There’s just no more rockin’ way to spend a Friday night…

…then to get together with your husband to administer 150 ml of fluid to your cranky old cat with an I.V.!

And I have the lucky duty of sticking the needle in the poor little guy. Me, who hates needles so viciously.

The weirdest part is that since your administering this large amount of liquid (comparative to a cat’s body) under the skin in a fairly quick manner, he gets this temporary pouch of liquid off to one side of his body until it absorbs. Ranger tends to dress left, if you wanna know. I guess that’s really slosh left.

Best part is, we get to do this everyday this week! Then every other day for the next three weeks after that. Good times, I tell ya.

My day did improve

Rather dramatically.

First there was all the positive feedback I received for the Bite Me! fill-in I did for this week’s update, which was very much appreciated. See, by the time I was done with the art and assembling picture and text in Photoshop, I was extremely tired—I had been awake for 22 hours straight — and in a bit of pain from drawing it all in the past two days after work. I had actually put aside more time aside to do it, but the Jenn planneth, the Day Job taketh away. Which, yes, it’s good my work place is busy with billable work—just lousy timing. And worse of all, my in house editor and audience, namely Kip, was away at some business conference in Washington. Again, I had planned for this and had intended to be mostly done by Wednesday night.

So, I was swinging back and forth between thinking it was good to just knowing it was awful—the later down swing being greatly enhanced by the searing pain in my hand from all that damn hatching. Damn, I really don’t know how Kris and Chris handle it.

And speaking of the second Chris, Christopher Baldwin that is, he will doing a fill-in comic story for me the next few weeks over at Girlamatic on Wednesdays, starting this Wednesday, allowing me to take a break between Dicebox chapters. (Oh, right, finally finished Chapter 3 : Forest for the Trees this past Wednesday.)

Anyway, as tired and pained as I was from hatching and bird chasing, I was still game to do some wine bottling with Becca yesterday afternoon—we have a batch of lemon pear wine and a batch of apple wine good to go in my basement. Thankfully she was of a similar mind as I in that we’d really spend this time out organizing and washing the bottles we’ve been saving. It was nice just hanging out and chatting, actually. I haven’t done enough of that lately.

When I ran out to buy some soda for Becca and me from the corner store, I ran into Mark Bothe as he came out of the liquor store that’s right next to it. Which was cool as I hadn’t seen him or his wife Elaine in a dog’s age. His first words to me “You and Kip are coming to our party tonight, right?” My brilliant response, “Party?”

Apparently we had been sent an email invitation about a month a go—which I know I never saw. Which confirms something I’ve been suspecting, that my spam filters are occasionally weeding out email I want. I don’t have suspected spam email destroyed; they go to directories that I then scan and empty, but the load of spam keeps increasing and I’m bound not to catch everything. I have a solution, but more on that later.

So Kip (who came home an hour after I ran into Mark) and I gleefully went to hang with them and an impressive mix of people that are their friends—which I suppose can be expected when you consider their combined interest and work in design, architecture, welding, motorcycles, go-carts, pharmaceuticals, film-making and cocktail culture. And Becca came as well which delighted me not only because I have all these sets and sub-sets of friends I’m trying to have cross over more, but it gave me a chance to have Becca and Elaine show each other their respective impressive tattoos. What can I say? I like tattoos, I think they’re neat and will often show off other people’s tattoos—if they’re easily and politely accessible. I really ought to get soemthing a little more elaborate than the little symbol of Saturn/Chronos in my ear someday.

Anyway, fun was had, I saw quite a few people I know but haven’t seen in a while which was very cool, especially in such a fun and relaxing setting. I felt very good sitting at the bar in the basement decorated in red shag and rope lights, sipping high quality Rye and watching Kip and Becca shoot pool and talking about art and gears with various people coming in and out. I think I’m starting to learn to relax. All I had to do was to temporarily cripple my hand.

Good Morn—BWAH!

So, as I stumbled out of bed this morning—literally stumbling, I was tangled up in the sheets—after just waking up and realizing that I had about twenty minutes to get out the door with my cat Ranger for his 8:15am vet appointment to have blood work done to check the state of his thyroid, what sight do you think would most gladden my heart?

If you had guessed my spouse unexpectedly returned from his business conference several hours early with a mug of coffee just the the way I like it and wearing nothing but a smirk, you would’ve been correct.

If, however, you guessed my other cat Kali standing expectantly at the bedroom threshold with a live bird in her jaws, you would’ve been wrong.

I automatically scruffed Kali to get her to drop the bird and—whaddya know?—it started to fly about the room, panic stricken.

Commence slapstick routine. I sprinted to the kitchen to grab the broom, opening the door to the stairway on the way in case, ya know, the bird got the bright idea of flying down it so the nice lady could then open the door and let it out. Which actually I was planning to do.

Why not just open a window you ask? Well, you see, our windows have these screens that I can’t figure out how to remove without destroying the screen in question. And even Kip is flummoxed by the ones in the bedroom.

I ran back, bumped my forehead on the door-frame and proceeded to try to guide the bird out the door with the broom.

Well. I soon saw the futility of that as it banged into walls and did wacky things like hide behind the stereo and then the stack of pillows on the bed (note to self, change sheets). Anywhere but out the door.

Giving up Plan A, I decided to let it stay behind the pillows, threw open the window and proceed to struggle with the screen. I had to pause in the middle of this in order to chase Kali out of the room as she was stalking the pillows.

I finally got the screen out with only minor damage to the frame (eep—sorry Kip) and started to carefully remove the pillows to reveal the bird. Which then flew up—and into my studio.

I grabbed a confused Kali—who must be thinking “ya know, mama, if you just let me have it there wouldn’t be all this flying around and bumping into shit”—in order to flush the poor thing out. Kali’s presence was sufficient to get it flying back into the bedroom. I closed all relevant doors and trying to guide it to this nice big open window I made for it. I even tried to demonstrate the concept by swooping the broom through the window. Which I guess worked, ’cause then out it flew.

I was very pleased with myself.

Until I realized I had only five minutes to shower, get dressed and out the door with the cranky and now confused Ranger.

Now I’m back. Still no coffee. And I can’t stop wondering where that hapless bird took a crap in my home. Sigh.

Oh well, at least Dylan seems to like the fill-in I did for this week’s Bite Me!

And Bill has begun his epic opus.

Hmmm…. actually that last bit needs its own mention, hold on….

River of Orchids

Portland has decided that March the first is a capital time to begin spring, vernal equinox be damned. I must say, it was a wonderful thing to be greeted by when I hauled out the recycling this morning. Especially after a cold, damp weekend of being sick and moody with my moody and sick husband.*

Naturally I just had to skip on down to JacIva’s for a lemon poppyseed muffin, which is really a muffin and cupcake hybrid. While doing so I reflected that of course this means I’ll have to pay attention to the yard again, really pay attention, unlike last year.

I was doing so well until last year, slowly changing the yard to a more attractive lower maintenance drought tolerant one. I did make some improvements, discovered the wonders of wormwood (no, not those wonders) and such. But I also had some interrupted and neglected projects, for example, my transferring of one of my iris beds. Got them dug up, planted the Heavenly bamboo that’ll suit the space they were in much better, hauled the 20 or so bulbs to where I wanted to replant them—and twisted my ankle and then got caught up in other matters. I remembered them sometime in winter when I saw their jumbled and brown foliage in a sad heap. After that I tended to avert my eyes, firmly planning to clean up the evidence with the first springtime overhaul of the yard.

So how surprised and delighted was I when I came back from the bakery, muffin in hand, and spotted all these new iris sprouting right where I left them? Not only didn’t the bulbs rot and dry out, but I didn’t have to cut sod, treat soil and mulch. Then, these are the same iris I had rescued from the totally unsuitable place someone had planted them previously, the north side of house, right next to the foundation—amazing how tall they got and how many colors they became with transplanting them in fertilized soil in a sunny spot. So, I guess after years languishing they just won’t give up now (need more plants like that).

Anyway, yard aside, this fine weather is going to be hell on my Schedule of Getting Things Done. I’m going to loose all the lead I had gained this weekend in just a few minutes here, ’cause cherry blossoms wait for no woman.

*except when he had to go into work on Saturday with a fierce head cold.

Love and marriage

I’ll never understand those who would chose the ways of hate and fear over those of love and acceptance.

When I think about the recent events, I go there first.

What comes next is: I can’t relate to people whose only way to validate their own life is to pass judgement on another’s.

And it’s really hard for me to move on from there in any rational, meaningful way.

I try not to dissolve into spinning frustration or raw anger, both are easy to do. And kinda worthless and more hurtful to oneself than anything else. Not that I deny my anger, I welcome it, and think it’s equally harmful to deny it. But like every other human impulse, it needs control. I find it best to remember than to actually try to use.

Not surprisingly I‘ve been reading many reactions to the recent gay marriages and the measures some are proposing to stop them. Some have been by friends, some by strangers. Some have been reasoned debate, some contemplation, some out and out rants and wails. I value them all and am very pleased to see people raise voice and prove polls and pre-conceptions wrong—even Andrew Sullivan.

But the one I think I’m most in line with is the post made by the estimable Wil Wheaton.

Even to liking the principles that founded this country. And on a side note, given the spin that this issue has taken, let me say I even admire the teachings of Christ, there are a lot of good words to live by in them.* It’s what people have gone on to do with them or the acts they claim to commit in their name that disgust and anger me.

Many of his points I have read before: that this is about politics and not morality and that the attempt to prohibit same sex marriage is about hating homosexuals and not about saving families.

But the thing that Wil said that I really like:

Even though there are thousands of gay and lesbian couples affirming their love for and commitment to each other, my marriage—my affirmation of love and commitment to Anne—isn’t threatened at all. As a matter of fact, the only people who can really “threaten” my marriage are . . . well . . . the two of us.

And there’s the thing really. To be a threat, to really be a threat to something, you have to take an active interest in it.

And, I’m sorry Mr and Mrs Joe America, but those gay couples getting married in San Francisco? They just don’t care about you or your marriage. Like all humans, they are selfish and more focused on their own lives and doing the best they can and grabbing as much joy as they can. And I doubt they envy you, sorry again. They may desire to have the same protected rights as you and to be recognized as equal citizens like you, but that’s a long road from envy. Hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings or rob you of the new purpose you think your marriage needs.

*Not sure why so many Christians chose the message of Jehovah over Christ, but that’s another story. I’d also like to point out that just someone is quoting Scripture, it doesn’t mean you’ve found a Christian.