Rachael

It’s 11-11! That’s so frikken cool! You know this is one of the best days of the year, right? You should. It’s just so pretty. Two prime numbers, all parallel and lucky. Happy day.  This morning at work I was in the middle of a sentence when I looked up and saw that it was 1:11:11. I froze, and stopped talking. I scared both people to whom I was speaking. But it was just too perfect.

Did I mention I saw The Incredibles? Day-um. I haven’t liked an animation feature that much in years. Seriously: So much fun. And to add fun on top of fun (and who isn’t in favor of that? Raise your hand, and you’re not coming to my pool party. If I ever have a pool. Okay, I’m sidetracked), it was filmed on location in Oakland! My city!

Okay, maybe not filmed. Maybe it was more like the animators used this area as the backdrop for their artwork, but whatever: local street names like Adeline and San Pablo, and dude! The Lake! Lake Merritt! My lake! Where I run!  We watched it at the Grand Lake Theatre, a two minute walk from the lake, and I swear only about six people seemed to get excited about it or recognize it. Me, though? I was jumping up and down in my seat. Ask Lala. Or don’t, since she might still be swearing. She does that in kids’ movies, you know.

Is this Thursday? Why does it feel like it’s been such a long week? I can’t wait for the weekend. No, wait. Hang on.  I can wait. This Saturday, we run 26 miles. That’s what they call a "practice" marathon. That’s what I call CRAZY, but I haven’t been accused of any serious sanity fora while now. Have I already written about this run? I can’t remember, and I’m honestly just too lazy to go back and check. So ignore me if you’ve seen this already: We run 26 miles on Saturday, then three eight-milers on the next three Sundays, and then the marathon. The real one. (And I have simply GOT to stop typing marathong.)

I’m terrified thinking about Saturday. I know what’ll happen is I’ll just go out and do it, without much thought, and power through till the end, but it’s daunting, for sure. We have the option of stopping at mile 20 or 23, also, and I figger it’ll be a hard, hard thing to pass the stopping party point and keep running those extra miles. But I really want to do it. I really, really do. I think the heat and humidity of the real deal in Hawaii are gonna be hard on me, and I’d like to at least know I can physically do it. A confidence booster, that’s all Saturday really is.

Lord. Remember when seven miles was a lot?

And this is fabulous: Eleven Things  a Straight Girl Learned in her Eight Months on Team Dyke

The little mama is already on her way home today. She just came up for one night, bless her heart, just to see my new place and the three lil kittens that Christy is fostering. I got some time in the car with her, but then I had to work. I got off a 5am, and I didn’t want her to get up, but she woke when I got home, and we rotated the bed like Bethany and I used to do. Where were those railroad hotels? Where the beds were always warm, with the engineers sleeping days and nights, just swapping off? It’s not a bad method. Especially when your sister Christy gives you high thread count sheets that you forget about until you move and can flip them on the bed because you haven’t actually washed your reg’lar sheets in two weeks. Not that I would neglect laundry that long. No. Of course not. Not me.

Mom came in to work last night for a moment because I wanted her to meet Marama, and I had this really weird moment where I said, "This is Jan, my mother." After she left, Marama said, slowly, "Her name is Jan?" She had never really thought of my mother having any name but Little Mama.

Today’s sleep: Not bad. Not long enough, but when is it? I’m up and I’ve got Things To Do. A ton of things to do. And know what? I’m having a hard time thinking about unpacking crap because I’m thinking about knitting. This is the first time in a LONG time that I don’t have a large project on the needles. I’ve finished two little sweaters recently, the one for ArtFibers, and the Rowan Denim People one (that still needs a zipper), pictures to follow of both when I get around to it. Cromarty is done, and I have NO idea what I’m going to make next. That’s a weird, good feeling. I’m making some fingerless mitts for a friend that I’d like to get off the needles before I start the next thing, but it’s fun to imagine what I’ll take off the shelves. The reclaimed cashmere perhaps? I’m thinkin’….  Colorwork, however, seems to be calling me, having had none lately, all cables, all the time. Colorwork, however, might require a purchase, and god knows I don’t need to buy yarn right now. Nope. I don’t.

I don’t! Stop that.

Do I?

https://rachaelherron.com/the_little_mama/

Jiggety jig.

Lookee! A little Mama in the house! In my house!  That’s completely thrilling. I got to open the door for her and invite her in. Oh, the fun of it. Really.

And the cats, they seem to be settling in just fine. Adah doesn’t even seem to have really noticed she’s in a new home — she just thinks I’ve rearranged the furniture. Digit, or Mr. Scaredy Pants, is being a Very Brave Polydactyl and faking it well. He’s on my stomach right now, kneading me. If he buries his head in my shirt far enough, maybe all of this will go away.

All right. No time to blog today. Drove home this afternoon with Ma and the kits, and I still have to go to work tonight. It’ll be a three-cup night, I think.

(I never, ever thought how much pleasure inviting my mother into my home would give me. I’m about to bust with house pride. Really. Oh, this is good.)

The only thing that makes it okay that this:

is parked in my backyard is this:

on my coffee table. That is Manos (yum) from Maeve, heavenly color, and soap all the way from Brazil (and I know she carried it back herself) from Jennifer, and a home Madonna from the amazing MaryB (it’s not too Catholic, dear—I put it on the shelf with my pope-in-a-snow-globe. Tell hubby).

The post could not have come at a better time, darlings.

I was a fool this morning. I had some dead stalks in my flower vase, but the rest of the them were still beautiful. I thought, Hey! I have a garbage disposal! Won’t that be fun? I shoved ‘em down and spun ‘em through. Then I watched the green sludgy water foam back up at me for, sticking out its tongue.

Damn it. Having never owned a disposal, how was I supposed to know you’re only supposed to put boiled rice and chicken broth (strained) through it? I called the Dude, who is my psuedo-husband (all the chores and none of the perks; not sure why he sticks around, but I aDORE him). He walked me through taking the disposal apart, which I am very proud to say, I did. I flex my muscles in your general direction. But the disposal was clear. That was alarming. And might I add, while it’s not too bad taking a disposal apart, it’s hell on wheels to get that fucker back together. And me in my new jeans. Only a small blood sacrifice, and it wasn’t too painful, either. But I did it.

And the sink was still backed up, gurgling up and mocking me with evil spongy floaters. Grrr.

So I went to the hardware store, where my new best friend Joe told me all about plumbing. I love Joe. I really, really do. I bought a drill from Joe, just because I wanted to keep talking to him. Laurel Hardware on MacArthur, people. Joe rocks. He sold me a snake and told me how to use it (not like that. Dirty minds). I took it home, opened the plumbing back up and snaked it out.
This is what I ended up with.

Ew. Ew ew ew ew. Still backed up. I did a number on that one, I tell you. I actually think I made it worse, because after I snaked it, NOTHING would go down, and before I had a slow drain, at least.

Opened the yellow pages, hoped that I wouldn’t get burglarized again, and called the ones who advertised they’d be here in forty-five minutes. They were, they’re just finishing up now, and apparently not only did I clog it, but they found that the pipe is broken about twenty feet out. At least that’s not my problem – that’ll be for my homeowner’s insurance to fix. Thank god. But not today.

Today, as soon as they leave, I’m getting on the road to go pick up two cats and a little mama. She’s coming up for a short day visit to see the new place, and I can’t WAIT to show it to her.

Okay. I have to go pay them. Sheesh. It’s like a test. Own a home! Break some things! Pay out the nose!
(But one of them just asked me for paper towels so he could clean up under the sink. That’s totally cool.)

I’m sure I’m the last person in blogland to catch this, since I’ve been a bit busy lately, but you’ve seen the Gansta Knitter video, right? Thanks for the link, Michelle.

https://rachaelherron.com/im_sure_im_the_/

I have the best readers in the whole world. The. Whole. World. Really. Your readers might be very, very good, but I have the BEST ones.

You’re right. You’re all right. No guilt. Not my fault. The dude broke into MY place, leaving doors and windows open, leaving me liable for any damage/vandalism/theft that might have arisen from other criminals taking advantage of this fact. And Ryan, well, she made the best point. What if my cats had been there, instead of at Grandma’s house?

Oooooh, I’d like ta…. Lemme at him.

I called the manager again, who said the owner was at Stanford all day having his chemo treatment. I can accept that. I’ll wait. I will talk to the owner. That’s all I really want at this point. I thought about reporting them to the Better Business Bureau, and then I decided to check them out. Turns out my threatening to do that won’t mean much to them, because they already SUCK at the BBB. It teaches me another valuable lesson: Research FIRST, not last.

Anyway. All’s well. All is, in fact, very well. I have the best bathtub in the whole world. This weekend I will finish moving out of the old place and work on unpacking (I still have a lot of that to do, believe it or not). After I do that, I can PAINT, and I’m getting more and more excited about that. I’m going to TSP. I’m going to use joint compound. I think that’s for holes in the wall. Or my knees. I’m not really sure, but I know it’s official sounding. I’m going to cover things with dropcloths just so I can say I did. Oh, yes, I’m dropcloth-ing today. Very different from drop-clothing, you know. Almost as much fun.

We have a ten mile run this Sunday, our last short run before the practice 26 miles the next weekend. Practice. Sheesh. That’s a marathon, people. That’s what I think, anyway. Call it what you want, but even with the word Practice in front of it, it’s freaking me out. And hey! Go congratulate Rebecca for finishing her marathon! Amazing girl! She IS supergirl.

That’s about all I can think of. I’m tired. (Lala’s at my house right now, manning my TiVo without me. And her blog is flirting with mine, I think. That’s adorable.) (See? Mine is flirting back.)

Happy weekend, all! MWAH!