I had to go out there yesterday to do a soap inventory (I sell in the gift shop there) and Aunt Gay and Uncle Joe went with me. I appreciated that, because apparently they’re also sick with the same thing Tim has, so it was nice of them to come with.  I think they had a good time, though, in spite of The Grunge. They saw a number of people they know, we heard some good music, and it was good just to hang  out with them for a while.

Yeah. That’s all I’ve really got this morning. I’m a super, super-light sleeper, and the dogs woke me up with the incessant scratching scratching scratching always with the scratching at about 5 AM. I tried to lay there and not hear it, but that just made me more tense… to the point I could feel a migraine coming on… so I got up. Now the dogs are underneath my feet, snoring as if they didn’t have a care in the world (which I guess they don’t, since Tim and I take care of their every need). I envy their ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, and the fact that they can sleep all day if they want. Fuckers. I can’t even take a nap unless I’m exhausted and/or sick, because the trauma of waking up ONCE in a day is bad enough. I’m a grumpy sourpuss crankypants if I have to wake up more than once. I may be a grumpy sourpuss crankypants today, from having woken up before I wanted to. Don’t you want to meet me for knitting tonight? YAY!

PS. So far this experiment of getting back to daily blogging by using my photo-of-the-day as a kick-start to writing something seems to be working. I’m monotonous, I know — it’s like a choose-your-own-adventure of boredom. “If the dogs need to go out, turn to page 7! Talking about HaldeCraft? Turn to page 23!”… but at least I’m getting something out there in my poor, previously neglected blog.

Then it was back home, where I found out I wouldn’t have been able to print anyway, because my printer was out of yellow ink; and even though I wanted to print in b&w it’s one of those printers that has an existential crisis when out of one color and won’t print at all. And I needed to print labels for the sock club, so… off to the office supply store it was.

Sigh.

But then a friend came by later to pick up some soap she had ordered, so we got to hang out for a bit which was fun. And I got email from another friend who might come up for a day visit some time in the next couple of weeks, and that helped to balance the day out as well.

Tim is still sick, but he’s gone back to work today. He says he feels sicker when he stays home and rests, so he’s just going to go back into work and ignore the fact that he is sick.

OK; off to refill this coffee cup and get to work. On the docket today? Painting and glazing some bisque, and getting sock club packed up and in the mail. Sock club! Squee!

For dinner we went to Leonardo’s 706 (where the locally-sourced shiitake mushroom appetizer is so delicious that I swear each time that I’m going to order about three of them as a meal) and although they seemed reluctant to leave the butter out of Antony’s dish in order to make it vegan, the food was passable (quote of the night, “but it won’t be the same dish” — seriously, the waitress really wanted to argue this point. Antony had to go to the counter to ask someone to ask the chef, because she said she knew he wouldn’t do it and wasn’t even going to bring it up, as “it wouldn’t be the same dish”). Not to keep kicking a dead horse, but … why was that even an issue? What is this, a cooking competition where the chef has to make everything the same way every time, or risk getting booted out of the kitchen? It’s not like it’s a big box place, with sauce shipped in frozen in a bucket. It’s a locally owned restaurant, one that prides itself on sourcing good food locally, nowhere on the menu did it say “no substitutions” or “dietary restrictions will be mocked,” and for fuck’s sake, at the prices they charge they can leave off the damn butter. GAH. Whatever. They’re off the list of places we’ll go next time. So thanks, Leonardo’s 706, for the chance to eat at The Jones instead! Appreciate it!

Anyway, other than that (oh, and other than his building having no power when he got to work) I think Tim had a good birthday. He was surrounded by people who love him and who get (and encourage, sigh) his puns, and he got some lovely cards and useful gifts. Happy birthday, honey!

Today I am back to work — not that it seems like this vacation has really been a VACATION. I’ve still been working my butt off, even though we’ve had holidays and company and a death in the family. I have so much stuff to list and promote that I actually drew up a calender for January marking when I was going to list certain things; otherwise I would try to list 76 new things today and have nothing else new to show for two months. I also tried to block out more of a work schedule, making certain days of the week soap-making days, or yarn-dying days, or firing-the-kiln days. I am determined to stick to it through January, but we’ll see how it goes. I just feel like lately I’ve been running around in a full-on Kermit the Frog muppet-arm-flail, putting out fires and struggling to remake sold out items, and over the holidays came to the conclusion that “never being sold out of something” is less important than “having a structured work week.” If I’m sold out of something, it’s OK to not have it back in until next week. So I sell out of Rosemary Mint soap on Friday, and soap-making day is Monday, meaning I won’t have it listed until Thursday. That is allllll right. The universe will not end, the sun will rise and set, and the rest of my planned schedule won’t be thrown off balance. In theory.

So.

Off to refill, or just nuke, this coffee cup. It’s cold as fuck inside the house (I’m wearing three pairs of socks, fingerless gloves, a thermal shirt, another shirt, and a sweatshirt, and a hat) and my coffee is cold almost as soon as I carry it from the kitchen to the office. Winter has arrived. Tim’s going to cover the windows with plastic this weekend. Ahhhh, older houses with your silly jalousie windows.

We met up for lunch at Chopstix (where they’ve redone the sushi bar and y’all, SWANK!) and then went off to walk around the part of Payne’s Prairie with the 50-foot observation tower and a great view of the horses. Last time I saw bison, this time we saw horses. And they were mighty close! I got some great photos. We briefly walked a couple of trails, and then went over to Lake Wauburg to have a look around (how had I never been out there before?). The temperature was starting to drop a little but overall the weather was absolutely perfect for the day. I mean, look at that sky!

Then it was off to rest for just an hour or so, and then on to Aunt Gay and Uncle Joe’s for another great dinner, followed by….

…dessert at Sweet Dreams! Proving that either Gainesville is a small town, or that all of my friends have fabulous taste, I know almost everyone in this photo. Tim and I got there first, and saw Allan, and then right after that Jason and Mary came in (we had gone to their wedding about a month ago). Then Aunt Gay and Uncle Joe and Jag and Antony pulled up (we were expecting them) and overall it kind of looked as if we’d called everyone we knew and said “meet us at Sweet Dreams!”. You, dear reader, were the only person missing. Wish you could have been there! Hey, maybe Arne can randomly photoshop some people in there…

You’re my knight in shining armor, and I’d marry you all over again! *smooches*

Then of course later that night was the HaldeParty, which may have been the biggest one we’d ever had. At one point Aunt Gay counted 49 people, and 50 is the most there’s ever been. The mood, in spite of the losses we’ve had this year, was not as somber as it could have been. It was much more a celebration of life – which, what with three big losses this year, is saying something. It would be easy to wallow in loss. Instead, there was much laughter, live music, hugging, and great stories. And the most epic fire juggling we’ve had yet! I’ll have photos up later this week.

Breakfast the next morning got off to a slow start but soon there were so many people that we were rotating at the dining room table — as soon as someone new came in the house, someone who’d already eaten would get up to go sit in the living room to make room at the table. We had more live music, more juggling, and much more laughter and good times. If the rest of the year could be like yesterday, full of great food and quality time with loved ones, I will want for nothing else.

We had dinner with the fam’ last night – Aunt Gay and Uncle Joe and Mike and Sharon and Jag and Antony. Tim is feeling a little under the weather so he was fading fast and we wound up not making a long night of it, but it was good to see everyone. Mike and Sharon came in a day early to help get ready for the big party tonight, and Jag and Antony came down from the not-yet-frozen North Country.

Today will be going out to lunch, and maybe ice cream, setting up for the party, hopefully squeezing in making some cupcakes, and of course, celebrating.

That’s about all I really have to say. I’m not awake yet, in spite of being up for almost two hours and having just poured my third cup of coffee. I had weird zombie dreams and am feeling a little fuzzy-headed this morning. Also I can’t wait for this year to be over.

Well, that’s not exactly true. As much as I’d like to think it does, the changing of the year doesn’t *really* change anything. I had about two more paragraphs written after that but they got rambly and too navel-gazing-ish for even me to tolerate, so I deleted them.

More coffee. Shower. Wake up. Go shopping. Carpe Cupcake!

I’m sure I have many other, older photos as well, that are either not scanned yet, or scanned but saved on my other computer and not yet uploaded. I will find more, and promise not to make *all* of them photos of him napping on the couch after a busy Christmas morning.

Remembrances, stories, thoughts, or condolences may go here, or here. Locus has put a brief obituary here but say they will be updating it later today with more of a biography. In addition, there is a File 770 post here.

It wasn’t as hard, having Christmas without Rusty, as I was worried it might be. They’re apparently managing his pain well enough that he’s been awake and making jokes, and friends have been in to see him.

We had a lovely Christmas morning with maybe just a little too much bacon (no, never mind, what was I thinking — you can NEVER have too much bacon) and pomosas and stockings and friends and family and presents and scones and coffee cake and coffee and tea and more pomosas.

Then it was home for napping and letting the dogs out to run around, and then it was back for dinner, which I am embarrassed to say I forgot to photograph. Ham and roast beast and peas and carrots and onions and salad with homemade dressing and sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes and green beans and two different kinds of ice cream and pie and cinnamon buns and probably a few things I’ve forgotten about. And good conversation and my lovely friends and family. Good times.

Might you have been on the receiving end of a handmade gift? Then you need to read this. It’s specifically about knitting, but can apply to anything handcrafted. As someone who has given knitted objects and had them be unappreciated, this hits rather close to home.

Lastly, I don’t know that I’ll finish reading anything in the next week, so…

2011 Reading Challenge

Lorenahascompleted her goal of reading 30 books in 2011!

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41 of 30 (136%)

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I think that’s a sign. An allegory, if you will. Even in the darkest part of the year, the coldest part (of course, as I say that it’s already over 60 degrees this morning and all the windows and the screen door to the porch are open), the part of the year where most things fold up and hibernate, life goes on.

Oh, hello, major family health crisis with the chance of death for Christmas, you feel familiar. I would like to punch you in your face. Your stupid, stupid face.

Ten years ago tomorrow, on Christmas Eve day in 2001, we made the decision to move Daddy from the hospital to Hospice. A bed there had opened up, and he wasn’t coming out of the coma they’d induced so that he could have a better chance with his thin, wasted body to maybe survive this round of chemotherapy. He wasn’t going to get better; this was a one-way trip. We had debated for a couple of days about what to do for Christmas. Do we still have it at my house, where it was being held then? Do we move it to Barbara’s apartment, to make it easy for her? Do we have at at Aunt Gay and Uncle Joe’s, where we were going to eat anyway, to make it easier for them to cook? Do we not have it at all? We opted to go on as usual, Christmas at my house where everything already was, and while it was weird to not have Daddy there, at least there was some semblance at trying to be normal.

Christmas Day 2009 Jeff and I drove to the VA to hang out with Uncle Joe for a while. We didn’t open any presents that day; we knew Uncle Joe was going to make it by then (after all, he’d made it that far, right? Surely the Universe wouldn’t fuck with us that much) so as a family we opted to hold off on Christmas celebrations until Uncle Joe was back out of the hospital again. My mom and Dave came up for Christmas that year, and they all went to see Uncle Joe in the morning, and Jeff and I went to see Uncle Joe in the afternoon. I honestly don’t remember what Tim did that day. I think he stayed home and read computer books (like ya do).

And now we have Christmas 2011.

Here’s the Readers Digest Condensed Version, which I have hinted at a little here but haven’t written down the whole thing, because for most of the year I thought there was something wrong with my blog and I didn’t want to write a lot of long, heart-felt posts just to have them disappear, but here we go now because (1) I hope those things are fixed and (2) I need to talk. In 500 words or less: Early this year, Rusty fell in his kitchen, and was on the floor for four days before someone found him. He spent months in the hospital and rehab center. He was finally pronounced well enough to be able to continue to live alone, and sent home, where he was for approximately a week when… something fuzzy happened. Either he slept on the floor on purpose, or he fell again and didn’t want to come clean about it, but they had to break in and get him up again and he’s been back in the hospital and rehab center since then. We had made the decision to bring him down here into a nursing home, but apparently his worn-out body has decided it has had enough, and is beginning the shut-down process. His mind, other than befuddled by morphine for the pain, is sharp as a tack. But his body is done.

Earlier this week (fuck, just yesterday, so not so much “earlier”) there were decisions that were made, and then made differently, involving an amputation (final verdict: don’t do the amputation, it wouldn’t solve anything and would just be a horrible experience for Rusty); Aunt Gay is up there and is really shouldering a lot of the burdens of choices and decisions, and I’m sure your thoughts would really mean a lot to her. She reads this blog, so feel free to leave her some words of love in the comments. And tell Uncle Joe that it’s OK if he wants to go to Dayton next week, that my mom and Dave and Barbara and Sharon and Chris and Laura and Gerry and Jag and Antony and Tim and I can totally handle the New Years Eve party (as long as they don’t mind if it’s still at their house, because dudes, people would show up there regardless).

What do I think…? I love Rusty. He is a rapscallion, and a tease, and gives a good back or foot rub, and he reminds me of a dinner roll because he’s hard and crusty on the outside and soft and gooey on the inside. He’s pragmatic, and practical, and is a “show, not tell” kind of guy. I don’t think he’s ever told me he loves me; but he shows up, and isn’t that what love is? He doesn’t need to say the words because he shows you all the time. He’s been to every Christmas, Thanksgiving when we still celebrated it, birthdays when Aunt Gay and I used to have joint parties at Tarrytown or Merritt Island, random month-long visits, both of my weddings, my fathers death, Uncle Joe’s illness. He’s full of stories and I’ve gotten to hear a good portion of them. He’s Santa’s Evil Twin, he’s the Wise Old Man, he’s Gandalf and the Trickster and a librarian and a font of knowledge all rolled into one twinking-eye’d Old Man. He’s the best Grandfather a girl could choose to have.

And now it’s time to say goodbye. Thank you. I love you. You’ve meant so much to me. It’s time to celebrate and cultivate all the things in life I’ve learned from you, and practice them.

Would Rusty want me to mourn, or would Rusty want me to celebrate his life and pass on his stories and attitude? Yes, there will be mourning, there has to be. But I’m goddamn lucky to have had a Rusty in my life, and that joy deserves a nod as well.

Lest you think, though, that I’m without feeling, I’ll end this with something I wrote to Jag in an email the other night -
Also, pain is OK. I welcome pain. I’d never want to be without pain. Pain is a balance; without the pain of hurt and loss, we wouldn’t recognize the joy of bounty and love. If I don’t acknowledge pain upon losing someone, how can I acknowledge I have love for them? If you don’t feel a loss, how do you know there was anything there that you were holding special?