Archives for February 2004

Digit got out of his box at the vet, and the limp went away. Completely. I was relieved and irritated at the same time. The vet said it always happens like that. Adrenaline makes the weak strong. (For such a terror, he’s sure a sweet thing at the animal hospital, pushing his head into my stomach, tolerating the nail clipping….) Vet didn’t think anything was broken, just a strain, and thought I had done the right thing, waiting and seeing.

Right as rain, now he is. Right as all the rain that’s been pounding us in the last few days…..

Painting this morning. I found the red/orange that I want on the book jacket of my beloved Milton. (I know he was a misogynistic old guy, but I love the fella. Adore him. He’s my boyfriend. My blind, bitter boyfriend….) I’m a gonna carry that book in and say, “I want THIS.” Wait. Can I do that? Thank god my painterly friend is helping me.

Then tonight I’m making a quick (4 hour) drive down the coast to leave the babies (who aren’t limping, neither of them) at the little mama’s for the week while I move. Back tomorrow morning to really start it. Last night, I pretended to myself I was staying in my little place forever, sat on the couch, got a little more done on the second Cromarty sleeve (now at the saddle shaping), drank a little wine, watched HBO (Iron Jawed Angels? Anyone else think it insipid? I’m a little disappointed in myself – maybe I just didn’t Feel the Emotion I should have. But I was WAY more into the re-run of Sex and the City that followed. Carrie should choose New York. Okay?). Soon, I tell myself, I’ll be home again. In my home, of my making. A couple of weeks of chaos will be worth it.

Mwah, darlings.
(psst: It’s Bethany’s birthday tomorrow.)

Hey, if you want to join us for breakfast and/or lunch on Friday, drop me an email (writerach406 at yahoo dot com) and I’ll fill you in on the plan!

I think little Digit’s paw is broken. Not badly, because I can touch it and move it a little. There aren’t any abrasions, it’s not hot, no cuts. He just holds it up when he’s sitting and limps when he’s walking and every once in a while, when he forgets about it, he puts weight on it and falls THUMP over. Of course, this happened Friday night, so I’ve been waiting to see if he’d heal over the weekend. Don’t think I’m a bad mama, please. This boy has been known to heal in twenty-four hours after gonzilla fights, after he drags himself in, barely able to stand, grumbling things about card-parties and fast kittens and bad catnip. He pops up after a day’s sleep, good as gold. But it’s Monday, and while he doesn’t seem in pain, he’s still not using the limb. I’ve asked my friend Nichole to cover my shift this afternoon so we can go see The Man Cats Hate. Poor baby.

And Digit’s mama has a leftover headache. Yep, I’ve figured out the damn trigger for these migraines. I thought it was a combo of PMS and the weather. No, it’s just the weather, damn it. Following in my mother’s migrained footsteps. A prolonged low pressure before a storm starts the sinus headache, which then moves into migraine territory. Yesterday at work I had all the accompanying symptoms, too, nausea and vertigo and dizziness. Bleach. Feeling better now (and the Imitrex did really help), but I still can’t touch the right side of my face – too sensitive. (Oh, and Imitrex is FUN to take. Doesn’t make me sleepy or unable to focus at work (although I wouldn’t take it if I had to be on the police radio). But it makes me sharply giddy. A focused, intense grin kind of feeling. Odd.) Daisy-Winifred, you predicted this, didn’t you?

Been up for the last two hours, two hours way too early. Heavy rain pouring down, lying in bed thinking about moving. Okay, now I’m getting a little stressed. And it’s mostly about the cats. I need to ship them out (hopefully to the little mama’s house – who is feeling MUCH better for those of you keeping score) and do the move without indulging in this “got a month to do it” crap. Then I can bring them back and hopefully, with a six-hundred mile drive between their old home and their new home half a mile away, they’ll lose their way and won’t think to go looking for the auld sod. And I’d like the apartment to be mostly ready by the time I get them back. Less stress on them AND me.

The problem is this (and it ain’t really a problem in my book, more of something I have to work with): I’m going to ask a friend for his truck and his help to move the four heavy things I own. Another friend is helping me paint. The rest of it I want to do by myself. I’m not being a martyr here. I’m being a helpless control freak, that’s all. I want to know where everything is in my new home. I want things to pass through my hands only. I don’t want anyone else to see the dust behind my bookshelves at my present home. You know? So I have to work quickly, accurately, and with some semblance of balance or humor, or it’ll be a head against the boxes sobbing moment. But I mean it. ALONE. That’s how I want to do it. Wish me luck and godspeed – I may not be posting a lot the next week or so…..

https://rachaelherron.com/i_think_little_/

Lemme tell you how a day with Greta goes. You get up. You think about doing something, but you talk instead. You go to breakfast and talk until the coffee’s cold. You look at the clock, and it’s two, not eleven like you thought. A very little while later, it’s suddenly six pm, and you don’t know how that happened. I have experienced the Time Flies syndome many times in my happy leetle life. But yesterday was ridiculous. I wanted to dig my heels in and drag. It was going TOO quickly.

And Greta? Everything you would think, everything you would guess. She makes me want to talk more slowly, to feel the words in my mouth more fully. She makes me appreciate color. She smiles as much as I do. And she is the BEST storyteller, giving me goosebumps no less than six times yesterday. She brought me the most thoughtful handmade gift that I won’t even ATTEMPT to describe right now, but I’ll show it to you later, after we do our next photo shoot.

Oh, we had a good time. Here we are on the way to the City. We had been going to take the ferry, but it was a little cool yesterday and threatening rain, so we hopped BART after a FABULOUS breakfast, eggs brady with smoked salmon for Greta, eggs benedict for me, and wonderful looking pancakes for daughter-bird.

Once we trundled under the Bay, we arose into the lovely light rain and grabbed a cable car up and over the hills. It kinda broke down at the top (we didn’t ask) and they let us off right at Lombard.

This is for Em:

Daughter-bird wanted to eat lunch at Hard Rock Cafe. G and I were still full from breakfast, so we decided to do dessert and drinks instead. Yes, we had drinks:

Oh, my merciful lord, their dessert nachos are insane. Seriously. Like to have killed me.

And darling Greta got a shortcake sundae.

When we left the restaurant, this is what we saw (I’m convinced the City put on its Special Sparkles for the return of one of its favorite daughters):

We went to Longs, to the BIG one, the 24 hour one, the one that when asked to swear an oath, I swear by. (That doesn’t happen too often, actually….) In the process of looking for a pencil, we found a bean bag that will be PERFECT in my new place (this Longs sells clothes and furniture and plants and even has a yarn section!). This is NOT an attractive photo, but it cracks me up, so hard.

Oh, and she spotted a rug, too. The problem arises, with my small car: How do we fit us and all the stuff in? (We had to put the top down to get all their luggage in when I met them at the train on Thursday night, driving the highway at two in the morning, wind in our hair.) But hey. Shopping with Greta goes like this:

Daughter-bird is IN that car, I’ll have you know. She’s a trooper, just like her mama.

Now, they’re off again, and I’m back at work. I feel horribly let down, after such an eventful (and extended) weekend, to be back at work. Deep sigh. But Stitches next weekend will help with that feeling, I’m sure. And I’m going to paint my new place! Orange! Or rust! But I’ll leave the living room yellow, ’cause I love that. Happy weekend to you.

(Oh, that Guestmap is fun, but it’s eating people. If you’ve been gobbled off the map, I apologize. But I know where you are, and I love ya. Mwah!)

Photoblog today, since Greta and daughter-bird and I are probably out cruising the Pacific Coast in the ‘vertible, top down, sun on our foreheads (which are covered in SPF 40, I swear).

I HAVE A NEW KEY!

That unlocks my new apartment. The only problem with being this damn spontaneous is that I’m basically going to be paying two rents from the 13th to the end of this month. Erg. That’s money right out of my Stitches Fund. And my Going East tour! Oy.

But it’ll be worth it, baybee. Lookit.

Looking from my new door out toward the street.

Check. It’s yel-LOW! Good thing I adore yellow. Picture some red and blue thrown in there?

My landlord in the kitchen, taking my hefty deposit check. Goodbye, cashmere. Hello, room for a Real Table!

View from the bedroom window:

Those are sweater shelves, you know.

Part of Digit’s new playland (the garage belongs to the house next door).

And my new playland, the backyard! All mine (rubbing my hands together…..):

Now, enjoy your day! And we’ll tell you about ours later…..

https://rachaelherron.com/photoblog_today/

Oh. My. God.

Sometimes I am impetuous. When I buy something big or decide on a life change, it tends to happen RIGHT NOW.

For the last week or so, I have been feeling like moving.

Understand that I never feel like moving. I hate moving. I abhor moving. Moving stresses me out until I break down sobbing, my forehead resting on the cardboard box, and that’s just when I pack my books. So this feeling that I’ve been having, lying in bed thinking about new, unfilled cupboards, has been unnerving.

Then yesterday I received an email from my landlord. Seems that the guys who live upstairs have found a new complaint. They think they are paying too much for heating, and that we should share the bill. I think not. I pay my gas/electric bill separately, and have my own meter/breaker. And this is the straw that’s flipping said breaker. Four girls live downstairs in this big old house, in three apartments. Four guys live upstairs, in a big communal four bedroom, one kitchen set-up. We girls are awesome. We’re kind and helpful and respectful. The boys are awful. One is a DJ-mixer and mixes thumping rap until all hours. They stomp above me and crank the bass until my windows rattle. The block the driveway on a daily basis. And now they’re asking for money for THEIR utilities? When I got home yesterday at 5pm and found the email, I decided to start looking. I’d just see what was out there before I responded back to my landlord.

I went to Craigslist and found several listings that seemed all right. I called one. He seemed nice, and said he could meet me there in half an hour.

Now, get this: It’s less than a mile from my present apartment. It’s still in the wondeful walkable area of Rockridge/Temescal that I love. It’s really close to BART. Cats are welcome. It’s easily two and a half times the size of my present place. Hardwood flooring in the long (yellow!) living room area. A private fenced back yard. A sliding glass door. Green yards and trees on all sides of the place. Only one shared wall, next to a single man who is reputedly never home. It’s only a three unit single-level building, with a new washer/dryer. The owner is a contractor and architect who said I could paint the walls any color I wanted. There’s a walk-in closet in the bedroom. There will never be anyone thumping and clunking above me. He said I could have the place. We’re meeting today to sign the lease. I’m freaking OUT. But in a good way.

Hey. There’s room for a kitchen table. In all my grown-up life, I’ve never had room for a table (no, Mom, the card table didn’t count). I’ve never lived in a place in which I could have more than two people visiting comfortably at the same time. Two is pushing it right now in my present apartment. You can’t all stand up at once or claustrophobia sets in.

And it’s only $150 more than I’m paying now. Tony never raised my rent (what with the ants and the awful boys, how could he?) so that’s right where inflation would normally have placed me, anyway. I can handle it.

And because this isn’t a forced move, it’s more exciting than terrifying. I want a yarn area. I want to paint words on the walls. (But how do I choose which words?) I want to paint one wall red. I want a writing area. I need bookcases. I worry about how to keep Digit safe in his new yard (big scary German Shepard next door). I wonder how to make a bigger place as cozy as my present place is.

I want to have a dinner party. A real dinner party at a real table.

I find my sentences in this entry are short. Choppy. I have so much to think about. Me? Moving? By choice? I am astonished at what has happened in so short a time.

Stay tuned for further. Yow.

And Greta arrives tonight. I took tomorrow off to PLAY! I absolutely canNOT wait.

(Oh, sign my new guestmap, wouldja? I love to see where all y’all are….) —->