Month: May 2009

The verdict is in. . .

. . . and yes, all the ibuprofen and naproxen I’ve taken over the years has given me tinnitis, and has also affected my ability to hear very high frequencies, around 8000 Hz. This explains why I have difficulty distinguishing T and S and similar high-frequency speech sounds, especially when there’s background noise. Speech at about the same volume as the tinnitis gets lost in the ringing sounds, too. Which makes people sound mumbly (. . . um, Northwood. . . ?).

This really sucks. It’s bad enough to have to choose between taking painkillers and walking (with less pain), or not walking; now I have to choose between pain and more pain?

On the other hand, I suppose I should start to embrace the idea I’ve been foisting off on Grandma for a year or two: What you hear is so much more interesting than what people actually say! :rolls eyes:

Taking the dog up in the mountains this afternoon, I seem somehow to have wrenched the less functional of my knees. It is presently under ice, which bloody well better fix it. I am seriously fed up with all these idiotic things that keep adding up. Seriously.

Must not forget: I have a book recommendation. Animals in Translation, by Temple Grandin, the ultrafamous high-functioning autistic woman who’s been involved in animal research and practical application all her life. Because she is autistic, a condition that affects the neocortex (the big thinking bits), she has unique insight into the way animals probably think. It will entertain, inform and amaze you! She has a newer book out, too, Animals Make Us Human, that I want to read, but I wanted some of the background theories and insights first.

One of the things that tickled me is that she emphasizes frequently that people are first and foremost animals, something that I’ve harped on for years. She points out that not only do we still have the reptilian and lower mammalian brains in common with all other animals, but that they’re still working just fine, thank you. I think it’s dangerous not to recognize that fact, because if we don’t, it autmoatically means that we won’t look for behavioral causes rooted in our commonality with animals. The “they are not like us” caution against anthropomorphism should more properly be turned around, and stated “They may not be like us, but we are like them.”

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Eighteen shots.

Eighteen! Five of them directly into the base of the mangled tooth beneath the temporary crown. Three hours. For seating a crown, which should have taken maybe half an hour and no anesthesia. My teeth totally suck.

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It’s my park.

This is the annual Ski to Sea weekend, when touristers and bozos take over a good chunk of the county, and touristers- and bozos-in-training have a junior-sized bike race in imitation of their elders.

In my park. My park.

Since they always make a complete nasty mess of the back trails, digging up huge mudpiles with their junior mountain-bike tires going at ridiculous rates of speed, I am singularly unfond of these . . . creatures. Usually, they have made their appallingly destructive rounds by Sunday, though I saw less evidence of it than usual.

This was the first I’ve been on the back trails since the rainy season turned them into a quagmire into which one sank to the knee with each step. Spring seems to have dried it out nicely. You can maybe see why I love this park so much and feel so proprietary about it. Bluedog thoroughly enjoyed herself:

09padden.jpg

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Wedding briefs—film at 11

While I’m recovering from Ye Trip and not having to work yet, I figured I’d better get a couple of the few decent photos I got up, or I won’t get them up. After using my DSLR for a few years, I was dreadfully disappointed in the quality I got from the little point-and-shoot, but I shouldn’t have been. I’ll have to depend on Matt the Wedding Photographer, who was quite good and got some terrific stuff. Pfblththt. Anyway, I’m sure that Snaotheus and KrisDi, once they return from Ye Honeymoon, will upload really-really good stuff. 🙂
So here are the shoes, for Mrs. Laura:

weddingshoes.jpg

Plain but functional, and with low heels so as not to irritate dystropic bones. Even with three pairs of socks on, they flopped a little and I tripped a few times, but not at any important times and not to such an extent that I plopped over. 🙂

Here is Lord Wilmbo in all his magnificence, at the reception, with the band singer about to get him to chime in:

weddingwilmie.jpg

KrisDi and Ryan made all the rounds, including a visit with old buddy Adam:

weddingadam.jpg

And last but certainly, as they say, not least, was Ducky, who captivated everyone. Quite a little dancer, that girl. And quite a live wire all ’round. I got to dance with her a couple of times, but she was totally Papa Wilmy’s girl (apparently he makes more goofy faces at her than anyone else, besides having Grandpa Experience)! She inadvertently displays her Darth LaRyantrelle proclivities:

weddingducky.jpg
That’s Mom GirlA in the front, and Mei in the blue behind Ducky, and I don’t recognize any of the others. I think everybody had a great time; I certainly did. The dinner was killer good, with the filet so tender even I could chew it easily with my temp crown. It would have been nice to have some extra time to visit with Snaotheus’s friends whom I hadn’t met before, but you can’t have everything. Yippeeee for happy times!

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Wedding stuff

Squeeeee! I’m off in the morning for the wedding and, if all goes well, I will be able to have a little s’prise for Ducky when I arrive.

Today, one of my online fiber friends announced that (are you ready? really ready?) she is weaving the fabric that will make a portion of her wedding dress (you weren’t ready, were you? not even a little).

Looks like I may not get a pickcher of my shoes up before I leave, but oh, well, such is life. I’m getting better at not meeting expectations. 😉

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Photo catch-up

Wanted to get these out of my hair before I rush off, and I won’t have time once I start packing and stuff. Following is The Dress, hung up over my bedroom door. It’s dark enough that it really eats light, and since I’m working on the laptop and don’t have anything by which to measure color, contrast or brightness, since it changes with screen angle, I’m not messing with it. I hope it shows up reasonably well:

thedress.jpg

And I’m really, really loving the colors of the cashmere / wool sweater I’m knitting. I’m using three strands of very fine yarn; one is dark-chocolate brown, one milk-chocolate brown, and the third a dark green. I love the way the colors shift, and the pattern actually shifts a bit as your angle of view changes. It’s going to be hard to leave it, even for the wedding, because it’s coming along so well! Likewise on the contrast and stuff; I hope it shows up OK on your monitor.
cashswtr.jpg

And then there was Missy B, who was a bit annoyed that I was messing around with what she thinks is her comfort level. In front of her is an upside-down wire shelf thingie for the kitchen. It turned out to be perfect for holding the cardboard cones that the fine yarns are wound on.

missyd.jpg

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u-u-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-hhhhh. . .

I dyig. Ooowitch. Crown prep took three-plus hours; it ought to take about two. They had to give me twice as much novocaine as a normal person, and then another shot directly into the tooth once they got into it. They banged and whacked my jaw around so the whole thing, upper and lower, aches miserably. And all the stuff hasn’t worn off yet.

I bought soup. But prolly not enough.

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I get weak (cf “luck” below)

Today, I was supposed to go in for crown prep. While I loathe and detest having to do so, I was looking forward to being able to chew a little again.

However, it seems that my dentist has come down with “flu-like symptoms,” which he got from his Nephew the Disease Vector, so my appointment has been postponed ’til Friday.

I hope if he gives me swine flu that a) I won’t come down with it before the wedding and b) if I do, I won’t spread it all over the place, and c) I don’t have to miss the wedding after all this preparation!

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Luck, the lack thereof, and lost causes

When my beloved Snaotheus, whose observational and logician skills we all know are unsurpassed :pauses to cough:, said to me, “Mom, you really have a lotta bad luck. You know that?”, I knew I was in trouble. Well, I knew I was in trouble long before that, but one never likes to have objective confirmation of such suspicions.

I wish I knew why the universe has it in for me. I mean, I have work, and food, and a roof, clothing, heat, friends and family, reasonably decent health, and my dog, and I’m always grateful for those. But in other things (which I have to admit qualify as infinitesimal on the cosmic stage, but loom fairly large in quotidian life), my luck is, frankly, dismal.

The Tale of the Exercise Bike below counts as one of them. I probably got the only unit in 500,000 whose console died after 92 days. And this after I passed over a unit whose carton was beat up and crumpled, thinking it might have suffered travel wounds. So I actually chose the faulty one rather than just taking the first one on the shelf. What ill-humored demigod rules over those things, to force me to choose the one that will break?

The other day, I bought a manual can opener to replace my doddering old one that I’d had for probably 40+ years. I have a thing against pointless electrical appliances (for one thing, I don’t have room for them), so I’m not even interested in those. Right off the mark, I’m being responsible and environmentally sensitive, right? You’d think that’d count for something.

So I picked up the $16 version at the grocery store, with the cushiony black handles that are softer on my starting-to-age finger joints (these guys are important, since I earn a living with them). I wish I’d taken a photo of what it did to the can of green beans I tried to open. It looked like the proverbial train wreck you can’t look away from.

But the tool did not open the can.

I took the opener back, with the can, to show the grocery store. The woman commiserated and we got the next one down in the cost tier, which still had handles with plastic covers, but not the cushiony ones. I didn’t much like the angle its cutting wheel was at (it was too much like the cushiony-handled one), so I tried it. It wouldn’t even grip the can.

“Here,” I said to her. “You try it. If it doesn’t work for you, then it’s not just me.” (Is it any wonder I lose confidence in myself?!?)

Guess what? It didn’t work for her, either!

Eventually, I wound up with the $2.49 kind that doesn’t even have handles. It takes a freakin’ engineer to figure out how to get it on the can, and you have to hold it in place with your left hand so it doesn’t jump around, but it did open the can. Three of them, to be precise.

What is it? Grandpa L. claimed to have horrific luck, but I don’t remember these kinds of things ever happening to him, so it may not be genetic. What have I done to make my assigned demigod hate me? What? What?! Am I just unfortunate? Am I a lost cause? Should I just leap off the nearest cliff and put the world out of my misery?

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Just bad news. %-P

My tooth is cracked and broken and I have to have yet another crown put in. This will be four in the last four years. I suppose I should be grateful they’ve been spacing themselves at roughly one-year intervals, so that the (not very good) dental insurance will, with prodding and complaining, shell out about 40% (max).

Prep next Tuesday, so at least I’ll be able to eat at The Wedding. But yet another $1,000+ I have to come up with from someplace. No children to sell to the gypsies anymore. >:{

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