of Earl Earl Earl

Daruk is a character in The Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild. Mel-Mel and Squishy came by tonight, properly masked and socially distanced, and brought us Christmas. Quick, take a look at him, then come right back. He reminds me so much of Beloved. Daruk and three of his cohorts came for Middlest and Fourthborn. I got a gorgeous red and white mug, which has been properly christened with cocoa and is now soaking in the sink, three bars of Godiva goodness (if I were still variations on the theme of blonde, we would be Goldilocks and the Three Two Bars), and a goats-milk lip balm which I will try out when I go to bed in a few minutes.

Work was amazing today. I worked six hours of overtime on Saturday to try to make up for the three days of weather-related inactivity, and I made an enormous amount of progress. Today I got my primary inbox whittled down to less than 30 items and both of my team-related mailboxes effectively managed and cleaned out. I also worked all of my ToDo's and all but two items of incoming mail. If I have another day like this tomorrow, I should have time to get a little ahead on my mandatory compliance activities.

I've discovered another wonderful BBC series on Amazon Prime: Bramwell, about a female doctor in Victorian England and all of the nonsense she has to put up with to get taken seriously and to provide healthcare for the poor. She's confronting her own class prejudices, dealing with her very conservative and very loving father, who is also a practicing physician, and learning what the workhouses and asylums were like. Jemma Redgrave is the star, and she's amazing.

Jane Austen is calling my name. Later, gators!

Adventures and "interesting times"

As you are no doubt aware, the US is experiencing severe winter weather. It is particularly hard on Texans. Our homes are built to endure heat, not arctic temperatures. Our power went out briefly about 3:00am on Monday morning and was restored 15 minutes later. I slept through that, waking a little before 8:00am on my own, as my clock radio was flashing because of the outage. We had power, but we had no internet. I could not get my router to fully reset. We lost power for good around 10:00am and started adding layers of clothing.

That night Middlest bundled up like a polar bear in his room, and when I awoke for a comfort break around 1:00am yesterday, I invited Fourthborn to join me in my room. We may or may not have slept. Around 3:00am, we were all most definitely awake, so Fourthborn and I sat up, and Middlest sat at the foot of the bed, and we talked until a little after 7:00am, when I texted our friends who had offered their home if we needed it.

We packed up and headed out. The roads were treacherous, but I grew up in Idaho and know how to drive on them. About half of the signal lights were out. Our friends fixed us scrambled eggs and pancakes. We thawed and visited and thawed some more. We were all masked, except to eat or hydrate. They've both had both of their vaccinations, and the three of us have each had our first. My kids crashed mid-afternoon in the guest bedroom and were still sawing logs when I went upstairs to an incredible fold-out bed a little after 9:00. Easiest way to catch you up from that point is to steal from various Facebook posts.

Post the First: In which your intrepid heroine missteps and executes an impressive back somersault down the stairs. (I crumpled into a neat little ball and rolled.) Nothing broken. Neck is fine. Scared the dickens out of my friends. Toes, right shoulder, and a couple of fingers are likely to be colorful in the morning. Heart rate is nearly back to normal. CPAP is plugged in. I'm [soon to be] dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep. Y'all, I'm *warm* and it's lovely. (This was about 9:30 last night.)

Post the Second: Pleased to report that I'm none the worse for wear after last night's "let's roll down the stairs" adventure. No visible bruising. Barely more than the normal amount of stiffness. Neck is a little more creaky than usual, but I attribute that to sleeping in a (blissfully comfortable) strange bed. Slept like a rock. At the urging of my kids and our hostess (who is a physician's assistant), I am reluctantly downing *an* ibuprofen. (One works as well for me as 2 or 3 work for many people.) And I might go take a nap. (This was about 10:30 this morning.)

Post the Third: We are home. We are safe. I was only able to drive Diana partway up the driveway, even with Middlest pushing, but she is not hanging out into the street or impeding sidewalk traffic. In the 45 minutes or so that we've been home, we've rebooted the furnace, the router, this computer, and the oven is preheating to bake a box of stuffed green peppers that we didn't take with us to [our friends']. When we walked in the door, the temperature was 55F. It was up to 56F when I checked a few minutes ago. In an update to last night's excitement, [our friend the PA] encouraged me to follow up with my doctor if my neck and shoulders continued to hurt (they were only slightly more tender when I awoke this morning, and two ibuprofen ~ yes, I took a second one an hour or two after taking the first ~ have worked their magic). Which I will, of course, if things start hurting. At this point, still no bruising. I responded: "Seriously, I feel as good or better than I have in weeks. Maybe I did a hard reboot of my body?" (Posted about 5:30 this evening.)

As of this writing, the temperature is now 59F. Which suggests that when we wake in the morning it will be our preferred 69F. We seem to be warming up at a little more than 1F per hour. I would insert degree marks, but my right monitor, where I park my Word and Excel documents, is not communicating with my CPU, and I'm not in the mood to troubleshoot. I did not take that possible nap while at our friends' today, so I might go to bed in an hour or so. Bonus: this house is all one level, so no chance of falling downstairs!

I'm a little miffed that at my next checkup, I will have to disclose last night's adventure. I hadn't had anything that could be considered a fall since my chair broke at work and tumped me on my derriere. I'm not quite sleepy, but I think I'll bum another ibuprofen from Middlest and watch an episode or two of The Musketeers. I'm in the mood for some mindless entertainment.

Night, y'all. Be careful out there.

Winter has swaggered down from the North.

There was a huge wreck in Fort Worth yesterday that made the national news. Several people have gone Home because of it. Snow is forecast for the near future, and we have our taps dripping slowly to avert burst pipes. I'm grateful and relieved to have had our groceries delivered before the roads got bad. I wouldn't want someone to get in a wreck, just to keep us fed.

A minor downside to working from home is that I won't get any snow days or ice days this winter unless a hailstone the size of a moped comes through the roof and lands in the hall between my boudoir and the living room. On the other hand, the chances of my falling hopelessly behind are minimal.

I'm nearly caught up on reading Persuasion. The annotated pages take as long or longer to read than the text which they accompany, and they chop the flow for me. However, I'm learning context and subtext that I would otherwise miss, so it's worth it.

I started watching the BBC's 2007 Sense and Sensibility last night and managed to add several rounds to the current baby sock while doing so. I much prefer Dan Stevens to Hugh Grant as Edward Ferrars. Or should I say, I vastly prefer him? In the second episode, he is chopping wood for Elinor's family in order to productively manage the anger he feels at his social predicament. He doesn't sulk. He doesn't swear or punch a hole in something. He does something useful to serve and bless the woman he loves but is honor-bound not to have. I find it noble and deliciously attractive. It's the sort of thing a man who holds and honors the Priesthood would do. Beloved certainly did.

I do miss that man. Not with the searing pain of the newly-bereaved. It's quiet, like breathing or my heartbeat. With each passing year the excitement to see him again brightens and sweetens. I wish every woman could experience this kind of love.