Suburb of Heaven

I'm doing a short talk on two Hogarth prints later on this semester, so I've just started reading two books on the subject of the prints, Gin: The much-lamented Death of Madam Geneva and Ale, beer and Brewsters in England: women's work in a changing world, 1300-1600. If you're interested in the topic, there are also two podcasts that relate directly, one from the BBC's In Our Time on the gin craze (the image they use is a detail from the print I'm talking about) and an episode of Tides of History where the host interviews the author on the topic of women and beer brewing.

Kiki has had her two shots and is now on her two month stretch of enforced inactivity. She can go for short walks but I predict in a few days she'll be feeling better and the short walks are just going to frustrate her. She's going to end up staring at me with pleading eyes and trying to squish herself into my lap so I know how much she is suffering.


jesse_the_k asked about three of my icons, my main one, my eclipses one, and my zen one.

My nom-de-internet is pretty old by now and comes from Saint Catherine of Siena, a mystic saint that I did my thesis on. The image is of Saint Catherine holding a lily, and is from a fresco in the basilica of San Domenico and was painted by Andrea Vanni. If you go visit, say hi to her head for me.

I didn't make my eclipses icon and sadly I don't have a note down anywhere about who made it. I know very little about astronomy, but I'm fascinated by old astronomical charts and texts and images. I adopted this icon because I just find it deeply beautiful.

My zen one is Damian Lewis from the tv show Life. I loved the show so much, and besides the great acting and fun stories it had great music too. Sadly it was crippled by the writers strike and when the two seasons finally made it to DVD they had replaced a lot of the music with lesser choices. I was not happy. Anyway, Damian Lewis's character Charlie Crews is a police officer sent to prison for a crime he didn't commit, and while he's there he studies Zen. When he's freed, he brings his slightly eccentric Zen sensibilities out into the world with him, much to the frustration of those around him. (He also has a thing for fresh fruit.)

Things have been a little rocky on the ol' Mystic gyno front, but the problem (dose of Metformin no longer balancing the wonkyness of insulin, result: my body kinda sorta thinks it's on birth control pills and maybe does a little bit of what it thinks is breakthrough bleeding, solution: bump up the Metformin a bit) seems to have done the trick and the circus is about to leave town. However the related mood swings and anxiety that go hand in hand with it all has been in full effect today, leaving me utterly convinced that very specific Bad Things were in the wind and it was only a matter of time before all my sins would be broadcast to the general public. It's basically that Jenny Holzer statement: Forces are aligning quietly and there will be trouble," except maybe more like FORCES ARE ALIGNING NOW AND THEY ARE SPECIFICALLY COMING FOR YOU NOW.

So, you know, good times.

There are things to keep me busy the next week or so until I leave, so hopefully the crazies will leave too. I am part of my institution's Instagram team and have had to sit in on meeting where we all talk about optimizing our visitors and growing our audience and I know it's important but at the same time whatever remnants of cynical Gen-X slacker that remain lodged in my breast act to keep me doing the occasional internalized eyeroll. Because uh muh guh guys. Or something. Facebook quietly chugs along, and I haven't been able to get anyone to let me start a Tumblr and endlessly reblog SoYouWorkAtAMuseum. Although hilariously all of us are resisting taking on Twitter like it's a snake poised to bite us and so the marketing manager, who is a lady in her late fifties or so, has been stuck with it although she keeps trying to hand it off.

It'll be hard to concentrate what with the trip looming. I am itchy. Currently looking at a suitcase and wondering if I want to do a soft bag or this larger roller one and what carryon looks like on international trips, anyway. Except to get from my small city to the next biggest city will require me being on a tiny jet and no way no how will this thing fit on that overhead, so maybe I just need to keep my ambitions small. Or check the bag, which I'd rather not do.

My friend with the Edith-beagle has to work a particularly long day tomorrow so I get some beagle time. We might walk down to campus to see the festivities for Homecoming, which Edith will believe are all designed to bring people within petting range. Edith fervently believes that all people want is to pet a cute little rolypoly beagle and frequently, she's right.

I'm typing this in the basement because Ratchet has been particularly whiny and so I let him frolic with the dustbunnies while I dug around in our storage closet and found the aforementioned suitcase. He's trying to coax me into letting him out onto the back patio again, but I know I can't trust him and also there are still fleas lurking. Time to pick up the cat in one arm and the suitcase in another and hoof it back up the stairs, I think.

My elderly lady cat Gracie had been diagnosed with kidney disease a little while back, and while we were able to keep her going with SQ fluids and some medication and a special diet, we knew we didn't have much time with her left. Sadly, a couple of days ago she abruptly went downhill and we knew it was time.

In a way I'm not grieving too badly - we knew we probably wouldn't have another year, and at the end she was clearly confused and in pain and there was no way we would prolong that, so there was no doubt about whether we were doing the right thing. But my husband is taking it very hard, as he was the one who picked her up outside the KFC next to the bus stop, and he was the one whose jacket she snuggled inside and started purring, as if she knew it was all going to be fine from then on. 13 years of ruling the household later, it's hard to imagine she's not just curled up asleep somewhere. She was always curled up near us, whether it was in-between my feet on the bed or next to the keyboard on the desk or sitting with my husband while he basked in his full spectrum light during the dark days of winter.

It was the right thing for her, saying goodbye. But it isn't easy. Not at all.

It's in the oven now. Exciting!


But some occupants of the household don't really care. They just want you to scratch their tummy.

Thanks for all your kind words, guys.

In thanks, I bring you a pic of two of my goofy, goofy cats, who have cheerfully accepted that dishwasher cart=bunkbeds. I put the bedding down after they decided they needed to sleep on it, because I am a sucker. Since Ratchet just cost me a bunch of money in tuna-flavored antibiotics, he's got to make it up in cute. Or get a job.

Taken on Sunday. The day was gorgeous - warm with blue skies...until I got home from work and then dragged Bemo out into it, whereupon a cold front rolled in and it got super-windy. Anyway, I love these columns, as do many people from the area.



( More things in my city )

Ratchet the cat has two methods for drinking water. Either he whines at the top of his formidable kitty lungs until I turn on the bathtub faucet - a carefully calculated trickle that results in his bonking us with his damp head minutes later - or he reclines by his waterbowl like Nero at an orgy, resting his chin on the edge of the bowl and lapping up the water in the same noisy way that an 80lb black lab would.

In other, non-cat news, I ran a little bit on the treadmill today for the first time, and I'm pretty pleased with how it went. I only did a few short bursts, keeping to a brisk walk for the rest of the time, and my knees remained happy and I got my heart rate up in a good way. So, y'know, woot and all that.

All that remains at the old apartment are cleaning supplies, which I'll pick up tonight after doing a little more cleaning and taking photos to prove how we left the place. It'll be good to be done with this. While we've managed it all on schedule, making endless trips with endless boxes has been its special little form of torture.

So very tired. And in the grips of the "now what" that always happens once you complete a big project. Lots of sore muscles.

And god, poor Bemo. He had something Very Not Good happen today and called me at about ten this morning, gutted.

( traumatic animal story that does not end well )

Sigh.