Tic Tac Toe

The buns all still like to eat in a row.

Like Peeling A Grape

 Herself speaks.

"It's like peeling a grape," the dermatologist said. 

-----

I had the third MOHS surgery yesterday. It was successful, it appears; for the moment, I am once more skin-cancer-free. 

It was no more unpleasant than last time. (Which is to say, it was unpleasant, but not unexpectedly so). The doctor took a different tactic this round: since the cancer appeared to be very surface-level, he was able to remove the top layer of skin and did not need to go deeper. Rather than suture the wound closed -- which would have required transplanting a flap of skin from nearby -- he left it open. Think of a skinned knee, except cleaner and more thorough. And about the size of a nickel (approximately - in my mind's eye it seems larger, though that's likely because it is so very FRONT AND CENTER on the surface of my nose). It should eventually fill in, and in about six weeks, I can ask him to revise the scarring if I am not satisfied with the appearance. 

The idea of having yet another procedure in six weeks is... disappointing. 

At least it doesn't hurt much (except when I had to put pressure on the site last night to stop some fresh bleeding). That's something.

I can hardly stand to look at myself. I don't particularly enjoy looking in the mirror anyway -- I am slow to come to terms with my current iteration that most closely resembles an anthropomorphic rodent (and a rotund and middle-aged one at that). The addition of an unsightly wound front-and-center, even though I know it's temporary, just makes me cringe. The fact that it will continue to be unsightly for six weeks or longer, depending on how we need to revise the scarring, is disheartening. I know it's a drop in the bucket time-wise. Still. I am frustrated.

A positive (other than momentarily being cancer-free) is that because Pandemic, it will not be too strange for me to continue to wear a mask in public. I can maintain my usual form as invisible middle-aged woman and avoid becoming noticeable in a good Lord what happened to her way. That's a good thing.

-----

One thing that surprised me this time around, was the near-universal comment from the few people I told: it could be worse. Yes, it certainly could. I know it could. I am having some trouble mustering gratitude for it not being worse, though. Perhaps that's my failing. I'd feel better with acknowledgment of how I'm feeling. Or a generic "it will be OK" -- because that not only affirms that it will eventually be OK, but also acknowledges that it might not currently be OK. 

In this day and age, we are so expected to exude positivity, relentless optimism and cheerfulness. I think we have lost sight of the fact that acknowledging uncomfortable or unhappy feelings isn't a bad thing to do. We all have difficult emotions, and those feelings are part and parcel of what it is to be human. It's OK to be distressed -- that's not a personal failing. It's a human moment. We all have those. They'll pass, as all moments do. 

Glorious Rain

It has been eons since it rained.

It's excellent. (Except for the leak in the roof.)  I do love the rain.

The Clock App

 Herself speaks.

Confession: I have a TikTok account. 

I don't create content, for many reasons, including: 1) I'm not that creative; 2) I mostly prefer the written word to oral/visual communication; 3) I do not want to put myself out into the Internet Realm any more than I am already through this blog. 

Nevertheless, I really enjoy a lot of TikTok content. Thanks to the algorithm, My "For You Page" (FYP) has evolved into a collection of wholesome content-makers: nature and science lovers; body positivity supporters; LGBTQIA+ individuals; autistic advocates; animal devotees; quirky people showing their unusual hobbies and creations; odd ducks, just being themselves. It's delightful. 

I don't usually read comment sections on the internet, because if we have learned anything from the exponential growth of the world wide web, it's DON'T READ THE COMMENTS BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE CRUEL. Comment sections are where trolls and petty cruel persons emerge just long enough to be cruel to strangers, to mock them and spit hurtful words and then disappear once more into the anonymity of the web. 

However: when I occasionally dive in to TikTok comment sections, it is always a pleasant surprise to see a multitude of enthusiastic, validating, and heartwarming comments on so many videos. What a wonderful sense of community is created -- bridging gaps of time and age and distance, creating webs of kindness and support. In this age of Pandemic and Disillusionment, it's a breath of fresh air. 

And because of that, I sometimes add my two cents of support and thanks to the comment sections as well. For that brief moment, I am adding my own molecule of positivity to the world. That's a nice feeling. And the world could use a little bit more positivity. 

Tasty

We went out to a restaurant for dinner, for the first time since Nearly Forever (at least one Pandemic ago). It was nice. And weird. And tasty. 

Handsome

Sometimes, I feel sad that New Old Dog's passing was overshadowed by Tiny Dog's decline and passing shortly thereafter. We did not have time to mourn him properly before we were mourning Tiny Dog, too. 

He was such a good boy, with his cheerful trot and his glossy fur. I used to think that I should take him to the salon with me to explain, make my hair this lovely bouncy color. Such good company, so stoic, so patient. A kindly soul. 

I miss you, my little old man. Rest easy. 

Believer

 Herself speaks.

I understand why people believe in an afterlife. 

What a beautiful idea: someday, we will once more be in the presence of those we have loved and those who have loved us, without pain, all made whole and perfect. To forgive and to be forgiven for imperfections and failings. To know that everyone already knows the things that we wanted them to know but left unsaid, either out of fear or misunderstanding, or because there were not words or actions sufficient to convey meaning. To be able to love fully and without hesitation. And to be loved unquestioningly. 

What glory that would be. And what peace. 

-----

I wish I could believe. 

Perhaps someday, the Universe will send me a sign. 

I like to hope so. 

Like a Pair of Slippers

Trio Reunited

The lady bunnies have received a stamp of approval to hop around once more, so now all three bunnies can be together again. They are remarkably blasé about it. I am glad that we only need to supervise one bunny floor playtime now. 

Enjoy, bunnies!

In My Heart

My Small Fry. My heart is a little bit empty without you. 

She's Home

Pantry Bun

Parkour

Mr. Mustache searches for ways to fling himself into FORBIDDEN ZONES.

Nose Butter

Tiny Dog's nose was often a bit chapped. (Because of the heart failure, she frequently had fluid buildup, and that sometimes took the form of lots of sneezing or a runny nose.) To keep her comfortable, we applied various ointments to her wee little nose. We called it, "buttering her nose". She did not particularly care for nose-buttering, and so we referred to things that were annoying or frustrating to her (or to people) as "nose butter". It also became a substitute expletive: "OH, NOSEBUTTER."

I have no more use for the various ointments any more. Nor can I bear to have them around the house, so I think I will just throw them away.

I miss the Tiny Dog.

Oh, nosebutter.

Barbara

Every time I see a photo of/read an article about a manatee, I think of the VeggieTales song, Endangered Love (Barbara Manatee), in which Larry the Cucumber is watching a soap opera involving Barbara Manatee and dancing a tango with a plush manatee. I do love animated vegetables.

Barbara manatee
(Manatee, manatee)
You are the one for me
(One for me, one for me)
Sent from up above
(Up above, up above)
You are the one I love
(Barbara, oh Barbara)

How delightful to see a manatee in person. Someday!

Photo Copyright 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Groceries

 Herself speaks.

I went into a grocery store for the first time today in approximately 16 months. It was... weird.

I opted for the big-box store for my first grocery excursion. I knew I could go during the early "Members' Only" hours, to reduce the number of people that were in the store while I was also there. I went in right as it opened, and was out within forty-five minutes. 

I was a little concerned about the other people: would people be crabby? Would they be angry about others going the wrong way down an aisle? Would they be careless, walk too closely, BREATHE on people? It turned out that most people were relatively friendly and went about their own business, giving others plenty of space. Furthermore, about three-quarters of the people wore masks, despite the sign at the door that said, "People who are fully vaccinated are not required to wear masks in the store." I don't trust the maskless yet. Vaccinated? Or anti-mask/anti-vaccine? We cannot tell. 

Large swaths of the store had been rearranged since I had last been there, so it was a little discombobulating to try to find the best route for shopping. (I wondered what Cherished Friend would think about the new organizational scheme. It has been so long since we visited the big-box store together.) There was an abundance of things that were scarce right before the first lockdown: hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes, toilet paper, bleach. Plus everything else -- there was SO MUCH STUFF.  It's so much easier when online shopping, not to look at the things that we don't need. A bit harder in person. 

There were moments that were tiny pangs in heart: the aisle with the type of cold cuts that New Old Dog used to love; rows and rows of snack foods that Tiny Dog would have liked. (Even the fact that I was there so early in the morning, during the hours when I would normally be making breakfast for the small dogs, was a little sad. It is both liberating, and lonely, to know that no small dog cares where I am anymore.)

It was, in all honesty, kind of overwhelming. But I feel better knowing I am taking a few steps to get back out into the world. 

With my mask on. 

Nakey Gut

The lady bunnies have been spayed. They were very cranky for a day or so, but have started to perk back up. They have relaxed enough that we can see glimpses of their furless nakey guts when they lie down, which is much less startling than Mr. Mustache's nethers post-neuter. I'd never contemplated what rabbit genitalia might look like, but somehow, I wasn't expecting... a manscaped and surprisingly pink rabbit scrotum. Oh, dear.  

In another few weeks, when the ladies have recovered, all three bunnies will be able to hop around together. I am sure they are looking forward to it. 

Small Fry Void

It is amazing how much of my daily routine took into consideration the needs of Tiny Dog (and New Old Dog, until recently). My activities first thing in the morning, and last thing at night, centered around them. The alarms set on my phone told me when it was time for pills for Tiny Dog. How and when I cooked, where I folded laundry, even whether I got up from my chair or stayed seated longer depended on whether I thought they would follow me or not -- I never wanted to disturb their rest. Even backing up my desk chair required a check for small dogs first lest I squash a paw or an ear. And then there was the omnipresent five pound weight of Tiny Dog in the pet sling whenever I did chores. She was a wee little constant companion.

Her absence is a tiny physical void in the house, and yet is a gigantic presence. Just like she herself was.

Rest easy, Tiny Dog. We love you. 

The Tiniest and Fiercest of Warriors

 Today, we say goodbye to Tiny Dog.

Tiny Dog, you have been ever vigilant, ever authoritative, since you arrived in our household in the form of a two-pound puppy. Now a sturdy five pounds of noise and ferocity and sweetness, you have protected us and amused us for ten full years. 

You have had adventures large and small -- gone for neighborhood walks and on camping trips, hiked up mountains, and battled grasshoppers. You have enjoyed all the comforts of home, burrowing in blankets (and inside our shirts with us), demanding snacks, and contentedly surveying your domain from on high on my hip in your dog carrier. You have played "fetch" with tiny tennis balls and "rip-it" with your tiny fuzzy bone. You have nibbled on the edges of all sorts of fabrics, because doing so would soothe you when you were agitated. And you have had zoomies round and round, much to our delight. 

You witnessed the graduation from high school of all three Offspring, and their launching off into college and beyond. You helped me study for the bar exam; you brought immeasurable comfort during the strange and uncertain times of the Pandemic. You have blotted many a tear and brought tremendous consolation. 

You have outlived four other canine compatriots by sheer force of will; Thorbert, Daisy, Tio, and Chico Hank are waiting for you now across the Rainbow Bridge. Go to them - I have no doubt that they will give you a warm welcome. Godspeed, Maya, my Tiny Dog, and thank you for your time with us. 

Round Three

Herself speaks.

Well, the biopsy from the recent skin survey came back... problematic. 

MOHS surgery scheduled for the end of the month, which is the earliest I could get. 

I'm more worried about this particular spot, since it's not the low-grade basal cell carcinoma that was the cause of MOHS surgeries one and two. This new spot is a different type of carcinoma, and more likely to metastasize. 

Not going to think too much about that. (Or at least, I'll try not to do so.) I'll just wait for the full report after the surgery. 

Fingers crossed that the time between now and the surgery will go quickly, and that the surgery will go smoothly, and that, Universe willing, this will be the last surgery. At least for a while. 

I hope. 

Photo Copyright 2020, 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

One

Herself speaks.

It's been one year since Cherished Friend left for Oceanside. 

-----

In the days preceding the day that he left (and that day itself), I did not give any thought to when I would see him in person again. It was still the beginning of the Pandemic -- everything was uncertain, and to try to envision the future in the face of an unknown Plague was unimaginable. His moving to outside the radius of an afternoon's drive was hard enough, without thinking about the additional Pandemic obstacles. The heart can only take so much. 

-----

The things I miss the most, are doing relatively ordinary activities with Cherished Friend: hiking up the mountain or through the Caverns; visiting a sporting goods store or a used bookstore; running routine errands such as to the grocery store; playing Scrabble, watching movies. I also miss how he would encourage Beloved Husband to escape the office and plan excursions such as for camping. I miss his insightful and thoughtful conversation about all topics, large and small, over a meal or on the patio in back. And not least of all, I miss the moments spent in companionable silence. All these minutiae of friendship, formed by tiny building blocks of time spent together.

I think with fondness about how -- despite being allergic to dogs -- he would let New Old Dog sit on his lap, and how he would try to encourage New Old Dog to eat. I remember the soothing nature of his presence when I am annoyed or distraught about something, and his ability to quietly help without making me feel inept or stupid for needing assistance. Lucky am I, to have such a friend. 

-----

He continues to be a good friend, despite the distance: he keeps the lines of communication open, and we email and text and occasionally internet-video-chat. It's always good to see his face and to hear what he has to say. I just would prefer to do it in person. 

I worry sometimes that I am too... persistent? Demanding? Vocal? of a friend. How much contact is too much? How much is not enough? I try to take his lead as much as possible, because I know that his need for solitude is greater than my desire for communication. I worry a lot about being needy. This past year has been difficult in so many ways, and eliciting support without being exhausting has been tricky. He's been very patient, and I'm grateful. 

-----

Every now and then, I think about what it may be like when he settles more into Oceanside, makes local friends, gets busier with his new life there. I know a time may come when I hear from him less. It will be a loss for me, I know. At the same time, how happy I will be to know that he has put down roots and found contentment in Oceanside. He deserves that. And more.

-----

Late-stage Pandemic Life has regained a semblance of normalcy, though it's hard not to worry that the 'new normal' might be tenuous. Vaccines (thanks, science!) help tremendously, though there is still worry about variants and breakthrough infection and such. I'm not quite ready to travel yet, though it looks like it might be safe, and possible, in the near future. 

I would like very much to enjoy again, a few ordinary moments spent with Cherished Friend. 

Soon.

Photo Copyright 2020, 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

U2

Today's earworm: Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own (U2). 

My favorite part:

Can you hear me when I sing? You're the reason I sing.

I hope you enjoy.

Freedom

Mr. Mustache has been given the all-clear to resume his regular activities now that he has recovered from his neuter. He has been quite grumpy about having his hopping-about curtailed, and is delighted to be able to antagonize Tiny Dog from the other side of the safety barrier once more. 

Keep Walking

It took just a hair over one year to reach this distance of steps. Thanks, FitBit!

T Shirt Accuracy

This appeared in my Facebook ads. Leaving aside the issue of anaconda ownership -- look, Facebook, you finally got an ad right!

Translation

 I'm up to six hundred sixty-something days in a row on Duolingo, attempting to learn a bit of Spanish. It's slow going, but I'm trying. 

One portion of the Duolingo program has little stories to read and answer questions about. A recent story had two of the recurring characters protesting the presence of a statue on their school campus. One of the characters attached herself to the statue in protest.

And that was the moment when I learned that the word for "handcuffs" is the same as the word for "wives". 

Oh, dear. 

Nearly Invisible Scars

 Herself speaks.

Last week, I made my biannual pilgrimage to the dermatologist's office for a routine skin survey. (This twice-yearly review was recommended since I have had basal cell carcinoma twice before -- want to catch any new things early.)  Everything looked mostly good, except for that One Suspicious Spot that was biopsied. It's likely another basal cell carcinoma, which means MOHS surgery number three will be on the horizon. I'm trying to be matter-of-fact about it. We'll see whether I succeed.

The nurse practitioner asked whether I'd like her to look over my scalp while she was surveying matters. Yes, please -- the desert sun is never kind to the top of one's head. There was nothing remarkable, except for her slightly surprised comment: "you have a straight scar right here."

Yes, I do. I'd forgotten. 

-----

Approximately fifty years ago, my parents, brother and I (and also possibly my sister, though I do not remember whether she was there - she might have been an infant at the time) went to a garage sale in the neighborhood. We, along with other neighbors, were poking around in someone's garage, when an old license plate that had been hung from the ceiling came loose, and fell and struck me on the top of my head. Bonk.

My brother mentioned later that he had seen the plate was about to fall, and moved out of the way. Apparently, I moved right into the way. That was some very unfortunate timing on my part. 

I remember my father carrying me home, as I sat on one of his arms while his other hand pressed his handkerchief to the top of my head. There was a fair amount of blood, as I recall. I also vaguely remember a doctor examining it -- they'd probably taken me to the emergency room. I remember thinking that it was kind of interesting, not particularly painful, and not at all scary for me. (It must have been rather horrifying for my parents, in retrospect.)  I must have gotten stitches. I don't recall anything else.

And now, half a century later, two thousand miles away, that ancient scar was briefly spotted. Imagine.

-----

I have accumulated quite a few scars over the past half century since then. Most of them are surgical, because the body has failed to cooperate in assorted ways over the years. Many are faded. Some are noteworthy only when sticky tape noting their locations must be applied prior to mammograms. And some are quite nearly completely hidden by the pale spiderweb tracts of pregnancy stretchmarks. (Are those marks also considered scars? Perhaps.) Most are protected from view by my clothes, or in the case of the license plate mark, my hair. I prefer it that way. I don't think many of us like our scars to show, either literally or metaphorically.

We don't always see people's scars, unless we look closely. What might seem like a noteworthy scar may in fact be a memento of a long-ago-forgotten moment. What may seem like a tiny mark, may hold a much bigger mental space. And then there are scars to the soul, invisible but clearly present, that we see with the heart rather than the eyes. 

Acknowledging a person's scars is both affirming and consoling. I see that the world has left its mark on you. And I see that you have persevered. Well done, you.

I see your scars, and I recognize the strength behind them. 

Photo Copyright 2020, 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.