What I remember of the two surgeries while coming under the knife: the comfort of the unseen voice saying, This is Dr. M, right before he got to work on the cataract.

And then the comfort of the unseen voice, This is Dr. R, just before he started to work on the retina.

I was drugged out enough at that point that nothing else really entered in, but those two moments, those two decisions to connect with their patient, felt, when they did it, like it made all the difference, and that stayed with me.

There are no words.

My first thought when I heard the news was to my friend who had been through this before and how it must feel for her to see this again. Her cat had suddenly taken ill and instead of going to services she had taken him to the vet on emergency, where he died in her arms, while, unknown to her…

Someone in my Zoom knitting group tonight asked, with others nodding, Didn’t they have security?

The frank answer could only be, Mormons haven’t personally been put through this before.

(Well, the then-governor of Missouri ordered all of us to be shot on sight because we were threatening to outvote the slaveholders which would toss out the Missouri Compromise and end slavery hopefully peacefully, but that’s been awhile.)

I mentioned that our own ward had once been picketed by a group looking to intimidate.

But they got our start time wrong and almost nobody was there. Then there was a sudden hard downpour of cold rain and who was there to even notice they were even there? They left.

Then the sun came out for everybody arriving for church in the hour after that.

If only…

Meantime, my retina and cataract surgeries are in the morning. I have heard about bubbles and head angles and one person lying in bed for a week and a week of not looking up and not lifting anything–there’s a maybe on all of that, it depends on the doctor and the specific procedure–and I have no real idea what the next few days are going to be like.

To my sister Anne: don’t look.

I’m debating adding a splintered-off base of the tree to the end of that top log on the beaver lodge, and if I get really determined and if it works out okay, maybe the beaver itself. Maybe. And add a stitch to the turtle’s front leg on the far side to balance it a little better. Etc etc.

And of course eventually it will have a border all around. I don’t usually do white for a border but in real life it matches bright for bright and I quite like it. The only thing is that the gauge of that particular yarn came out looking looser than the others in the body of the thing. But hey. Ribbing can have its own character.

My memories of West Virginia are of gleaning huge peaches two weeks after the commercial harvest (for $2/bushel if I remember correctly, Mom?) and of visiting Harper’s Ferry and standing above where our Potomac River and their Shenandoah River come together in a huge rush of water.

I knitted in that little beaver lodge anyway. Just to let nature speak up for itself. 

Curious. This Supreme Court just in effect nullified its own Citizens United ruling.

Because it ruled in a shadow docket case, meaning one for which there were no hearings, was not aired publicly, with a decision that does not even have their names signed to it to hold themselves accountable to the public–that the president can decide to withhold funds that Congress had decided on a bipartisan basis to spend.

In this case, on foreign aid.

One of my high school friends was laid off from her USAID job months ago and she could tell you many a story about just how effective a peacemaker we were in the world in helping people learn to farm and feed each other better and in establishing public schools where there had been none. She saw it. She lived it. We were perceived as Good Samaritans. The Anya apricots that I go on and on about how intensely flavored and juicy they are? That’s how that original seed ended up here: a farmer from California working on behalf of the State Department befriended people along the Silk Road, who offered him their best to show the world what they had and that not everything there was about war. The good that’s done when individuals help individuals across cultures and backgrounds goes both ways and USAID, with little publicity or public knowledge, is how it happens.

And every year for decades, Congress has voted from both sides to sustain those efforts.

Power of the purse? Separation of powers? Constitution? Voting as a representative of one’s constituents on the matter? Pffft, who needs that. Wiped away with the swipe of an anonymous pen.The president controls all. And you know the only thing this one cares about money is how much of it goes to him.

So, since they can pay for nothing and do nothing now no matter how they vote, why would anyone donate to the campaign of any member of Congress again? (Or at least, of those who are going along with this.)

Besides, there are so many of them. Why bother when there are only six to have to deal with on the Court who have shown that they can be bought off.

The third and final peach tree is four rows into the untangle all five doubled strands stage. The peach is 50/50 cashmere/silk and sliiiiiiides right out. The grabby twisty overspun cashmere tree trunk, not so much.  Photo taken at the point where I only had those two left to extract from each other before the next go-round. It’s getting there!

Last week I went in with Richard to his appointment with the wound care specialist.

The doctor barely made eye contact with him, and me not at all. He dealt with the problem at foot, competently so. All business, all seriousness.

He had a follow-up Tuesday this week and again I came in in case there was anything the doctor wanted to teach me about taking care of those injured toes, since he had changed the protocol a little and who knows if he might again.

This time, I was wearing Galina’s gerdan with the small beaded bird perched on a Ukrainian bandura, singing its heart out. (Wow, that article: there was a time when you could be shot by the Bolshevik Russians for being a Ukrainian playing one. No wonder Galina used that imagery!)

The doctor came in, nodded hello, and did a slight double take as he seemed to be taking in the heart of that bird for a moment. Something in him seemed to let go of I could only guess what, and he exhaled.

He talked to us. He made eye contact this time. He took off the bandaging. He saw that all the open wounds but one were now healed and that that one was making progress, and that was very gratifying to him: last week he had said this could still go either way (meaning he could still lose those toes), but now, six weeks in, he said with clear relief that we were finally getting there.

We have an apparently fairly large mystery yardguest whose new digs were discovered today. I wondered whether I could borrow the neighbor’s dog to bark at it, since the thing probably moved in here to get away from it over there. Although, for the dog’s sake, maybe not: it reminded me of a friend’s tale of skunks having territorial fights under her living room to the point of soaking her rug above them with their spray. Let’s not.

The dirt got shoved back to where it had come from and a large object was placed on top of the hole to encourage the thing to move elsewhere.

Definitely needs a trail cam.

But meantime I got six rows of afghan done so far plus a new cowl cast on at the doctor’s waiting room that I continued on while waiting for his doctor across town, and the thing is 1400 stitches along already.

So what I’ve been told is that if your apricot tree’s growth tips get disturbed for any reason they stop right there and that’s it till the next spring: no side branching from below that point, no new leaves nor fruiting tips, nothing. And it’s easy to tell, because the new leaves and limbs start out red.

It went from pot to ground in the spring and almost immediately that was that. Would the limbs or trunk stretch out a bit, at least? I took a measuring tape out every so often but the answer was nope. August was the same as April. I figured after four years in a large pot, it was concentrating on stretching out its roots in their new digs. I certainly hoped so.

We had a heat wave of a few days and then a couple of cool nights and maybe it decided to call it good, that’s a winter, it’ll do. Maybe?

Because a few weeks ago it started doing this. Not the whole tree, just these two limbs. A few days ago  the upper one started adding a side shoot.

The lower one, meantime, got its end chomped off by a bug and I thought, Well, that’s that, then.

It took a deep breath for a couple of days and then sent out a do-over from the node.

I don’t know what I don’t know why it’s doing all this now, but I like it. Did it get its equinoxes flipped? It does make me wish I had the botany degree I almost chose in college.

Turns out I didn’t squint well enough at the fine print and got the name of the sock knitter wrong (there are only so many of us avid knitters there.) All straightened out now.

One more week till I get to start the months of recovery from retina surgery and I am ready for it.

We don’t have collection plates nor fundraisers in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, he reminded us.

With the exception that the youth are allowed to have one activity every year to raise money for camp: locally, that’s at the church-owned campground up in the mountains that the kids put many volunteer hours into cleaning up after the CZU Complex fire burned the facilities down a few years ago. Most of those redwoods have begun to green out again, thank goodness.

They have really earned getting to go and to see the forest renew year by year after the devastation.

Last year there was a carwash.

Today was a party. Balloon animals for the little ones and showing them how to make them, cotton candy, come have fun.

We had baked goods by volunteers. Those, you paid for, one of two prices: Original, and Generous, trying to meet everybody’s budgets. First claim first served.

And a silent auction: a picture of the thing offered and a sign-up sheet to put your bid on. Dog walking by one of the teens, water your plants while you’re away. Lessons in various languages. A tour of Filoli Gardens.

Sue likes to knit socks and offered to knit a pair to fit.

I offered a Malabrigo Mecha hat.

The dad of the now-grown Eli, who used to take care of my mango tree when we were away and who loves the teal hat I knit his son, took one look at the blue twin to it and made sure that that was going to be his and made my day.

Someone wrote down $10 for Sue’s socks and probably thought they were being generous for a pair of socks.

She was going to have to bid a whole lot higher than that if she wanted those. After the huge expenses of this past week I hadn’t been going to spend a dime but I knew she wasn’t offering even the price of the yarn (unless it was a really good sale and/or old stash.) But how would she know that.

How about a different number to look at. After that it’s up to her (and hey, I would dearly love a pair from Sue’s hands.)

I got pulled away to family errands before I found out if I’d won but I was assured I would be emailed and could take care of it then if I did.

To quote the good doctor (as in Suess), Who sees who sew whose new socks, sir? You see Sue sew Sue’s new socks, sir!

Sue’s note said pick your size and color. I think forest green sounds good.

That 7mm kidney stone that they hospitalized him for five weeks ago and then it moved and stopped hurting but wouldn’t go away?

It finally, finally got laser-sprinted out of there today.

A few hours later, we took him to the wound care doctor he sees twice a week, who looked at his foot and was pleased at the improvement.

There’s a batch of chocolate in the melanger in celebration. And typing this I just realized–it’s being stone-ground. I’ll see myself out…

Saw a little boy at Costco, alone in the aisle in that initial blink of time but knowing where his mommy was and steadfastly heading her way, slowly dragging the near-size-equivalent to a favorite blankie bunched up and trailing across the floor behind him.

It was a plastic outer bag holding two quite large loaves of bread and he was going slowly as he pulled about 10% of his weight along.

Are crusts allowed on peanut butter sandwiches? Jelly or honey? These are the important questions one needs to know.

Re the electrician just before he left: he looked out the window, not used to seeing that house on the next block from this side, and wondered out loud if he had the right one and if I knew: Did you get new neighbors recently?

Yes, in that house, confirming the one he thought it was.

We worked there! They had us take out all the old lights and rewire it for brighter.

I burst out laughing and exclaimed, So YOU’RE the one!!! And laughed and laughed and laughed. And then explained that, Oh yes. They ARE bright.

And they leave them on all night and they shine into our bedroom. (We’re talking like five streetlights, hon, but I didn’t say that. But he knew.)

His face started doing an oops but I was still laughing so he was laughing too and it’s no biggie because we’ve got those transom windows covered now, not to my satisfaction but good enough.

And now as of the past month or so they’ve finally started closing their curtains every night anyway. It was random the first year–they did tend to turn the intensity of their lights down once they saw ours go out–but still mostly frankly terrible, while we debated solutions the two of us could live with.

So rather suddenly, after a year, it’s not a problem. I’ve no idea why the change but I’ve been wanting to thank them–while thinking I’d probably be a better neighbor if I just keep my mouth shut unless they bring it up. (I still don’t like our transom coverings. I’d still love to take them down. We’ll see.)

And now I have an excuse to try again to connect in person: we have a great electrician in common. And this year’s crop of squirrels has not yet discovered that my pomegranates are edible once you get past the thorns. Just a little more ripening to go…

The phone rang this afternoon.

It was the office of that repairman, demanding to be paid. I was stunned, and said I had. And she wanted to know if I wanted him to come back to replace the broken knob on the washer I had asked about. I said I did not. (I had already told him no.)

That’s the one for setting the water level. The machine is stuck on either full or nearly full and when the guy quoted me $400 last week to come back and fix that, yeah, no. Full loads are our thing. Ding #2 on Speed Queen, though: that should never have broken.

So (let’s set up the appointment) when did I want him to come back to do that. I could pay him then.

I did!

I may be deaf but she was determined not to hear.

I gave it to her straight, politely but taking no nonsense: the warranty call on the dryer, their guy doing nothing, his blaming our scorched wall and plug on the lines in a room we’d had custom-built for laundry 31 years ago that had been fine through four dryers all this time, that I’d paid $3000 yesterday to have the room rewired because that dryer had pulled too much voltage and burned our wires, and its sensor had not worked to stop the overheating. And that the electrician yesterday had been so bothered by their guy’s actions that he’d replaced the cord and plug on his own time and out of his own pocket at no charge. I was not happy with their guy’s refusal to repair the dryer, and then his charging me $79.95 for what was supposed to be a warranty call while doing nothing.

That’s what I’m calling about, she said: you need to pay us.

I DID pay him. He told me to write the initials of the company rather than writing it all out. If he says I did not pay it he is lying, or he lost the check, which (and here’s where she would have known how angry I was had she known me) is not my problem. I paid $79.95. I’d be happy to confirm that with my bank for you.

I will call him, she told me.

She called back almost as fast as she’d hung up. Yes he said I had paid it. Did I want him to come back to repair that knob?

I could not believe she was actually trying again, and answered, I do not intend to do business with your company ever again.

She tried to haggle her way towards–whatever. I told her, Have a good day. And hung up.

—————-

Okay. Now. I have to give you the antidote to all that.

When I am slogging through peach tree afghan rows on the needles, I reward myself in finger puppets: at the end of each row I put one on top of whatever book I’m reading so that at the end of the day I have a little zoo cheering me on for all the work I got done, while at the same time that visual count sometimes keeps me at it to try to get it higher. In the morning I put them back down on the couch to start over. It lets me think of the knitters in Peru, making all those little toys to make some child in the world happy, which makes me happy.

There tends to be a rotating cast there. Funny how that happens.

Yesterday, paying the electrician and thanking him very much for the 18 man-hours of work between the two of them on such a hot day, I found myself suddenly asking, Do you have kids?

Yes, he said, surprised and suddenly beaming, I have a daughter. She’s six.

I reached over to that pile. Is she into ponies? as a small yellow horse with a white mane in little loops came to hand.

YES! His eyes were big, like, How did you know?!

I was a little girl who was into ponies, too, I told him.

And he went off with the biggest smile on his face, looking forward to her and his wife’s delight to make up for his long day.

(Scrolling down a bit) I didn’t blog about the dryer repair guy? Call it Thumper’s Admonition. He came, he fixed nothing, he called the blackened plug cosmetic and said it wasn’t covered, and he ignored my pointing out the melted lint trap cover that had been far from the wall as proof that the dryer had been getting too hot and random on the timer, and said our wiring had fried the dryer and that it was our fault it had overheated. Charged me $79.95 for refusing to repair the visible damage, refused to even consider that their dryer had scorched my house, said nothing was under the warranty, and walked away.

With a thank you to the Anne who sent me a note about it, I found out that if you turn the dial counter-clockwise on a Speed Queen old fashioned knob style dryer, it breaks the timer and the dryer overheats. It plays equally easily in either direction but you absolutely must only ever turn it clockwise.

How would you ever know? Even if you proclaim, Read the manual!, how would you trust any visiting guests to know that they will destroy the machine and burn down the house if they turn the dial in a direction it’s perfectly happy to turn in?

Today the electrician and his apprentice came for the wiring the dryer had fried.

Turns out that when we added on the laundry room and specified we wanted it wired for an electric dryer, the guy had used aluminum wire to connect it up to the existing copper wire.

You can do that, our new guy said, but you must mark where the change is and it has to be done very very carefully with the right materials. But there’s no marking. There’s no way to know what he did where. (There are other markings on the outside breaker box that were done in pencil and time and exposure have made them illegible. So there’s that.)

He was gratified that Richard knew exactly what he was talking about. (Richard in high school wired his dad’s addition and it passed inspection.)

It had been fine for 31 years till the timer on this dryer started acting funky.

So. The dryer had fried the wiring at the receptacle. Keep it safe. New copper wiring. The choice was to tear out the wall most of the way along one side of the house–or run it out and through a particular type of specialized pipe over the roof. Pipe it is. They were off to go buy it.

It was 88F out there. The job took them about nine hours.

At the end, he had me come in and see the new receptacle. And! There was a new dryer plug and the entire cord it connected to–neither of which he charged us for, he just did it because he could and because what the repairman had done just didn’t feel right to him.

He plugged it in. He had me turn it on. It worked! There was nothing in it so we didn’t leave it on for very long. Off.

And then there was–a sound.

Me, being so deaf, I thought he’d dropped a small tool, and he had, earlier, and he picked it up, but said no, that wasn’t it, it was a big boom, did you hear it? to the other guy coming in just then. He had. Richard was coming around the corner at the other end of the hall just then and said, I heard it!

The two buttons, for power and for steam boost, were now jammed in at the top with nobody having done anything to them.

It couldn’t be turned on again.

His extra charge for that heavy-duty cord and plug and the time spent installing them on our dryer?

Zero.