End of Year Games

 Herself speaks.

Games I do not enjoy, but am playing right now:

"is it allergies, or is it COVID?

Argh.

-----

To protect the privacy of others, I'll be just a bit vague: one close contact of mine has tested positive for COVID; another, spent a fair amount of time unmasked in a room with someone who also has COVID. And because of the State of Things, there are no COVID tests to be found. And so we wait, and wear masks in the house, generally avoiding close contact with each other, and wondering if we will become ill and if so, when. Is that tiny itch in an ear just allergies, or is it COVID? Is a throat sore, and if so, was it from chewing all that gum, or is it COVID? What level of exposure did I really have? How long until I feel safe again? 

I am exhausted, and trying not to be angry. I have tried SO HARD for two years -- social distancing, wearing a mask everywhere, avoiding going into stores, not traveling except to see my frail and elderly parents in case something Unspeakable happens to them, staying away from gatherings of people as much as possible -- and right now it feels like all my efforts may have been fruitless, because I still interact with a few people, and those people are more comfortable with a higher level of Risk of Exposure than I am. And they will bring the Plague to me. 

I do not enjoy having so little control over my own COVID Fate. 

In this metaphorical apocalypse, I have noticed the metaphorical zombies and done my best to avoid them. Yet somehow, they will still end up at my doorstep. What else can I do, besides fight them when they arrive?

-----

At any rate, this very long year has come to an end. It was busy, and exhausting, and had quite a bit of loss in it, and I am ready for it to be over. 

I wish for all of us, a good new year, full of hope and health, comfort and peace.

Amen.

Shopping of the Times

I thought at first that this was some sort of self-quarantine cubicle. It is, in fact, apparently a Sauna For One. 

I will take a quarantine cubicle. Not a sauna, though. 

Relax

We all need to be as comfortable as Mr. Cookie. 

Boxing Day

Herself speaks.

This holiday season is... weird. Pandemic Christmas, Round Two. 

The extended family gathering consisted of a brief Christmas Eve swing-by to drop off gifts, with a few hastily-taken, fully-masked photos. Christmas was very low key -- a few presents for Offspring the First and Offspring the Third, plus Beloved Husband and myself, and much lying-about-doing-nothing. The highlight was an hour's-long phone call with Offspring The Second, hearing about his new Adventures in places Northwest. It was truly delightful to hear him, and reminded me how much I really do miss him. Today, Boxing Day, I made a turkey-pot-pie out of leftovers from yesterday's dinner, and that was all the excitement for me. 

I've been battling a bit of a migraine for several days, brought about by changes in weather, end-of-year-work-stress, a few too many holiday cookies, and whatnot. Everything hurts a little bit. 

I am tired.

The spring promises to be very busy, because of my personal projects plus ongoing work. I need to gather strength and energy to move forward. 

One day at a time. We'll get there. 

Current mood. 

Gingerbread

I made gingerbread cookies. They were tiny, and delicious. 

Snacks

Because bunny-themed treats are where it's at. 

Contradiction

No, thank you, Facebook ad. 

Tube Relaxation

Step by Step

Flashback - in a Box

Yesterday's Facebook Flashback - a reminder of an excellent desert adventure. Seems like more than eleven years ago. Or perhaps much less. 

I did enjoy Percha Box very much. Perhaps someday I'll go there again.

I do need to plan some more Adventures for myself. It's been hard to focus on the things I might enjoy, what with the State of the World, The Plague, various Ailing Relatives, Copious Amounts of Work, and such. Perhaps a little imagining Good Things would be help.

Fancy Feast

It has been a horridly busy week with Work, but we were able to take an evening off yesterday for a social occasion dinner (with heated outside seating, for COVID safety purposes). Fancy!

Chewy

Offspring the Third built little wooden bunny-safe bits for toys for the critters. They were an INSTANT SUCCESS. Hooray!

Still a Sign of the Times

Ummmm

Well, the sign says, TUMERIC, but it still looks like giant grubs to me. 

Home Again

 Herself speaks.

Last week, I made a pilgrimage Northward, and visited my parents and my siblings. I hadn't seen my parents since the Christmas right before The Plage, and my siblings for even longer.

It was a good trip. The travel was tolerable (with the aid of a Benadryl-induced sleep for all of the flights), and most of the public wore their masks uncomplainingly. Everyone was good: my father, calm and reassuring and organized as ever, regaling us with hilarious tales of his awful summer jobs in high school and college; my mother, with her love of words, knowledge of travel, and extensive contemplation of all issues political and societal; my brother, cheerful and tenderly thoughtful and ever-so-delightedly-in-love with his charming wife; and my sister, an exquisitely welcoming hostess, loving mother, and entertaining storyteller. My People. 

The hardest part about visiting My People, is having to acknowledge how much I miss their company. It is easier, in the face of distance, to overlook or to put aside those feelings -- and to come face-to-face with the reality that I so rarely see the people who are the most important to me, is hard. 

Sometimes, I think that I was destined to love people from afar. There is always time, and often distance (whether literal or metaphorical), between me and those I love. I am accustomed to it -- I don't know any other way. 

It's the way of the world. 

Twenty-three

 Offspring the Third is now twenty-three years old. Time has flown. 

He is such a Good Egg: kind and thoughtful; hard working; the sort of person who notices and acknowledges other people's feelings, and who feels his own rather than hiding or swallowing them. Creative, clever. Cheerful. 

I am so proud of him, for how hard he tries at everything he does. He will go far, by sheer perseverance and force of will.

Happy Birthday, my sweet young man. 

Clumpy

Clumpy desert plants mean Home. 

Listening

A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one's heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away. - Dinah Maria Craik

Woodpecker!

Photogenic Bun

Carols

Today's Earworm: Joseph's Lullaby (Mercy Me).

Why are so many Christmas carols, in a minor key? 

And is that why I love carols so much -- because of the combination of mournful/joyful? 

I hope you enjoy. 

Unwise Toys

Let the bonkers holiday ads begin.

No, Facebook  and Amazon. 

I would break myself for sure trying to use these.

Kapp'n

The most recent Animal Crossing update has introduced Kapp'n, a... turtle? I believe... who, for a small fee, ferries one's character to a nearby mystery island to explore. There is a brief interlude where Kapp'n sings a song while the boat skips over the waters. The tune is always the same, but the lyrics are different. Many of them are surprisingly wistful, with Kapp'n sailing alone, missing loved ones, or otherwise pursuing dreams across the seas. 

What is it about the ocean that always seems to inspire songs of loneliness and of self? Perhaps it is the vastness of it all. 

I try to take regular trips with Kapp'n, to make sure he has company sometimes. I know it's just a game. But still. 

Morally Neutral

 Herself speaks.

I have slightly difficult relationship with food. 

-----

I remember that certain campers at the all-girls sleepaway camp I attended as a tween, were supposed to go up to the main cabin after the mandatory rest time midday, to have milk and cookies. These were the skinny girls who apparently were judged in need of extra calories, in contrast to the campers who were all assigned to the "diet" table in the dining room. There was a nebulous pride around being a milk-and-cookies girl, and a much more distinct shame in being a diet-table girl. How early we start policing girls' bodies, I think now. 

-----

I was a milk-and-cookies girl. I was a scrawny, buck-toothed thing as a tween. My body was perfectly acceptable to me, though -- it worked just fine, I had no complaints. I was a child. It could climb trees, swim, canoe. It was good. I ate when I was hungry. That was all. 

-----

I remember standing on the back porch as a teenager, as an adult relative hissed at me, "I know you are anorexic. I wish you'd get help."  I had no response, because I did not have an eating disorder, and in fact had a relatively healthy sense of self for a teenage girl. I just shook my head.

-----

My body continued to be fine throughout my teen years. Puberty was no worse for me than it was for any other of my peers. I developed some curves, but remained svelte. I ate when I was hungry. That was all. 

It was fine in college, and in professional school too -- all that walking around campus, and not keeping snacks in my dorm room, meant that I stayed essentially the same shape-wise. Not quite milk-and-cookies, not diet-table. I ate when I was hungry. That was all.

Somewhere along the line, though, things changed.

-----

I remember being pregnant, and so hungry, and the cravings, and having to step on the scale every month, every week, every day. And nursing babies, and being SO HUNGRY, and having to figure out what shape I was supposed to be post-partum and as a mother. This body was a little foreign -- it had been through a battle, and I needed to re-learn how best to care for it.

-----

Being a young mother is so difficult on the body. Not just the growing, delivering, and nursing of the baby, but the messages we got from the media, and somewhat shockingly, the myriad comments from other people on our shape and our weight and what we were doing or not doing, eating or not eating, throughout pregnancy and nursing and well into parenthood. 

Add to that, working and trying to care for the family, and somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to tend properly to my body. Eating on the fly, eating baby's leftovers, feeling exhausted and sad. Feeling a momentary comfort in food. 

That might be where it began.

-----

"I was SO GOOD, I didn't have any cake." I stare blankly at the speaker, wondering when not eating something tasty became a Good. And then -- discussion of Keto. Intermittent fasting. Middle-aged women comparing diets. Suddenly food was no longer safe -- it was a guilty pleasure, an indulgence, a moral failing to eat more than one 'should'. And at the same time, the culture of wine and "treat yourself". 

-----

Now, as I try to navigate this middle-aged body, it finds new ways to remind me that I should not eat certain things. Having high cholesterol, as well as food-triggered migraines, has caused a renewed concern about what I do and do not eat; and that does not even begin to address the fact that I need to lose ten pounds before I am no longer considered medically overweight. Every meal is a tiny bit fraught. Can I balance what I need, with what I want, to eat? And why do I want to eat that, anyway? Am I just eating my feelings? Oftentimes, yes. I need not to do that. 

-----

"Just eat big salads. And jump rope." -- the thyroid doctor

-----

As we enter the holiday season with its pies and fresh breads and seasonal delectables, there is so much guilt over eating some foods, as well as over not eating particular "beneficial" foods. The guilt is compounded by speaking with the people close to me: those who pursue rigorously vegan diets or happily consume a plate of chips without self-loathing. I know that it is a ME problem I have, because their actions -- which are not in and of themselves problematic -- make me feel a particular way about myself, and I do not like how I feel. 

Calorie-counting does not help; though it might in the long run facilitate shedding a bit of weight, so closely scrutinizing every morsel lends itself to disordered thinking about food. I wasn't anorexic as a teen; I don't want to go down that road now, either.

As I am, though, being overweight feels like a moral failing. Which is ridiculous. And yet, how I feel -- not for others, but for myself. How have I managed to not even think to judge others for their weight, and yet judge myself so harshly for my own? 

I miss those days when I just ate what it seemed like I needed, and that was all that mattered. When the body functioned fine, and I was reasonably happy living in the body as it was. 

I need a re-set: a change in how I view food. Food is morally neutral. Body shape, too, is morally neutral. Let's focus on eating nutritious meals when the pangs are hunger pangs, and on not eating when the pangs are feelings. 

Maybe I should start with taking the time to just feel the feelings. That might be difficult. 

It's going to be an even bigger challenge as we enter the holiday season. 

One day at a time. 

\

Summer camp uniform. 

Milk and cookie days. 

High Maintenance Buns

 I have typed up bun-care instructions. Just in case someone else needs to do the bun work, if -- imagine -- I am otherwise occupied/busy/out of the house. 

BUNNY CARE

Morning and evening routine are the same. I usually let them out twice a day, in shifts: Mustache and Smudge from 8-9 or 9-10, and then Poppy and Cookie from 9-10 or 10-11. Evening is usually Mustache and Smudge from 8-9 and Poppy and Cookie from 9-10.

1.     Make a “moat” around whichever buns are not out, using the big panels Offspring the Third made (e.g., put up the panels around Poppy and Cookie first). Let out one set of buns.

2.     Put all their toys (cardboard boxes, tubes, etc.) on the floor if they aren’t there already.

3.     While they are hopping around, clean the litter boxes. Remove any of the litter that is wet and the poop (you can leave in any litter that isn’t dirty). Put fresh litter in to replace what was removed. Put the litter boxes back in the same corners. 

4.     Empty and refill the carrot water bowls.

5.     Put crunchies in the leaf bowls. They don’t need much –a quarter cup of crunchies per bun.

6.     Check the hay in the various containers. If it looks at all low, add some. There is a big bag of timothy hay, and smaller bags of special hay for variety. You can mix and match, giving them some timothy hay and then a handful of special hay. I tend to put the special hay on one edge in the litter box – for some reason they like to eat and poop at the same time.

7.     When you’re ready to put a set of buns back in their pen, get some greenery – a few large lettuce leaves or half a bundle of cilantro – and put it inside the pen. [They also like broccoli, Brussel sprouts, and carrots, but those should be given only once in a while.]  They will eventually go in and eat it. Then you can close both doors to the pen.

8.     Repeat the above steps for the second set of buns.

9.     Remember that they like to hide in the recliner chair, so watch out if you sit in it while they’re hopping around! Also, they will chew on everything so try to keep them from chewing on the house!

If you have things to do and don’t have time for a particular morning or evening routine, that’s fine. Just be sure to do the other routine that day and try to give them some extra hopping around time during that one routine.

If anyone looks ill or won’t eat, you can call the vet at [NAME NUMBER ADDRESS]. The bunnies are listed under my name, by each of their names. They can give you advice or have you take them in. Use the credit card as needed.

.....

It seems like a lot, but really, it's not any worse than cooking meals for small dogs.

We do the best we can for the furry critters. 

Anti-Plague Tree

Offspring the Third decorated the tree appropriately for the Pandemic.

Meow Meow

Offspring the Third and his kitties enjoy some relaxation on the couch. It is very nice to have them here.

Pie Day

Herself speaks.

I... am struggling to find holiday spirit this year.

Perhaps it is because I am so very worn from Year 2 of the Pandemic. So little fun and so few adventures, and so much Avoiding of People and Germs. Perhaps it is the looming projects at Work that must be completed before the end of the year. Perhaps it is the forthcoming travel between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The endless tidying of the lovely bunnies, who are charming pets and who do not give a fig about me except for when I provide greenery or prevent them from destructively chewing on all the Things. 

Or perhaps it is because Offspring the Second is not here -- he is still Adventuring on his own in points Northwest, and I am happy for him that he has spread his wings and is trying new things and new places. He has always been here for Thanksgiving previously, though, I believe; so this would be the first time in over a quarter of a century that he has not been with us. Yesterday when opened the door to his room to put an item in there, I caught sight of the extremely elderly sneakers that he has worn in the house for years and years and years -- he left them here when he went forth on his Adventures. What a pang in the heart. I hope you are doing well, Offspring the Second. I miss you.

And perhaps, too, there is the echo of the few years when Cherished Friend joined us for Thanksgiving. I am happy for him, too, that he is in Oceanside, working to make his aspirations come to life. I miss his proximity, and especially his Thanksgiving kitchen companionship, very much, though. 

I have many things to be thankful for this year: the health and wellness of the people I love; all the necessities of life; a few projects I enjoy on the horizon, that give me Purpose and Meaning. It's a lot. Still, every now and then, I wish for just a tiny bit more. Does that make me ungrateful? Or perhaps it is the gratitude for things I had in the past, that is making me wistful now.

Regardless: at least there is pie. 

The Sun and The Moon

Eleven trips around the sun ago yesterday, we watched the moon come up over Aden Crater. And today more than ever, I am thankful for that day and that company in that beautiful place. I may not be able to recapture those moments, but I will always remember and be grateful. 

Debunked

I spent much of yesterday taking apart the much-too-small bunk beds in Offspring the Third's room and reorganizing his lair for when he comes home for the holidays. His room is more of a storage-quarters for the gear he is not using at the moment since he spends most of his time living at his apartment near school, but I did the best I could to make sure he and his kitties would have comfortable beds and a space to call their own. It will be nice to have him here. 

It has been a VERY LONG two years

Right before the Pandemic, when other things were Awful. 

It seems so long ago, somehow.

Roller Coaster

First, I found what I thought would be a Very Good Gift Indeed, and I packaged it up carefully and mailed it off with that tiny euphoria that comes with finding just the right thing for the right person. Second, there was an extra smidgen of delight when tracking showed the package would arrive earlier than expected. And then third: the crushing blow of the tracking information showing that delivery was complete, but the package being nowhere to be seen. Fourth was the half-hearted planning of steps to take to recreate the Gift, accompanied by disappointment and idle angry musings about whether something nefarious happened to the package. Fifth, the denouement: the package belatedly and somewhat mysteriously appeared at its destination. Pleased relief, with a small black void left where all the previous feelings used to be. Don't fall in that void. Try to recapture the tiny euphoria of step one.

It seems a little odd, I know, to experience this roller coaster over something as relatively mundane as mailing a Gift. Ongoing Pandemic Life has been so Difficult, though, that the smallest of pleasures become magnified. Small stakes inadvertently seem like bigger stakes. It's all we have. 

One day at a time, we go onward.

Marvelous sticker found here: https://www.theawkwardstore.com/ 

Poppy Prettybun

Oh, Deer!

There was a cluster of deer down at the neighborhood park last night when we were out for an evening stroll. Easily a half dozen of them, silent in the shadows under the trees. Lovely. 

Teatime

Muy Suave

 Herself speaks.

After watching No Time To Die recently, Beloved Husband and I decided to plow our way through all of the James Bond movies. There are many. We've watched all of the ones from the 1960s so far, and it's easy to see the roots of the stereotypical themes of James Bond starting to form: the snazzy cars, the posh clothes, the mandatory chase across some exotic locale, the snappy dialog, the beginnings of fancy gadgets, and above all, the beautiful and ever-so-willing young women whom James Bond easily woos with his words and his physical prowess. It is all a little over the top, and a little silly. Sometimes, though, his one-liners to the women are just so suave. 

I think back just a wee bit wistfully to years and years ago when I was young, taut, and cute enough that the occasional man would try a line on me. I always struggled with flirting (in part because I was never quite sure whether a statement constituted flirtation or not) but every now and then, it was clear enough that even I could tell what the point of the conversation was. It would generate a tiny little boost of self-confidence.  

It was always a double-edged sword, though -- was someone interested in me as a person, or just me as a warm body? Young women of my generation were taught to be gatekeepers to physical contact, and as a result we were often both frustrated and distrustful. Raised with the statement, "Men only want one thing" ringing our ears; we felt suspicious and guilty, all at once. 

In this time of middle age, I find myself wondering: what was so terrible about the idea of young women enjoying their bodies (whether alone or with someone else), that we were discouraged from doing so? I was fortunate enough to grow up in an age with birth control, so unwanted pregnancy was more easily preventable and not real the issue. There is something else there. Society doesn't smile upon independent, free-thinking women, not then, nor even now. And back then, it was positively shocking -- and punishable in James Bond movies by being quickly discarded, or by meeting an untimely demise shortly after a physical encounter. Oh, dear. That's a primitive morality tale that we would be better off without. 

This is all a theoretical/mental exercise now, though. Middle age has taken me firmly out of flirtatious-comment territory (as has the 30-year-old ring on my left hand). I am left to hear flirtation vicariously through James Bond movies. Alas. 

Oh, well. Onward we go, in invisible-middle-aged-woman-land. 

Only another couple of decades more until I enter old-woman-harmless-flirtation territory. You know it well from movies and TV: the sort of flirtation that young orderlies use with gray-haired, hunchbacked little old ladies as they ferry them through medical facilities. 

Things to look forward to! 

Atop Mongo

Poppy hops atop Mongo the duct-tape ball. 

Migraine-y Thoughts

 Herself speaks.

Behold, the train of thought running around in my head while I try to determine what is currently causing my migraine-y status:

1.  How long has the pandemic been going on? I have no sense of time any more.

2. Must be nearly two years, since this is the second holiday season with Plague. 

3.  I should get out some holiday candles because the ones we have smell so nice. And are not so pungent as to add to the migraine.

4. Cherished Friend always had a candle/incense/a pleasant aroma in his house.

5. I wonder whether his house in Oceanside has the same scent as his house in the desert did? Does house scent depend on location, or more on people?

6. I would like to see the ocean again someday, it has been a while. And to poke around in some tide pools. Tide pools are neat.

7. Not many fish in tide pools, but hermit crabs and starfish and things. Nifty.

8. Is it consuming fish that is causing the headache problem? That would suck.

9.  Maybe I need to find a fishmonger and get only really fresh fish. 

10. I do like the word 'fishmonger'.

11. I do not like fishing, though. Beloved Husband and Offspring the Third do, even though it is frustrating when they don't catch anything.

12. Maybe ocean fishing would be different? How far out in the ocean does one need to go to fish?

13. That would involve being on a boat, though. Would that be really nauseating?

14. Don't think about nausea, it's right there behind the headache.

15. I would pay money to watch a YouTube channel with peaceful ocean views from a boat, though. As long as the seas weren't too rough. 

16. I suspect sailing a boat involves a fair amount of cursing at things in general.

17. I have been cursing a lot more lately. Maybe it's the headache. 

18. I think I will go lie down again. 

Ferny

I have kept a plant alive for a couple of weeks! So pretty. 

A Beautiful Fall Day in A Lovely Backyard, Four

A Beautiful Fall Day in A Lovely Backyard, Three

A Beautiful Fall Day in A Lovely Backyard, Two

A Beautiful Fall Day in A Lovely Backyard, One

In the Blood

 Medical/body issues today. You have been warned! 

Herself speaks.

It's bodily maintenance time! I gathered up all my various bloodwork orders from various doctors and took them in all at once to the lab this past week: cardiology, endocrinology, gynecology. Because I'm that person, I read all the results as soon as they are posted rather than waiting for word from my doctors. And the results were decidedly mixed.

Endocrinology (the thyroid doctor): I win! My vitamin D level is where it needs to be, and my thyroid levels are good, too, which means I don't need any adjusting to the meds I take to keep that thyroid nodule from misbehaving. Look, something's going right!

Gynecology: I... don't know whether I win or lose? Hormones say, looks like I am not near menopause. Which, on the one hand, is good because that gives me more time before potential bone loss (osteoporosis) /cardiac issues/risk of breast cancer increase. On the other hand, it means that I still get to struggle with PMS whenever a cycle decides to happen. And who knows when that will be? Meanwhile, this doctor's office and I have been battling the insurance company for two weeks to try to get a particular prescription for my chronic congenital condition covered. I do not have enough spoons to bird-dog this. Must keep trying.

Cardiology: I lose! Oh, how I lose. Despite all of my efforts -- exercise and diet, lean meat, all the green leafy vegetables, 30 grams of fiber a day, olive oil, all the heart healthy things -- my cholesterol is still crap. Such crap. I think it's pretty clear I'll need to address this with meds, no way around it. Need to protect myself from future disaster. But I am not happy. And in all honesty, I feel like a failure. Like it's a moral failing. I suck as a human being and am apparently incapable of doing the right things to make myself right. 

(I will probably have to get past that sentiment. It's not helping. It is, however, how I feel at the moment.)

In the background to all this, let's not forget dermatology, because my face still is tender from the repair from the last MOHS -- and the repair was not ideal, as it has left an unsightly area that should probably be addressed again. I am putting that off because I just Cannot. Even. I do have a dermatology appointment at the end of this month, for the bi-annual skin review to make sure nothing new has popped up that warrants treatment, so I will bring this issue up again then. In the interim, I get to see it every time I look in the mirror.  Good times. 

Overarching all of it is the chronic migraine situation. It's really hard to be optimistic and let things roll off your back when your head hurts. So often. I might find a different neurologist and try again, because I am not sure that the current throw different meds at things and see what sticks is a good treatment plan. However, change requires spoons that I once more do not have. 

Right now, I think it is my attitude that may be the most problematic. Being in A Funk is definitely not helpful, and I am not sure how to dig/climb my way out of this particular Pit of Despair. It also fuels that tiny ugly voice inside that whispers, your body is repellent and people are disgusted by your physical proximity. That voice needs to just shut the f*ck up and go away. I do not want to hear it any more. Am I really so terrible? Who knows? I can see only through my own eyes, and my view is very jaded at the moment. 

Maybe I'll find a place to go for a walk outside today. That might help. 

One step at a time. 

Gown

Facebook ads gets it right with this "just for you": Renaissance Brocade Gown. HECK YES. I would wear this DELIGHTEDLY.

I did not dress up for Halloween this year; I just did not have the mental energy to plan a new costume in advance, and none of the costumes I currently own were adequate for various reasons. So alas. The best I could do was an anti-plague face mask with little pumpkins printed on it.

Next year, I want to do full costume. Something different, something new -- I don't go out or dress up terribly often, and it would be really nice to wear something that makes me feel pretty.

FancyPants

I was perusing Amazon for a new belt to wear with my jeans (the one belt I own is extremely ratty), and the algorithm seemed compelled to offer me, as "something else that people who shop for belts might like," some VERY FANCY PANTS.

Sure, they are pretty. But HOLY CANNOLI THE PRICE. I wouldn't spend that much on any article of clothing (except, perhaps, a really high quality pair of boots, or evening wear for a very formal occasion). Good gravy. 

My purchases lately are toys for my pet rabbits, a knee brace, and disposable face masks; do I really seem like a $100 underpants person? 

Try harder, Amazon.

BI-RADS 3

I had a mammogram and accompanying ultrasound last week. It was pretty much business as usual (though the ultrasound technician was a man, which had potential to be slightly awkward just Because -- but we both valiantly and stoically powered through the procedure). It was not as uncomfortable as last time, which was nice. 

Results have been posted. On the BI-RADS scale (leaving aside the outliers of 0 and 6, with 1 being negative, and 5 being highly suggestive of malignancy), the report indicated BI-RAD 3, which means essentially, "there are a couple of weird things in there but probably nothing to worry about but still come back sooner rather than later just in case". 

I'll take that. 

Feeties

Herself speaks.

I have a lot of mental clutter that I'm sorting through at the moment, so please forgive the sparseness and lack-of-depth of the posts. I'll get back on track, as soon as I can.

In the meanwhile, please do enjoy how one of the buns has been entertaining us with his odd feet placements -- in the water bowl, and hanging out of the tube. Hee!  

I still miss the small dogs tremendously, and these moments make me grateful to have these furry feeties in the house. 

Good bun. 

Halloween

Tidybun

Today's task: vacuuming the bun pens. So tidy! It won't stay that way for long, but it will be good while it lasts.

Teeny

There was a teeny tiny butterfly in my mother-in-law's garden. 

Awwww.